Can he cowboy up for fatherhood?

He had no room for love...until now.

After meeting the son he never knew he had, Marcus Palermo’s simple life turns upside down. Complicating things further is Lissa Hart, the boy’s lovely guardian. She’ll help him become a parent—but falling for a gruff cowboy is not in her plans. Will she realize her future lies in Bluebonnet Springs with the rugged rancher?

BRENDA MINTON lives in the Ozarks with her husband, children, cats, dogs and strays. She is a pastor’s wife, Sunday-school teacher, coffee addict and sleep deprived. Not in that order. Her dream to be an author for Harlequin started somewhere in the pages of a romance novel about a young American woman stranded in a Spanish castle. Her dreams came true, and twenty-plus books later, she is an author hoping to inspire young girls to dream.

Also By Brenda Minton

Bluebonnet Springs

Second Chance Rancher

The Rancher’s Christmas Bride

The Rancher’s Secret Child

Martin’s Crossing

A Rancher for Christmas

The Rancher Takes a Bride

The Rancher’s Second Chance

The Rancher’s First Love

Her Rancher Bodyguard

Her Guardian Rancher

Lone Star Cowboy League: Boys Ranch

The Rancher’s Texas Match

Lone Star Cowboy League

A Reunion for the Rancher

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Rancher’s Secret Child

Brenda Minton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08423-9

THE RANCHER’S SECRET CHILD

© 2018 Brenda Minton

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“Let’s try to be friends.”

“I’m trying,” Marcus told her in his low, gruff voice. “You have to give a guy a few days to figure things out and get over feeling like he’s had his legs kicked out from under him.”

“I know.” She pulled her seat belt around and he reached over to click it into place for her. “Thank you.”

“I’m not going to take him from you,” he said as they headed down the long driveway back to the main road.

The sting of tears took her by surprise. She wiped at them and when he handed her a handkerchief, she shook her head.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, of course you are.” He shoved the handkerchief into her hand. “I know he needs you. I know he doesn’t need a scarred-up, dysfunctional cowboy for a dad.”

“I think you’re wrong,” she told him.

And the words took her by surprise.

She hadn’t expected to like Marcus Palermo...

Dear Reader,

I’m so glad we were able to spend time together in Bluebonnet Springs, Texas. I hope you enjoyed the Palermo family, Essie’s café and the other characters in this series. I think it’s rather fitting to end the series with the story of Marcus Palermo. He seemed to need a happy-ever-after. Thanks to the arrival of Lissa Hart and a little boy named Oliver, Marcus will find a path to love and happiness.

I think the Palermo family are an example of the healing that comes from finding faith and in not giving up. They were abused, broken and lost, but each of them found a way to take back what was taken and make new lives from the old.

I hope you enjoyed their stories and I hope you’ll stick around for my next miniseries. I’ve caught myself singing the song “Oklahoma” around the house recently. Hint hint...

Blessings,

Brenda

It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.

—Lamentations 3:22–23

This book is dedicated to my Aunt Joyce, Aunt Alice and Aunt Betty. And in memory of my Aunt Shirley Clark. They have taught us to have fun, to be classy when it matters, to live life to the fullest and to love family.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

A car door slammed and a child’s laughter rang out, followed by a woman’s voice. The horse beneath Marcus Palermo skittered across the arena, forcing him to hold tight. He managed a quick look in the direction of the visitors. A woman, tall with dark hair. A little boy with chocolate-brown hair who seemed all excited as he headed for the arena as Marcus made a last-ditch attempt at controlling the horse.

He had a few seconds to wonder where this woman and boy had come from and how they’d found the place, an old farm situated down a long dirt drive and hidden from view of the road by a copse of trees. He’d only recently purchased the old Brown farm and few people knew he lived here.

The boy shouted something as he ran toward the makeshift arena that Marcus had built with cattle panels. The horse jerked his head forward and took a few running bucks across the dirt-packed pen. Marcus’s hat flew off. He’d just bought that hat and he liked it. He tightened his legs, but the horse had the upper hand. The black-and-white paint gelding twisted and, with a final hard buck, sent Marcus flying. As he hit the ground, he remembered that he really didn’t like ranching all that much.

After a minute he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck where it hurt the most. Slowly he became aware of a couple of things. First, the horse he’d been attempting to ride had moseyed on over to the fence. The traitor had his head down like a big old puppy dog so the kid could pet him. The woman’s gaze left the boy and the horse and shifted his way, nervous and a bit guilty.

Considering she was partially to blame for his bad exit off the horse’s back, she could have at least asked if he was okay. But, no, she only managed to look sheepish as she ran her hand down the horse’s neck. The little boy seemed more curious than anything.

“No, don’t worry, I’m fine,” he muttered as he came to his feet.

He limped across the arena and grabbed the horse’s reins because he was a little jealous of the attention the animal was getting. He moved the gelding away from the fence and away from the hands of the visitors. The woman moved her sunglasses to the top of her head and narrowed her blue eyes at him. He must be getting better at offending the fairer sex. It had taken only two minutes for him to earn her displeasure. “Did he break your leg?” the little boy asked.

Marcus glanced at the kid. He was maybe five, with big eyes. Those eyes widened a bit, the normal reaction to Marcus’s face. Because it was a kid, not an adult staring at him, Marcus had sympathy. He half turned, giving the little boy his good side.

“No,” he answered roughly. “It would take more than that to break me.”

“I bet it would,” the boy said in awe.

Marcus hoped the woman and kid weren’t fans with the misplaced idea that he welcomed uninvited guests to the ranch for sightseeing. But the woman didn’t appear to be an admiring fan. She didn’t look like the type of woman who had ever witnessed a professional bull ride, let alone knew who the champions might be.

“Is there something I can help you with?” He looked down at the little boy and back at the woman, because there was something familiar about her.

She was taller than average, with long, dark hair, and had high cheekbones that made him think she had Native American ancestry. But she had startling blue eyes. The blue of a winter sky. Those eyes were boring into him like he was a bug and she couldn’t figure out what kind. So obviously not a fan.

Fine with him. He didn’t need fans. In fact, he didn’t need much of anything or anyone. Which was exactly why he’d picked this property, several miles off the beaten path and far enough away from his siblings that they wouldn’t always be in his business.

“Are you Marcus Palermo?” she asked, her hand protective on the boy’s shoulder.

“That would be me.”

“Then we need to talk.” She squatted to look the boy in the eye. “Sit and don’t move.”

“By myself?” For the first time, the little guy looked unsure. And Marcus had to admit to getting his hackles up when a kid looked unhappy.

“By himself?” he echoed. The question earned him an answering look from the female. She straightened and met his gaze head-on, those blue eyes once again penetrating him. He didn’t like feeling as if he was five and about to get in trouble.

He also didn’t like the fact that his gaze landed on cherry-glossed lips that were far from smiling, yet were still cherry. As if that bright gloss was the only frivolous thing she allowed herself.

“He’ll be fine,” she answered. “We’re going to head to the barn and talk for a few minutes. I’ll be able to see him from there. Correct?”

“Sure thing,” Marcus whispered.

“Do you ever talk loud?” the boy asked, looking up at him from the spot where she’d told him to sit. He had a small car, and as he stared at Marcus, he pushed the car through the dirt.

“No, I don’t.” Marcus walked off, leading the horse behind him. He heard the gate creak on its hinges and the footsteps hurrying to catch up.

He entered the side door to the barn and she followed him.

“Say what it is you came here to say.” He ground the words out. He didn’t mean to sound gruff, but it couldn’t be helped. Added to that, something about this woman put him off-kilter. And not in a totally bad way.

