Every town needs a bad boy, and Wrangler’s Creek’s has been gone far too long...

Getting his high school girlfriend pregnant was just one square in Roman Granger’s checkered past, but it changed him forever. When his son’s mother skipped town after the birth, Roman decided to do the same, baby Tate in tow, hoping for a fresh start.

Now Roman fears his teenage son is following in his wayward footsteps, so he returns home to Wrangler’s Creek, aiming to set him straight. It’s there he encounters Tate’s cousin Mila Banchini, the good-girl opposite of Roman who’s had a crush on him since childhood. The old spark between them undeniably never died, though Roman worries it’ll only lead to heartache. But if falling for Mila is such a bad idea, why does everything about holding her feel so right?

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen

“Clear off space on your keeper shelf, Fossen has arrived.”

—New York Times bestselling author Lori Wilde

“Delores Fossen takes you on a wild Texas ride with a hot cowboy.”

—New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels

“You will be sold!”

—RT Book Reviews on Blame It on the Cowboy

“In the first McCord Brothers contemporary, bestseller Fossen strikes a patriotic chord that makes this story stand out.”

—Publishers Weekly on Texas on My Mind

“Fossen delivers an entertaining romance between two people with real-life issues.”

—RT Book Reviews on Texas on My Mind

“Fossen’s stories are known for non-stop, explosive action with nail-biting close calls.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Deputy’s Redemption

Branded as Trouble/ Just Like a Cowboy

Delores Fossen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Branded as Trouble

Just Like a Cowboy

Copyright

Branded as Trouble

Delores Fossen

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER ONE

ROMAN GRANGER KNEW there were few advantages to being a badass over the age of thirty. Especially when you had a thirteen-year-old son. But this was one of those times when he could put his bad-assery skill set to good use.

“No,” he told the naked woman standing in his living room. “I don’t want whipped cream sprayed in my boxer shorts.”

Roman added “the look.” The slight sneer, chin down, the stare that he hoped conveyed that this whole whipped cream thing stood no chance whatsoever of happening.

The naked woman—Tiffany Ann Baker—stuck out her bottom lip in what he supposed was meant to be a playful pout, and she crooked her index finger, also playfully, for him to come to her. Roman wanted to tell her that if seeing her stark naked hadn’t already caused him to move in her direction, then a crooked finger sure wasn’t going to do the trick.

“How’d you get in my house?” he asked.

She smiled as if that was a good response to his snarled question. “Your housekeeper let me in before she left to do some errands. Oh, and she said to tell you that the upstairs toilet is making a gurgling sound. She jiggled the handle, but that didn’t work.”

Then he needed to have a chat with his live-in housekeeper, Anita, about allowing in women with whipped cream cans. Apparently, he also needed to call a plumber.

“You can’t stay,” Roman spelled out to Tiffany Ann. “My son, Tate, will be home from school soon.”

Plus, even if Tate hadn’t been on his way, Roman would have passed on the whipped cream sex. He’d just walked in from an overnight business trip where he’d gotten kicked by a rodeo bronco that he’d been in the process of buying. He was in pain, tired and hungry. Tiffany Ann would have stood a better chance of enticing him into having sex if she’d brought him a cheeseburger and some extra-strength ibuprofen.

“Oh, you devil, you,” Tiffany Ann purred. Using the nozzle of the whipped cream like a wand, she waved it over her body. “You can’t make me believe that you don’t want more of this.”

Believe it.

Since the badass look wasn’t working, Roman tried a different approach. He picked up her clothes that she’d tossed on the back of his sofa and handed them to her. “Get dressed and leave. Sorry, but I don’t want to have to explain a Brazilian strip wax and nipple piercings to my son when he comes through that door.”

Of course, Tate probably knew all about it. He was thirteen, after all—almost fourteen—but Roman didn’t want him to have a visual of the woman his dad had hooked up with twice.

Tiffany Ann stared as if waiting for him to change his mind. When she realized that wasn’t going to happen, she huffed, threw the whipped cream and started dressing. The can smacked into the fireplace and started spewing. Tiffany Ann was spewing in her own way, too, because her eyes narrowed, and she jerked on her clothes as if she’d declared war on them.

“I thought we had a connection, Roman,” she grumbled.

“We had sex,” he corrected. “Remember, we discussed it before we got naked, and I told you that I wasn’t looking for a relationship?”

It was easy for Roman to recall that because he had that same chat with all his potential lovers. Between his job as a rodeo promoter and being a single dad, he didn’t have time for anything more than just casual sex. And hell in a big-assed handbasket, it wasn’t as if he was the relationship type, anyway.

That’s why he had a three-fuck rule.

Three times or less was just casual sex, but anything more than that strayed into commitment territory. He’d spelled out that rule to Tiffany Ann.