He gave her another long look and saw the wary shift of her gaze from his face to the door. She had bad news. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

She stood by the door, watching first the boy and then him.

“My name is Lissa Hart. Sammy Lawson was my sister. Well, foster sister.”

Sammy. He unsaddled the horse and led the animal to a stall to be dealt with later. He wouldn’t put a horse out to pasture without giving it a good brushing and grain. Even a horse that had tossed him in the dirt.

It had been about six years since he’d seen Sammy. The mention of her had taken him back to a time and place, a version of himself, he’d rather forget. He needed a minute to collect his thoughts, so he made sure the horse had plenty of hay and fresh water. Finally, he turned to face Lissa Hart.

“Sammy? I haven’t heard from her in a long time.”

Pain sparked in her eyes and she blinked a few times. “Marcus, Sammy passed away. A little over a year ago. I thought you would have heard.”

He walked away from her. Now he needed more than a minute. His heart constricted, reminding him he did indeed have one. Sammy gone. It didn’t make sense. The two of them had dated for a few months until she broke it off with him. He hadn’t loved her, but he had cared for her. They’d been a bad fit, in different places, rubbing each other wrong. She, like so many women in his life, had wanted more than a broken-down, dysfunctional bull rider with an alcohol problem.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Emotions in check, he faced her again. “What happened?”

“She had an accident. Her injuries were serious. I made it to the hospital, but...”

She closed her eyes and he understood.

“I’m sorry,” he said more softly than normal, and his eyes misted with unwelcome dampness. “I tried to call her after she ended it with me. She let me know she didn’t want me around.”

“She had ideas about what she wanted in life.”

“And it wasn’t a rough bull rider from Bluebonnet Springs, Texas.” He couldn’t keep the resentment from his voice.

“She told me she was afraid together you’d be combustible and you’d self-destruct. She needed peace.”

“Yeah, I get that. That brings us to why you’re here, and then you can leave.” He got the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t going to go that way.

She swallowed hard, and he felt a pang of something resembling guilt or regret. She’d lost someone she considered a sister. Sammy had been young and so full of life. She’d had dreams. And now she was gone. He muttered under his breath and wiped his eyes. Contrary to how he was acting, he wasn’t heartless.

“I’m here because she wanted me to find you.”

“Find me why?” He took a step toward her and then changed direction so that he could look out the door, needing to check for himself that the boy was okay.

“He’s your son.” The words sprang from her lips, and for a minute he couldn’t make sense of them.

The boy sat where they’d left him. He was making motor noises for his car and intent on building a ramp. Marcus watched him for a moment and then turned to face the woman who had just upended his entire world.

“No.” He said it again. “No. She would have told me.”

“She knew you weren’t ready to settle down or ready for a family. She wanted to protect him the way she hadn’t been protected as a child.”

“Then why are you here now?”

“Because I promised.” Her words were soft, sad. She shrugged. “She had heard you were changing, getting your act together.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

Her gaze dropped, but not before he saw the sheen of moisture. “I was with her at the hospital, and she told me to find you, and if you had your life together, then I should bring Oliver to meet you.”

“You waited a year.”

“I had to find you. I also had to keep my promise that I would make sure you had changed.”

“You waited a year,” he repeated, more angry than he’d been in a long time.

“I won’t let anyone or anything hurt Oliver,” she informed him. “And you haven’t exactly been a model citizen.”

That wasn’t untrue. He gave her a steady look and wondered if she would back down. She didn’t. He gave her points for that—most people didn’t hold up under the glare he’d perfected since childhood.

“The kid is out there alone. You should go get him. And you should leave.”

“The kid has a name. His name is Oliver and he’s your son.”

His son. He gave his head a quick shake. He had a son. The kid out there who had looked up at him with a mixture of fear, awe and concern was his. And he was the last person that boy needed in his life.

Lissa cleared her throat, gaining his attention.

“We have to finish this. And just because you go all angry cowboy on me doesn’t mean I’m leaving. Sammy had a will. She gave me custody of Oliver. She wanted you in your son’s life. But she had stipulations.”

“I’m not good at ultimatums.”

One shoulder lifted in a casual shrug. “I told her you wouldn’t be happy about this.”

She walked back to the door of the barn and peeked out.

“I think saying I’m not happy is an understatement. She kept my son from me. I’ll admit I’m not looking to have a family, but I think a man should know when he has a child. At the very least I should have been helping out, supporting him.” A light came on as those words left his mouth. “Oh. Is that why you’re here?”

“For money?” In her defense, she looked pretty insulted. “I don’t need your money. I brought Oliver to meet you because Sammy had some misguided notion that you would maybe grow up. I guess you told her often enough while you were dating that you didn’t plan on being a husband or a father, but she thought you might change your mind.”

He grabbed the brush out of a bucket and opened the stall door. The horse moved to his side, and he snapped a lead rope on the halter and led the animal to the cross ties in the center of the barn. He needed something to focus on, something other than the obvious. He was a father. The role he least wanted in life was now his.

He pretended it was anger he felt, but a good dose of fear got mixed up in the emotion. Fear of failing a child. Fear of being like his own father.

“I’m not responsible. I doubt I ever will be. So I guess you ought to take the kid and go.” If he acted as if he didn’t care, maybe she would believe him and leave. Maybe she would take the boy and give him a chance at a happier, healthier life than either Sammy or Marcus had known growing up.

“Go where?” the boy asked from the open door of the barn.

Marcus stroked the brush down the gelding’s neck. Once. Twice. Three times. With each stroke of the brush, he took a deep breath. And then he eased around to face the little boy. Oliver. His son.

Because of his own father, he recognized himself in that little boy. He saw a kid who was unsure. He saw fear. He saw uncertainty. He had been that kid. And now he was the dad. He hadn’t planned on being a parent because he’d never wanted to see that look in a kid’s eyes.

His attention shifted from the boy to the aunt. She didn’t believe in him. The fact that he cared what she thought was his third surprise of the day and none of those surprises had really been pleasant.

* * *

Lissa Hart held out her hand and Oliver hurried to her side. His small hand tucked into hers and she gave it a gentle squeeze. She didn’t know what else to say to Marcus Palermo. While she certainly hadn’t expected this to be easy, she found it even harder than she’d imagined.

Something about this man made her uneasy. Not afraid. She didn’t think he would hurt Oliver. He seemed rough and unfeeling, but she’d seen something in his expression, in the depths of his dark eyes, that told her he felt plenty.

Sammy had fancied herself in love with Marcus, but she’d ended the relationship because he was too broken, too angry to be the kind of person she could count on. Still, her sister had wanted him to heal, and she’d wanted him to have a chance with his son.

He’d stopped brushing the horse and he focused on Oliver, his dark gaze studying the little boy, a miniature version of himself. His mouth twitched, as if he might have found humor in something. The movement drew her attention to the jagged scar across his left cheek. That scar did nothing to detract from his looks. His too-long hair curling at his collar gave him a youthful appearance. But the firm jawline, the not-quite smile on his lips—those belonged to a man. A man who had lived a hard life and seen a lot of pain.

He shifted his focus from Oliver to her, and one brow arched in what could only be a challenge. She didn’t flinch or look away. Neither did he, but then he dismissed her and returned his attention to Oliver. He squatted, holding out the brush.

“Do you want to brush him before you leave?” he asked quietly.

Oliver nodded because he was a little boy and of course he wanted to stand by this cowboy and brush the horse. He looked up at Lissa, seeking permission. He didn’t know yet that this man was his father. She hadn’t known how to tell him, and she hadn’t wanted him to be disappointed. The odds had been good that Marcus would reject his child or not be able to be a parent to him, and her main goal was to protect Oliver. Sammy had entrusted her with his care.

With Marcus watching, Lissa let go of Oliver’s hand and the boy slipped away from her. Her heart clenched in agony as she realized this might be the beginning of losing the child she loved so very much.

Oliver took the brush and Marcus lifted him, telling him to run the brush down the horse’s neck.

“Put pressure on it,” he said, in that gruff whisper of a voice, “or it tickles and horses don’t like to be tickled.” Oliver grinned at that and pushed the brush down the horse’s neck.

Marcus continued to hold Oliver. He spoke quietly to his son, words that Lissa couldn’t hear.

Tempted as she was to move closer, she stood there, waiting. He seemed content to ignore her and focus on Oliver. The two looked like father and son, dark heads together as Oliver leaned close to hug the horse.

“I think we can turn him out to pasture,” Marcus said as he returned Oliver to the ground.

“And we should finish our discussion,” she inserted.

“There’s an old tire swing,” Marcus told Oliver. “Want to try it out?”

“Is it safe?” Lissa asked.

“It’s safe.” Leading the horse to the door at the rear of the barn, he opened it and turned the horse loose. He stood there a moment, a dark silhouette against the sun, as the horse trotted a short distance away and then dropped to roll on the ground. A cloud of dust billowed around the big horse as he stood and shook like a dog. Next to her, Oliver laughed at the sight.

Marcus once again faced them, his expression still and composed. He held out a hand to Oliver. “Let’s go check out that swing.”

Lissa followed them outside into bright May sunshine. The house that lay a short distance from the barn was an older farmhouse, two stories with a long front porch. Beyond the house was a creek, the waters sparkling and clear.

The homestead looked a bit run-down, with faded siding, patched sections on the roof and a board over one window. It could have been any house she’d known growing up in poor neighborhoods, but instead it seemed peaceful. Maybe it was the location, with the stream, the rosebushes that had taken over and the green fields in the distance.

Thinking about the house pulled her back to her own troubled past, to the abuse with her drug-addicted mother. Life before foster care and the Simms family. She and Sammy had lived their teen years with Tom and Jane Simms.

“It took me a while to find you,” she told him as they walked in the direction of a big tree with limbs that stretched out like an umbrella, shading the yard of the old house.

“That’s the whole idea, being hard to find.”

He helped Oliver onto the swing and gave it a push. “We’re going to sit on the porch. You’ll be okay here.”

Oliver grinned big. “It’s fun here.”

“Yeah, it is.” He gave the boy one last look and headed for the house.

He didn’t turn back to see if she followed. Lissa tried not to let that hurt. She wasn’t here for herself. But it mattered, whether or not he was good and if he was caring. Oliver needed a real father, someone to look up to. Someone who would be there for him.

She stepped onto the front porch and glanced around. It needed paint and a few boards had to be repaired. There were chairs and an old dog sleeping in a worn-out dog bed. The animal lifted his head to give them a once-over.

“Lucky isn’t much of a guard dog,” Marcus told her as he pointed to a chair. “He’s been following me around the country for the past ten years. He’s half-deaf and nearly blind.”

Lissa thought the dog was a piece of the puzzle that was Marcus Palermo. The black-and-brown hound dog fixed soulful eyes on his master and then her. They must not have appeared too interesting, because he yawned and fell back to sleep.

“Why is his name Lucky?”

“He got hit by a car when he was a puppy. I found him on the side of the road and nursed him back to health and he’s been Lucky ever since,” Marcus explained as he sat on the edge of the porch. “About the boy. Are you dumping him here, like he’s a stray? Or do you want money?”

“He is not a stray. He’s a little boy and I love him. I’m here to see if you’re ready to be a part of his life.”

“You make it sound like I was given a choice and rejected him.”

“Sammy gave me the job of making sure you are ready to be a dad.”

“Make sure I’m ready?” A cold thread of anger sharpened the words. He was no longer the easygoing cowboy he’d been moments ago. When she looked up, his gaze was on her, as glacial as his words.

“Sammy didn’t know if you would want to be a father. She also didn’t know if you would be able.”

“I see. I guess I do have more negatives than positives. Bad-tempered, dysfunctional and a recovering drunk. Not much hope in all of that.”

“She loved her son and wanted him safe.” Lissa didn’t add that she wanted Oliver safe. She wanted to protect him and make sure his future was secure.

“So you think I should have to jump through your hoops in order to be his dad? Because the way I see it, I could just take you to court.”

She knew that, but on hearing him say it, emotion rolled through her, settling in the pit of her stomach and making her heart ache. Her gaze settled on Oliver as he worked to keep the swing moving.

“It would be unfair to Oliver to do this without taking time to allow him to get to know you. To bond with you. I need to know that you’re responsible and that you’ll be a good dad.”

“You need to make sure I’m not my father,” he said without animosity, as if he was removed from the situation with his father, a known cult leader.

“Okay. Yes. And I do have legal custody.”

“I’m going to be honest here. I don’t think you should leave him with me.” He glanced her way and then his attention turned to Oliver. “He seems like a good kid. Anyone in their right mind would want him. I know you want him. And, well, I don’t want to mess that little boy up. He’s already had it rough. Why make things worse for him?”

“Because he’s yours,” she pointed out. “Because he deserves to know he has a father.”

“Not everyone knows how to be a father. Some people don’t deserve the title.”

Marcus watched as the little boy got off the swing, gave it a push and then struggled to climb back on the moving tire. The dog suddenly took interest in his surroundings and the visitors. He stood, shook from head to toe and trotted off the porch and across the yard to Oliver.

The rangy old dog, some type of coon dog, she guessed, obviously held more appeal than the swing. Oliver jumped, rolled across the ground and then giggled as the animal licked his face.

“Lucky. Enough.” Marcus whistled. The dog stopped licking, but he didn’t return to the porch. Instead, he plopped on his belly and stretched out next to his new friend.

“You should give yourself a chance.” She found herself uttering the last words she’d wanted to say to him.

He scoffed. “No, I don’t think so. Give myself a chance to what? Mess that kid up? He’s happy. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Don’t you want him to know that you’re his dad?”

He pushed himself to his feet and leaned against the post. “No. I don’t want him to know. I’m sure you know plenty about my family. I told myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t be a part of continuing the family line.”

“And yet you did. That little boy is your family.”

“And he’s got you. You look like a perfectly normal, responsible adult, and you love him. If it’s money you’re worried about, he isn’t going to go without. I’ll make sure of that.”

She glared at him. “Money doesn’t replace a parent or parents, Mr. Palermo.”

He met her gaze with a fiery look of his own. “I’m Marcus. Mr. Palermo was my father. And that’s a good enough reason for you to take the boy and go.”

She stood and walked past him, her shoulder brushing his. He didn’t make a move to chase her down and stop her. She kind of wished he had, because she thought if he’d give himself a chance, he had a shot at being a good dad.

Oliver resisted when she told him they had to leave, but Marcus Palermo had already gone inside. What kind of man could turn his back and walk away without even offering a goodbye to his child? She knew the answer. A man who had been damaged, just as Sammy had warned. A man who didn’t want to look too closely at what he was turning his back on.

She considered pounding on his door, demanding he care. But a person couldn’t be forced to care. She’d learned that lesson at an early age.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Marcus woke with regrets. He stumbled to the kitchen and poured water into the coffeemaker before heading out the back door to the one thing he’d actually done to the old farmhouse. He’d added a porch with a swing, and he spent many a morning there watching the sun come up.

Nothing said home like a porch swing.

He loved the start of a new day when the sky turned from inky black to gray, and then that big orange ball peeked up from the horizon, the colors bursting forth like God sweeping a whole handful of crayons across the sky. Not that he would have shared that thought with anyone. No one knew how he felt about faith or life or art.