Despite that spelling-out, Roman could tell from Tiffany Ann’s body language and expression that she hadn’t bought it. He could almost predict what she was going to say: I thought I could change your mind. I didn’t believe you were serious when you said that. Or, I was certain that I was different from every other woman and that you really cared about me.

He did care.

Just not in the way that Tiffany Ann or any other woman would ever want. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

But Tiffany Ann didn’t say any of those things or even a variation of them. “I hope your toilet explodes and dumps pee-water all over your stupid head.”

With that grade-school remark, she snapped back her shoulders and walked out as if she’d been the one to put an end to this tryst. It was a good spin on things for her and meant she’d likely move on fast.

Despite his badass label, he really didn’t want her hurt.

Definitely didn’t want her shedding any tears over him.

That was another reason Roman had told her the truth right from the start. Of course, he was learning that the truth didn’t always keep things as uncomplicated as he wanted. Celibacy didn’t, either. For some reason, women took that as a challenge to test his commitment to it.

He doubted Tiffany Ann would come back, but he locked the door just in case. Tate could use his key to get in when he got home, which should be in less than fifteen minutes. The reason Roman had bought this particular house was because it was just up the street from the middle school. Tate had insisted he’d rather walk than have a sitter drive him to and from school while Roman was at work. His son hated the idea of a sitter.

Actually, Tate hated a lot of things these days.

Roman included.

He took his suitcase to his bedroom, wincing with each move, and he headed straight for the bathroom so he could locate some pain meds. He downed them with water he drank straight from the faucet, stripped and got in the shower.

Hell, he had a fist-size bruise on his lower right stomach and another on his chest. He hoped he didn’t have a cracked rib to go along with it. If he did, it served him right. He’d ridden broncos for years and knew better than to get too close to one named Shit-kicker.

His phone was ringing when Roman stepped out of the shower, and he saw his sister’s name on the screen.

Sophie ran the family business, Granger Western, which Roman wanted no part of. That applied to a lot of things when it came to his family. He didn’t want the Granger Ranch, either, even though he legally owned it. And he definitely didn’t want to deal with his mother.

Since Sophie’s call was likely about one of those things—mother, ranch, business—he let it go to voice mail. He’d talk to her later, after the pain meds had kicked in and he’d gotten something to eat.

Roman made his way to the kitchen, located some leftover chili in the fridge and went through the mail on the island while he zapped the chili in the microwave. Junk mail, electric bill, junk mail. And his stomach tightened when he spotted the return address on the next envelope that had been sent to his son.

Valerie Banchini.

His old high school girlfriend.

But more importantly, Tate’s mom.

It’d been over six months since she’d communicated with Tate in any way. That had been a birthday card that was four months late. Hell, it hadn’t even been a real birthday card. Valerie had scratched out “Be My Valentine” and scrawled “Happy B’day, Baby” instead. On the inside, she’d lined through “Love, Doug” and written “Mommy loves you!!!!”

Maybe this was an early card to celebrate his fourteenth birthday, which was still weeks away. Or it could be just a “thinking of you” note.

Either way, it would send Tate into a tailspin.

Anything from his mother always did. His son had never come out and said it, but Roman suspected that the meager contact was a reminder for Tate that the only part his mom had had in his life was regifted cards and an occasional phone call. It sucked. And Roman despised her for it.

But not nearly as much as he despised himself.

He should have done better by his son. Should have been able to rewrite the past and give the kid a mother he deserved. Instead, he’d started out Tate’s life in a tangled mess.

Roman had been just eighteen when he’d gotten Valerie pregnant. No three-fuck rule back then. They’d been going out for a couple of months, had had sex too many times to count, and one of those times the condom had failed. Hard to curse the condom company, though, because he’d gotten Tate.

Of course, he’d also gotten “Valerie baggage” since she’d skipped out on both of them shortly after Tate was born. Too bad that baggage wasn’t just his and only his, but this crap always got on his son.

His phone rang again as the microwave dinged. Not Sophie this time but his brother, Garrett. This would be about ranching business, so he also let it go to voice mail. Apparently, though, his brother wasn’t taking no-answer for an answer because Roman’s phone rang again right away.

But it wasn’t Garrett. It was Tate’s school.

Everything inside Roman went still, and he hit the answer button. “Mr. Granger?” a woman said after Roman greeted the caller. “This is Principal Wilson.”

Yeah, Roman recognized her voice. That was because he’d been called in for chats with the woman about Tate’s sullen behavior and slipping grades. “Is Tate all right?” Roman immediately asked.

He heard something he didn’t want to hear. The principal’s heavy sigh. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Tate got in a fight at school. He got a cut on his lip. He’s fine physically. The nurse is treating it now.”

“I’ll be right there.” Roman grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

“Good. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to come. Tate said you were away on business again.”

Roman didn’t miss the again, and he couldn’t argue with it. He was gone a lot. That’s why he’d hired Anita, but a live-in housekeeper couldn’t fix something like this.