Art, another of his ventures and something he kept hidden in the upstairs bedroom, away from prying eyes.

He had a son. He had rejected the boy and it had cost him. Last night he’d lain awake thinking of that little boy’s eyes, his face. He’d been a funny kid, rolling on the ground with Lucky. Marcus thought of his nieces, Issy and Jewel. With a sigh, he took a seat on the porch swing and buried his face in his hands. Father, if it is Your will, take this cup from me.

Jesus had uttered those words in the Garden of Gethsemane just before he was taken into custody. He guessed having a son didn’t quite match up to what Jesus had been about to endure. But what Jesus had done had been the ultimate act of obedience, of giving himself up for others.

Marcus could admit to being torn. He had given his son up because he felt he wasn’t the dad Oliver needed. He wasn’t what any kid needed. It hadn’t been easy to watch his son take hold of someone else’s hand and walk away. Like a coward, he’d headed inside so he wouldn’t have to meet the boy’s dark and questioning eyes.

Oliver would be better off without him. He’d be better off with the woman, Lissa Hart. She seemed decent. She seemed to care. She would meet a good, honorable guy, get married, and they’d be a family. He’d meant to make himself feel better with the thought; instead, he felt worse. His son would be someone else’s family.

He leaned back in the swing as the sun peeped up over the eastern horizon, and he called himself a fool. He knew better than anyone that appearances were an illusion. His dad had been the master of the game, creating a facade that fooled people until they were too far into his web to escape. His own family had been victims of the deception.

Jesse Palermo’s wife, mother to his children, had preferred walking away from her own flesh and blood to staying with a madman. Marcus bore the scars of his dad’s abuse—his broken voice, the jagged line down his cheek and the emotional baggage.

His sister Lucy and his twin, Alex, had worked through their pain and married. Their youngest sister, Maria, seemed to have survived. Only because she’d been a little girl when Jesse died.

Marcus had been drifting for the past ten years or so, since their illustrious sire had died on the back of a bull he’d challenged Alex to ride. Marcus had made some money, sowed his wild oats and done his best to outrun the past. And he had a son. A boy named Oliver. A boy who would be better off without Marcus, because the only thing Marcus knew about being a father was what his dad had taught him. Jesse Palermo had beaten his children. He’d controlled his family and his congregation. He’d ruined every life he’d come in contact with.

A car barreled down his drive, tossing up dust and invading the early-morning peacefulness. He groaned when he recognized the old International wagon. His aunt Essie’s pride and joy. It wasn’t quite seven in the morning, so he doubted this was a pleasure visit. He headed inside for whatever lecture happened to be forthcoming. His skin was thick and she’d told him on more than one occasion that so was his head.

She met him on the front porch. Knocking on the door to seventy, she was a spitfire with long, graying hair pulled back in a braid. Today she wore jeans, a T-shirt and her apron. She’d obviously been at the café she owned before heading to his house on whatever mission had brought her.

Marcus sighed. He wasn’t fooling himself. He knew what had brought her out here. The same thing that had kept him up all night and had him doubting himself this morning.

“Aunt Essie, I just made coffee.”

She had a spatula in her hand. She must have carried it out of the café with her, but she went ahead and waved it in his face.

“You!” After decades in America, her Brazilian accent was normally undetectable, but today was a different story. “You’ve pulled stunts in your life, but this? Oh, I should paddle you, Marcus Palermo.”

He drew in a breath and exhaled. She could only be talking about one thing. Or one person. “How’d you find out?”

“Yesterday afternoon Mindy rented a room above her store. The young woman showed up with a boy that looked a lot like you and Alex when you were little. This morning that young lady came in my café, and wasn’t I surprised?” She waved the spatula a little too closely to his face. He grabbed it from her hand and tossed it onto the counter.

“Imagine my surprise when she showed up here,” he countered.

“So you sent her on her way as if the boy, your flesh and blood, doesn’t matter.”

He recoiled at the way she described his decision and her eyes narrowed, as if she’d spotted a chink in his armor.

“What, Marcus, you don’t want to take responsibility for your actions?” she demanded. She’d been more a parent to the Palermo offspring than their own mother and father, and he wasn’t surprised by her questions. He wasn’t even offended. Truth was, he did feel guilty.

“I sent her away because the boy does matter,” he told her as he spun on his heel and walked back to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“There you go, shutting yourself off, acting as if none of this concerns you. As if you don’t have emotions.”

“It concerns me,” he said as he poured her a cup of coffee. She took it and gave him a long look. “What about this concerns you?”

Wrong thing to say. He knew it when she moved closer, her lips thinning with displeasure.

“What concerns me is that there is a boy in need of a father and you’re acting as if it isn’t your responsibility.”

“I’ll support him. I’ll give him whatever he needs.”

“But not your time. Or your love. The two most important things you can give a child.” She started to ramble in Portuguese, which he spoke little of.

He poured coffee in his favorite mug and tried to ignore the memories that the cup evoked. He hadn’t even thought about it when he’d pulled it from the cabinet. Sammy had given him the mug with the verse from Lamentations, about God’s mercy being new every morning. She’d wanted him to remember that each day was a fresh canvas. He guessed that might be one reason he loved mornings. They did feel new. A fresh start. Every day.

New, even though the old baggage kind of held on and wasn’t easy to be rid of.

It bugged him that he’d pulled that mug out of the cabinet. He looked up, wondering if God was telling him something and wishing He hadn’t bothered.

“He’s your son, Marcus. That’s as clear as that ugly nose on your face.” Aunt Essie had resumed English, like someone had pushed a switch.

“My nose isn’t ugly,” he replied. “And that boy deserves better than a dad who might or might not be his own father’s son. I won’t do that to any woman or any child. That’s why Sammy kept him from me. I don’t know why she made the decision to have his guardian introduce him to me after she was gone.”

A wash of grief flooded him, bringing the sting of tears to his eyes that he’d regret later. Aunt Essie’s expression softened and she put a hand on his arm, giving a light squeeze.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you cared about her.” Essie patted his arm. “You are Jesse Palermo’s son, but that doesn’t mean you are going to be the same kind of father he was. You are your own person. And if there was good in him, I prefer to think that’s what you have in you. My nephew wasn’t a bad man. Power and alcohol changed him.”

He closed his eyes, willing away the dampness. He didn’t cry. His dad had beat the tears out of him years ago with the old phrase that he’d give him something to cry about. After a few good, sound beatings, he’d no longer cared to find something to cry about.

“I did care about her, but together we were combustible. It wasn’t a good thing, the two of us. Two kids with similar pasts and a lot of anger. We were both getting our acts together. She was further along that path and she didn’t want to be pulled backward.”

“Okay, so the two of you didn’t work. That isn’t the boy’s fault. The woman is at the café with the boy, Oliver. And I refuse to let you throw this away. He’s your son. He needs you.” She gave him a quick hug. “And I think you need him. You have ten minutes to get your act together and get to town.”

She left with one last warning to do the right thing. He’d tried to tell her that yesterday he’d done the right thing. He’d sent Oliver off to live a life with a woman who obviously loved him. A woman who seemed to know how to be a parent.

A woman who had sparked something foreign inside Marcus. She’d looked at him with those sky blue eyes of hers, and she, too, had challenged him to do the right thing. And he’d wanted to.

Which resulted in the decision he’d made. He’d sent her on her way. But she hadn’t left town. Why hadn’t she left? Because she was stubborn, that was why. Because for some reason she thought he should be involved in Oliver’s life. For what purpose?

Thunder rumbled in the distance and gray clouds rolled from the south. He’d seen the forecast and knew they were in for some serious rain. The kind of rain that could only cause trouble. It seemed that the weather was the least of his concerns. He had to get to town and convince Lissa Hart to leave.

He didn’t want himself tied to the woman. That was another good reason to send her back to where she came from. Having Oliver in his life clearly meant having Lissa there, as well. If one was trouble, the two together was catastrophe. As if on cue, lightning flashed across the sky.

* * *

The rain started as Lissa stood with her cell phone on the covered porch of Essie’s café. Her mom, or foster mom, Jane Simms, continued to talk.

“You have to give him a chance.” Jane was repeating what she’d already said more than once. “Oliver is his son. And it will be easier if you honor Sammy’s wishes. If he comes back later and takes you to court, well, you don’t want that for Oliver.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You have vacation time. It wouldn’t hurt you to take time off.”

The wind blew the rain across the porch, the drops pelting Lissa’s face. She wiped away the moisture and glanced inside the café, where Oliver was digging into his biscuits and gravy. He waved happily.

“I know and I need the time off, for more reasons than this.”

“Is he still calling you?” Jane asked, speaking of a fellow nurse Lissa had dated for a short time.

“Not as often.” She wanted to cry over the entire situation, but that wasn’t her style. She would work through this, because on the scale of disasters she’d faced in her lifetime, this definitely didn’t rate highest.

“His problems aren’t yours,” Jane reminded.

“I know. It’s Troy’s past that is the problem. And my past.” She had fallen for a smile and sweeping romantic gestures, not realizing the baggage that came with both.

“It’s okay to have goals, Lis. It’s okay to want more. And it is okay to stay here and give this man a chance with his son. You’re a good judge of character. That’s why Sammy trusted you to know if he was ready to be a dad.”

“I don’t really want this responsibility. I love Oliver. I don’t want to hurt him, and regardless of how I go with this, that could happen.”

“But no matter what happens, you’ll protect him,” Jane countered. “I know you will. You’ve been more than an aunt to that little boy since the day he was born.”

She sighed, holding the phone tight to her ear as thunder rumbled across a sky heavy with clouds. It was May. Of course there would be storms.

Neither she nor her foster mom spoke for several long moments. As much as they had loved Sammy, they’d also known her faults. She had struggled, even after Oliver’s birth. Neither of them wanted to speak of the past, not when it meant dwelling on the Sammy who had slipped into old behaviors and left her son too often with Jane or Lissa.

She’d been trying to straighten up and do right. That was what they focused on. She’d been working so hard on being better, for Oliver’s sake.

“Don’t dwell on it,” Jane spoke softly. “You’ve taken a lot on yourself. And Sammy left a large hole in your life, along with this burden. You know I’m praying for you.”

“I know you are.” She looked anxiously up at the sky again. “I’d better let you go. It’s raining harder and making it difficult to hear. I’m going to go back inside with Oliver.”

“Give him kisses from his Gee Gee.”

Lissa smiled as she said goodbye and she felt better. Jane always made her feel better. She was a true mother, even if she had come late to Lissa’s life. Her own mother had failed Lissa for the first fourteen years, but Jane and Tom Simms had picked up the pieces and given her a future. They were the parents she turned to. Her own mother was someone she occasionally reached out to, hoping to find her better.

As she entered the restaurant, the wind picked up and so did the rain. Big drops splattered the windows and bounced off the cars parked along the front of Essie’s. A flash of lightning lit up the early-morning sky and Oliver gulped as he swallowed a bite of biscuits and gravy. Wide-eyed, he looked up at Lissa as she sat down across from him.

“Is it a tornado?” he asked in hushed tones.

“No,” she assured him. “Just rain. We always need rain in the spring.”

A woman ran out of the kitchen. “Land sakes, it’s gonna flood. I heard it on the news.”

The waitress hurried from a table where she’d just delivered an order and took the older woman by the hand. “Bea, it isn’t a flood. It’s a storm. We get them in the spring and they pass. Look, there’s a little boy and you don’t want to scare him. Head on back to the kitchen. I left an order for you to cook while Essie is gone.”

The woman, midfifties and wearing a floral-print dress, orthopedic shoes and athletic socks, focused her wild-eyed attention on Oliver. Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.

“Why, doesn’t he look the spittin’ image of the Palermo twins? I reckon someone is in big trouble and that’s why Essie went roaring out of here in her old Scout. She said Marcus was about to get his ears boxed.”

The waitress tugged on the woman’s arm. “Bea, back to the kitchen.”

Bea remained standing, wringing her hands in her apron. She glanced at Oliver and then at the windows. Lightning flashed across the sky. She trembled visibly.

“Is the little boy scared?” Bea asked the waitress, Libby. “I remember Marcus and Alex hiding under tables when it stormed. They were little like that.”

“He isn’t afraid.” Libby tried to move the cook, but Bea wouldn’t budge.

The bells chimed, signaling that the café door had opened. A breeze too cool for mid-May swept through the café and the rain became a deafening roar. Lissa didn’t have to look to know who would be coming through the door. She knew because the woman, Bea, glanced from the door to Oliver and back to the door. She knew because Oliver stopped looking worried and grinned big.

“I’m going back to the kitchen,” Bea announced. “Marcus is in big trouble.”

Marcus nodded a greeting to a few people, pulled off his hat and headed in their direction. He half grinned at Oliver as he pulled out the empty chair at their table.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked as he folded his lean, athletic frame into the seat. He’d taken off his hat and he dropped it on Oliver’s head.

Lissa started to ask if it mattered that she did mind. Instead, she forced a smile and shook her head. “No. Of course not.”

At her terse response he grinned and nodded at the coffee cup on the table. He turned the cup over for the waitress to fill and leaned back as if he didn’t feel the tension. But even Oliver felt it. The boy glanced from Marcus to Lissa and back to Marcus.

“Are you enjoying your biscuits and gravy?” he asked Oliver.

“Yeah. They’re the best.” Oliver took another big bite. “Can I see your dog again?”

“Maybe,” he answered.

Lissa wanted to hurt him for being so noncommittal. She wanted to yell at him for invading their lives and turning everything upside down. But then, hadn’t she been the one doing the invading? Because she’d made this trip, none of their lives would ever be the same.

“Hey, Oliver, want to come back to the kitchen and help me make today’s dessert? You can even taste the pudding to make sure it’s good.” Essie, owner of the café and Marcus’s aunt, approached their table. She wiped her hands on her apron and appeared to be completely innocent of interfering.

“Can I?” Oliver looked from Essie to Lissa. And then his gaze drifted to Marcus, and for the first time the boy seemed confused and unsure of the situation. “Aunt Lissa, are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. And yes, you can go with Miss Essie. I think that would be fun. When you get back, we’ll leave.”

He gave her a quick hug, and the feel of his small arms wrapping around her neck was the sweetest thing ever. He wasn’t hers, but she loved him as if he were. Marcus Palermo could take him from her. She’d known that when she came here. She’d known for the past year that her time with Oliver might be limited. It had been a constant source of stress.

Essie gave them both a long look that held a lot of meaning, then she walked off with Oliver’s hand tucked in hers. The two were discussing chocolate pie and brownies. Oliver glanced back as he walked through the door to the kitchen.

“Surprise,” Marcus whispered as the doors to the kitchen closed. They weren’t alone. There were still people in the café sending them curious looks that they didn’t try to disguise.

“Yes. I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“Imagine how I felt when my aunt showed up at my place to inform me there was a woman in town and she had a little boy that looks a lot like me. Why are you still in town?”

He had a point. A good one. “I couldn’t leave. I wanted you to have a night to think about Oliver and being a father.”

“So you planned on giving me another chance?” He arched a brow at her, clearly questioning her honesty. Or her sanity.

Lissa didn’t quite know what to say.

She had wanted to go on, to forget Marcus and Bluebonnet Springs. But Oliver had been in the back seat of the car, his dark eyes intent on her face in the mirror, and he’d asked about Marcus and wondered if he’d been a friend of his mommy. Pushing aside her feelings of protectiveness, for Oliver’s sake she’d searched for a place to stay. For one night, she’d told herself. To give Marcus a chance.

She didn’t want to get ten years down the road and have Oliver ask her why she’d kept him from his father. She also didn’t want to settle into her life as Oliver’s mom and have Marcus show up out of the blue one day and take him.

“You could give a guy a chance to catch his breath. This did come out of nowhere,” Marcus said. The admission seemed pulled from deep inside. “It’s hard for me to imagine Sammy keeping this from me. I know we weren’t a good match. But he’s mine. That’s pretty obvious.”

“So, does a new day make things different for you?”

“His mercies are new every morning.” He spoke so softly she almost didn’t hear the words she hadn’t expected from this hardened cowboy. “Nothing is different. But everything has changed.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t know how to be a father. I didn’t plan on getting married or bringing kids into the world.”

“You can’t undo what already is.” Her heart ached for the little boy who at that moment was eating pudding and didn’t know that his father was sitting there trying to figure out if he could be a part of his life.

He toyed with the spoon next to his coffee cup. “It isn’t that I don’t want him. But I don’t want to hurt him. He’s better off with you.”

“He’s your son.”

He sat there for a long minute looking at her. “Right. My son that Sammy didn’t tell me about. That speaks volumes.”

“She was afraid.”

“Of me.” One brow arched. She understood what he meant. Sammy had given birth to his son and then decided he wasn’t suitable to be in his child’s life. And later she’d regretted that decision.

Meeting him changed everything for Lissa. She hadn’t expected to like him. She hadn’t expected a lot of things about him. Like his thoughtfulness. Or the depth of emotion in his dark eyes.

“Time goes by and what seemed like a good decision starts to look like a bad one. Sammy regretted not telling you. And then she ran out of time.” She closed her eyes to regroup. It had been a year. She still missed her friend. Her sister. “And now you’re about to make the same mistake. What looks like a good idea today, five years down the road, might be the worst mistake of your life.”

“Valid point,” he said. “But if I allow you to tell him I’m his father, and I hurt him... Five years down the road, we can’t undo the damage. Speaking from experience, that kind of hurt can’t be undone.”

She wasn’t here to share stories, but she understood the damage an abusive parent could do to a child. She understood the scars, invisible and visible.

She understood how it affected relationships.

“You should at least get to know him.”

“How would that work, me getting to know him? How would you explain to him who I am and why he is spending time with me?”

“I’m not sure. We don’t have to tell him you’re his dad. Not until you’re ready. Or until we think he is ready.”

She glanced toward the window. The sky had darkened and, if possible, the rain came down harder.

“This rain is only getting worse.”

He was right. The rain was coming down in sheets. After the previous week of rain, she knew that the creeks would rise. The roads back to San Antonio would be a nightmare.

Before she left, she had to put all of her cards on the table. He deserved the whole truth, even if it meant losing Oliver. She reached into her purse and pulled out the letter.

“You should read this. Sammy left it with her will.”

He took the paper, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll look at it some other time.”

“Sooner rather than later, Marcus.”

“Right.”

“Fine, here’s my number.” She wrote it on a napkin and handed it to him.

Thunder crashed and the windows rattled with the force of the wind. He glanced at her number and back to the storm raging outside. “You might ought to stay in town.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a little rain. And it might let up before I leave. I have to pack up and check out of our room at the B and B.”

She stood to retrieve Oliver from the kitchen, but Marcus pushed himself out of his chair first. “I’ll get him.”

It was a start, so she waited where she stood and watched as he headed for the kitchen.

He had stories. She didn’t want them. She didn’t want to be affected by a man her foster sister had deemed “too broken.” She’d always had a soft spot for broken things. It was her reason for becoming a nurse. Because as a nurse she had a reason to care, a reason to fix broken people. Fix them and send them home. Once she sent them home, they were out of her life. And then she had new people to care about, to help.

Lissa knew her own hang-ups. She had lived in a broken and abusive home with a mother who never put her child first. A mother she had tried to fix. And she’d failed. Time and again. Six months ago she had promised herself that she wouldn’t be used. Ever again. She wouldn’t enable. She wouldn’t give money. She would always care—she would pray for the woman who had given her life—but she wouldn’t give her the power to hurt her.

She and Sammy had been from similar backgrounds. As teens in the Simms home, they had made a pact to never be abused again, or tie themselves to broken men who would wound them the way their own mothers had been wounded. And they wouldn’t have children with men who would leave scars.

When Sammy had met Marcus, she’d been drawn to him in a way she’d deemed unhealthy. She’d never introduced him to Lissa, but she’d told her about him and about how easy it had been to fall for his charm. She’d lost herself a little, and when she realized that, she’d broken things off.

A few minutes later Marcus returned with Oliver. His aunt stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her mouth a firm line of disapproval. Marcus squatted, putting himself at eye level with his son. Lissa watched, wondering if Oliver suspected that this man was his father.

“You be good, okay?” Marcus said. She heard the rasp of emotion and knew he cared. That he cared spoke well of him. If only he realized that.

“I’ll be good. Can I come back and see your dog?” Oliver took a slight step forward. “And could I get a hat like yours?”

Marcus nodded and he looked up, meeting her gaze. He stood and backed up a step, putting a hand on his son’s head.

“We’ll be in touch?” Lissa asked.

Again he nodded. She took Oliver by the hand and left. Even though he’d said they would be in touch, she wondered if he meant to keep his word or if this was an easy way to say goodbye.

Chapter Three

A couple of hours after saying goodbye to Lissa and Oliver, Marcus was in the field, feeling thankful for a break in the clouds and for the help of his twin.

“How much rain are we supposed to get?” Marcus asked Alex as the two of them moved cattle from twenty acres along the creek to higher ground. They had opted for ATVs over horses. The rain had slacked off for a short time and they wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible.

“They’re saying up to a foot of rain toward the weekend. This is just the appetizer,” Alex responded as he moved his four-wheeler the opposite direction in order to keep a few steers from bolting back toward the creek.

Marcus glanced in the direction of his house. If they got that much rain, his house would be under water. The creek was coming up fast. He had sandbags, but he knew he couldn’t control the rise of water if there was a flash flood.

“We’ll do what we can to keep the water out,” Alex called out as they moved the cattle through the open gate.

A cow spooked. Marcus went after her, turning the four-wheeler hard to the right to stop her. She moved back to the herd and Alex closed the gate behind her. As they headed for the barn, the rain started again. They hit the throttles and raced side by side, stopping after they’d reached the safety of the equipment barn.

Alex was laughing as he climbed from the four-wheeler. He took off his hat and shook it. “Wow, this makes a guy want to build an ark.”

Marcus shrugged out of his raincoat. “I hate rain.”

“But you hate it more when we’re going through a drought and everything dries up.” Alex sat sideways on the seat of the ATV. “So, when are you going to tell me about your kid?”

“I guess I kind of thought it wasn’t any of your business.”

“Really? I’m your brother. Your twin. It seems to me I’d be the person most likely to listen if you need to talk. You had to know that everyone in town would be talking about how much that little boy looks like you.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought about it. And no need to analyze my mental condition, brother, I’m fine.”

“Of course you’re fine. But you have a son. That’s huge.”

“Yeah, it is.” He sat there thinking about Oliver. “He seems like a pretty great kid. And I don’t want to mess that up for him.”

“I get that. But we don’t always get to choose how things work out,” Alex responded. “Well, we should make a run for the house before the rain picks up again.”

“You can head home. I’ll do the rest of this myself. I’m sure you want to see Marissa.” Alex’s wife of five months. He’d found her standing on the side of the road in a wedding dress. She was a little bitty thing, but fierce, and she’d convinced Alex to give up his single ways. They’d married in December, a year after they’d first met.

Alex wasn’t Marcus. As kids they’d been different as night and day. The same went for the two of them as adults. Alex thought things out and let things go. Marcus had always battled it out and held on to his anger. When it came to their father, Alex had tried to reason. He’d searched to find ways to solve their problems. Conversely, Marcus had gone at Jesse and he’d paid physically for his efforts.

Marcus’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the unfamiliar number and answered. “Marcus Palermo.”

“Marcus, Guy Phipps here. We’ve got a car in the ditch just south of the old crossroads bridge.”

“Who is it?” He glanced at his brother. Alex had moved closer, pulling out his phone as he did. Probably worrying about his wife. Or their sister Lucy. Even Maria, if she was on her way home from college. She’d begun her summer break just a few days ago and planned on heading home.

“Not from around here. Name is...” Guy paused. “Name’s Lissa Hart. She’s got a little boy with her. She said to call you.”

He took a deep breath and made eye contact with Alex, who now appeared worried. “Are they hurt?”

“Nothing serious. Doc is here. He’s checking her shoulder. The little guy might have bumped his head.” Guy paused again. In the background, Marcus heard sirens.

It shook him. Marcus could willingly get on the biggest and meanest bulls in the country, a ton of pure rage and power. It might get his adrenaline going, but it didn’t shake him. It didn’t make him feel weak as a kitten and helpless to do anything.

“Guy, are they taking them to the hospital? Do I need to meet them somewhere?” Marcus glanced at Alex, who had followed as he walked away, wanting privacy, wanting to put on a mask, as if this didn’t matter. Alex wore a worried expression and Marcus knew his own would match. The two of them might be different, but they were the same. The twin thing wasn’t just a myth.

He knew Alex would feel his concern. And from that troubled look in his dark eyes, Marcus understood Alex felt his brother’s guilt. He’d sent the kid away. He didn’t know how to be a dad, so he had sent his son on down the road in the middle of a torrential rainstorm with floods predicted. Proof that he didn’t deserve to be a parent. He wasn’t any better than his own father, putting his own feelings ahead of the safety of a child.

And Lissa. He hadn’t given her a second thought once he’d said his goodbyes. At least, he’d told himself he wasn’t going to give her a second thought. It counted, that he’d intended to forget her. But even now, those blue eyes of hers triggered a memory. She’d challenged him to care. For his son.

Few people got away with challenging him. Few people had the backbone for it.

On the other end of the line the first responder was giving him information. He had to focus. “Doc said he’s going to drive them back to his office if you want to meet him there. The boy is asking for you. He’s a tough kid.” There was a smile in the first responder’s voice.

“Put him on the phone.” Marcus waited and pretty soon a hiccup over the phone told him Oliver was there and fighting tears. “Hey, little man. You okay?”

“I hit my head.”

“I bet that hurt.”

“It did. They said I wasn’t uncon...uncon...” He sounded like a boy trying to be brave.

“Unconscious?” Marcus supplied.

“Yeah. So I’m okay.”

“Nothing else hurts?”

“Nope,” Oliver said on a sniffle.

“Is Lissa okay?”

More sniffling and then, “Yeah, I think. She says her shoulder hurts. She’s not crying, though. Doc said she’s tougher than a bull rider. I think you’re a bull rider.”

“I am a bull rider,” Marcus told his son. His son. “Listen, I’m going to see you in a few minutes. You’re tough. You’ve got this.”

“Yeah, I’m tough.” The boy sounded like he meant to convince himself.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes, so you keep being tough and you take care of Lissa. She’s not as tough as she’s pretending to be.”

He ended the call.

“Let’s go,” Alex said. “I’ll drive.”

“I can drive. I want to grab a couple of blankets from the house.” Marcus headed for his truck.

“They’re fine,” Alex called out to him. “If they were in bad shape, Doc would send them to Killeen.”

“I know that.” Marcus opened his truck door and found his keys in the ignition. Alex climbed in on the other side.

“You should take your keys out.”

“Yeah, I know. But spare me the lectures.”

“So you don’t want me to tell you that you care about this kid and you shouldn’t let him walk away?” Alex reached to turn up the heat.

“I want you to stay out of my business.”

Alex gave him a thumbs-up. “Right.”

“Don’t talk.”

His twin zipped his lips.

Marcus might have grinned at the ridiculous gesture, but he didn’t have an ounce of humor in him. He had sent his kid away in this weather. His reckless decision had put Oliver and Lissa in danger.

It took fifteen minutes to get to the scene of the accident.

Flashing lights and scattered emergency vehicles lined the road. Marcus pulled behind a first responder and got out. The rain had picked back up. He saw Lissa sitting in Doc Parker’s car. Oliver sat huddled against her, his face pale and a bandage over the right side of his forehead. Doc leaned in talking to them.

The car she’d been driving now sat on the back of a tow truck. The driver’s side was dented and the tires on the passenger’s side were flat. Alex said something to him about seeing where they would tow the car.

When Marcus appeared behind Doc, Oliver noticed first and big tears rolled down his cheeks. Marcus pushed away memories of his sister looking much the same way. He hadn’t been able to help Lucy, but he could help Oliver. At least for today he could handle things and make sure the child wasn’t frightened and didn’t feel alone.

And then he made eye contact with Lissa and he could see in her blue eyes that she was being strong for Oliver. He recognized the flicker of pain that flashed across her features, tightening the lines around her mouth. But she managed a smile as she raised her left hand in a half-hearted wave.

“The roads are a mess,” she informed him with a hint of humor in her voice.

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” He leaned against the side of the car. “How are they, Doc?”

“Oh, not too bad all things considered. I think Miss Hart has a dislocated shoulder. Actually, she’s a nurse and that’s her diagnosis. I would concur. Mr. Oliver has a good bump on his head, but I think he’s okay. I’ll take them back to my office. We’ll get that shoulder back in place and I’ll turn them over to you.”

Turn them over to him? He started to object. He was the last person they should be relying on. But Oliver looked happy with the news. And Lissa Hart looked...relieved?

* * *

Lissa kept her left arm around Oliver. Her right arm she kept at her side. Every bump jostled it and sent a shooting pain to her shoulder. She cringed and Oliver snuggled closer.

“It’s okay,” she encouraged, trying to smile.

“Marcus is going to be with us.” Oliver said it with satisfaction, as if Marcus Palermo solved all of their problems.

The way she looked at it, Marcus was just another problem. He was too handsome. He was too much of a loner. He didn’t need or want anyone in his life. And the little boy sitting next to her wanted and needed a father. He would have to be told the truth, and when that happened, she knew he would want to stay with Marcus.

“I know he is going to be there.” She bit down on her lip as they hit a few potholes. The first responder had warned her that a ride with Doc Parker could be worse than the accident. She now understood the warning.

The car stopped at what appeared to be an abandoned convenience store. “What is this?”

Doc had already gotten out and was opening the door to help her. “My office.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, it’s better than it looks. I know, an RN like yourself, you’re used to city clinics and hospitals. This serves us just fine.”

“I’m sure it does.” She eased herself out of the car and waited for Oliver. He had been so brave, but he now had big tears in his eyes. One broke loose and slid down his cheek. He swiped it away and managed a fierce look.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” She leaned close to the little boy.

He nodded and sniffed away the tears. “I’m good. I’m going to be a bull rider someday. Like Marcus. So I have to be tough.”

She wanted to sigh at that revelation. Oliver needed male role models. That was all. He was attaching himself to Marcus not because of the connection but because he represented everything a kid like Oliver wanted. Marcus was tough. He had lived an exciting life. He was a world champion. Of course Oliver wanted to be like him.

Doc cleared his throat as he looked from her to the little boy. “We’d best get you inside and put that shoulder back in the socket. Marcus will be here any minute. He just had a hard time keeping up with me.” The last was said with a grin and, she thought, a bit of misplaced pride.

He led them through a dismally decorated waiting room to a small exam room. Lissa gave Oliver what she hoped to be a reassuring look.

“Oliver, do you want to sit out in the waiting room? I bet Dr. Parker has a book you can look at.”

Doc rubbed a hand through thinning gray hair. “Books. Yes, I should have books. I keep meaning to get more. I have young ones that come in and books are something they love to take home with them. I can’t deny a child a book. And it’s Doc, not Dr. Parker.”

He walked away mumbling about books and toys and a shopping list. Oliver followed him out of the exam room, leaving Lissa alone. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. For her shoulder. For the doctor. And for the situation with Marcus and Oliver.

Her peace was short-lived. She heard male voices from the waiting room. Doc’s more gentle voice resonated through the door. She couldn’t make out his words. There were footsteps in the hall, a door closed, more talking. She heard Oliver telling them about how hard he hit his head and that he was sure he must have a headache. She smiled at his matter-of-fact assessment of his condition. He was fine, she assured herself. He wouldn’t be talking and laughing if he wasn’t okay.

And then the door opened and Marcus Palermo charged through, looking ragged and worn. Without greeting her, he took off his hat and hung it on a hook. He brushed a hand through curly, dark hair and then he seemed to remember her presence.

“What happened?”

“I’m fine, thank you. So is Oliver.” She didn’t have the patience for overbearing, take-charge men.

“I’m sorry—” he shook his head “—I shouldn’t have let you leave in this weather.”

“You didn’t have a choice. I’m an adult and I made the decision.” She grimaced as a hot flash of pain hit her shoulder, payment for what should have been a carefree shrug.

“It wasn’t safe,” he said as he took a seat on the rolling stool next to the exam table.

“I’m twenty-eight. I know how to drive in the rain. Could you please go sit with Oliver? He’s alone. I don’t want him to be alone.” She also didn’t want to be told what she could or couldn’t do. Her short relationship with Troy Larson had taught her that there was a fine line between a caring man who wanted to spend time with a woman and a controlling jerk who didn’t trust her out of his sight.

“Oliver isn’t alone. He’s with Doc and my brother, Alex.” He pinned her with his dark gaze. “Doc said your shoulder is dislocated.”

“Yes. It’s happened before and it isn’t too bad this time. I’m more worried about Oliver. If you could sit with him. Make sure he isn’t nauseated. Watch that his speech doesn’t slur.”

The door opened and Doc stepped inside the cramped room with the green carpet and mustard-yellow walls. He glanced at his watch and then at her.

“Well, young lady, let’s get this shoulder taken care of so we don’t miss lunch. Essie has the best enchiladas on Tuesdays.”

She nodded toward the door. “Cowboy, you should go. This isn’t going to be pleasant.”

Doc cackled at her warning. “You think I haven’t reset a bone or two for these boys? Marcus could probably set this shoulder with his eyes closed. He only lets me do it because he’s polite. Shy, quiet type, you know.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes, he is quiet.”

“Well, I can’t fix everything,” Doc said softly. She wondered what he meant by that. “Now, let me see.”

He felt her shoulder and then gently rotated her arm. She took a deep breath, knowing what would come next. Still, she wasn’t prepared. Not for the bolt of lightning-deep pain or the arm that encircled her, holding her steady. Marcus smelled of rain, soap and aftershave, the kind of spicy scent that made a girl think of mountains and lakes. For a brief moment it took her mind off the pain in her shoulder. He was strong. Definitely the kind of guy a girl could lean on. But just for a moment.

Doc handed her a couple of pills and a glass of water. “I’m sorry about that. No way to do it without causing a lot of hurt. I’m going to put some ice on your shoulder and we’ll put that arm in a sling. I guess you’ll know when it’s time to start exercising it a bit. And I guess I don’t have to tell you not to drive. From the looks of your car, it won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

She briefly closed her eyes. “I need to call my insurance. I can get a rental.”

“That won’t be possible.” Marcus gave her a sympathetic look. Maybe a grimace. She wasn’t sure. “Not only is your car totaled but the bridge is going to be under water.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” she admitted as the full impact of the situation hit home.

“For now you stay put.” Marcus’s voice, soft and raspy, had an edge to it. And she got it. He wasn’t any happier about this than she was. He probably thought he’d seen the last of her.

Doc cleared his throat. “If I might be so bold, Essie is in the waiting room. She heard about the accident on the scanner and she came right over. She’s a bit nosy. But she’s ready to take you to her place.”

“Doc, could we have a minute alone?” Marcus asked.

“You and me?” Doc didn’t show a hint of amusement, but a knowing twinkle lit his eyes.

“Doc,” Marcus’s tone held a warning.

Lissa cringed. Controlling men. They were all the same. When he’d dated Sammy, had he asked her where she was going? Who she was going with? When she would call him?

Doc looked from one to the other of them and sighed. “Right, I’ll go check on that young man of yours.”

Lissa watched Doc slip through the door, closing it tightly behind him. Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Stay with Aunt Essie,” he said finally. “The flooding is going to be worse. The next few days could get pretty bad. You obviously can’t drive with your right arm in a sling.”

Stay. She knew that this was the fork in the road. There were many in life, and this time the choice was hers and it would affect not only her life but Oliver’s. And Marcus’s.

“Fine, I’ll stay. But I have conditions.”

“Name your price.”

She shook her head at the reference to money. “There is no price. I’m not after money. I’m after your time, Marcus. While we are here, you have to spend time with Oliver. And at some point we have to tell him that you’re his father.”

“I don’t know how to be a father.”

Of course he didn’t. But what man did? It happened to everyone. People decided to have children. They became parents. It wasn’t as if they knew how to do it beforehand. It was on-the-job training.

“Maybe you don’t know how, but you’ll learn. I’ll be here and I can help.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “That’s a lot to put on a man who, until you showed up, hadn’t planned on having a family. Ever.”

“I understand. But you do have a son. He’s sitting in that waiting room and he thinks you’re the best thing ever.”

“He’s a good kid,” Marcus said softly in his gruff way. She realized now it wasn’t that he was gruff. It was his voice.

“Yes, he is.”

She sighed, knowing the decision she had to make, and knowing that it meant eventually losing Oliver to this man, his father. “I have vacation time,” she told him. “I’ll give you three weeks to get this figured out. And I’ll help you as much as I can. But I don’t want to lose Oliver, either.” And she hoped that in the end she wouldn’t lose him, not completely.

“I understand.”

Her heart pounded hard against her ribs as she realized she’d just given this man a piece of her life. She’d given him a part of her heart. The part that belonged to a little boy.

As she tried to process her emotions, he took her hand gently in his and held it briefly, before shaking it to seal the deal.

That gentleness undid some of her fears and multiplied others. She’d come to Bluebonnet Springs thinking it would be easy to discount him as a parent. He would be the angry, difficult man that Sammy had described, and Lissa would have walked away with Oliver, thinking she had done her best.

But he wasn’t that man. If the eyes were the mirror of the soul, then he wasn’t cruel and unfeeling. He wasn’t a monster. He had been wounded. Deeply. And he cared for his family. Very much.

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