He tried to tamp down the emotions that bubbled up inside him. And failed. His boy was hurt. “Who gave him that busted lip?”

“A classmate. But you should know that Tate punched him first. The other student has a cut lip and a bruised face. Since we weren’t sure if anything was broken, that student’s being sent to the hospital.”

Roman bit back the profanity, barely, and he hurried out the door. Not walking, but rather running, which wasn’t exactly easy in cowboy boots and with his side throbbing like a bad tooth. He got in his truck and took off, heading for the school.

“Why did this happen?” Roman asked her. “How did the fight start?”

“Neither boy will say, but Tate might talk to you about it.”

Roman doubted it. He wasn’t his son’s go-to person for any form of communication.

“You should know that this is very serious,” the principal went on. “Tate will be expelled for this.”

Now Roman cursed, and judging from the sound of disapproval the principal made, she was convinced that Tate’s cursing, badass, black-sheep father was the reason for this mess he was in.

And the principal was probably right.

“Expelled?” Roman questioned. “That seems pretty extreme for a schoolyard fight.”

“We have a zero tolerance policy for this sort of thing when injuries are involved. Mr. Granger, you’ll need to find Tate another school. I also think you should get him some counseling. We can talk about that when you get here.” And the principal ended the call.

He’d tried to coax Tate into counseling, and hadn’t succeeded in doing that, either, but Roman would try it again. He would also somehow convince Principal Wilson into nixing the expulsion so Tate could stay in school. Tate had several friends there, and Roman didn’t want the kid to have to re-create his life.

Roman pulled into the school parking lot, took the first spot he could find and hurried into the building. The principal’s office was just off the main hall so he headed there and immediately spotted Ms. Wilson standing next to another woman.

Both turned to him when he came through the door.

Roman instantly knew something was wrong. Something more than the obvious.

“Mr. Granger,” Principal Wilson said. “This is Mandy Rodriguez, the school nurse.” The two women exchanged glances.

Uneasy glances.

This was where Roman’s experience created some very bad scenarios in his head. He’d been in bar fights. Had had his face punched and his lip busted. But not once had those injuries been serious enough to send him to the hospital.

“Is Tate okay?” Roman asked.

The nurse nodded but then shook her head. “I left him alone for only a couple of minutes when I went to get some cotton swabs to clean his lip.” She paused, swallowed hard. “When I came back, Tate was gone. Mr. Granger, I think your son ran away.”

CHAPTER TWO

MILA BANCHINI KNEW there were few advantages to being a virgin over the age of thirty. Especially not in a small ranching town like Wrangler’s Creek.

One of those nonadvantages was waiting for her when she stepped outside her bookstore to close up for the day.

Ian Busby.

He was in his early twenties, as skinny as a zipper, and his pinched, flushed face reminded her of a rooster. He also had horny written all over him. Literally. Well, it was printed on his T-shirt, anyway.

Me So Horny was emblazoned above a picture of a rhino.

She doubted the shirt was a bad gift from a friend. Or that he’d lost a bet and been forced to wear it. No, he’d probably picked it out himself and was proud of not only the sentiment but also the butchered grammar.

Mila didn’t acknowledge he was there. She locked up and started walking home. Normally, she drove the quarter of a mile or so to her house, but the spring weather had been so nice that morning that she’d decided to walk. Bad idea. Because now she had to walk back, and with each step Ian was trailing along beside her.

“Did you give any more thought to going out with me?” Ian asked.

“No. Because I told you when you asked that it wasn’t going to happen.” She didn’t try to sound even remotely pleasant because Mila had learned the hard way that pleasantness only encouraged Ian and the rest of his brothers. Of course, ignoring them seemed to encourage them, as well. Her breathing did, too.

The Busby boys, and apparently every other eligible male in town, were on some kind of quest to rid her of her virginal condition. Maybe because they thought that since she was thirty-one she was desperate. And that she had therefore lowered her standards to rock bottom.

She hadn’t.

Just the opposite. It was those high standards that had left her in this condition in the first place, and if she were to loosen those standards, it wouldn’t be with somebody like Ian.

“But I really like you,” he went on. “And you’re one of the prettiest women in town.”

If that was true, which it wasn’t, then she could have pointed out then that her beauty gave her far better options than his gene pool. The Busby brothers’ claims to fame were cow-tipping, peeing on electric fences and wearing T-shirts with horny written on them.

“I won’t go out with you,” Mila stated, and kept walking. She couldn’t get home fast enough. Then she could change into yoga pants and watch one of her favorite movies. She was in a Titanic sort of mood, but she only watched the romantic parts.

Ah, Jack.

Now, why hadn’t he survived, moved to Wrangler’s Creek and frozen time so she could meet him?

Of course, time had frozen in a different kind of way. Not just because it was taking forever for her to get home, but because she was walking down Main Street, which looked almost identical to the way it had over three decades ago when Mila was born. No big-box stores here. In fact, no chain stores of any kind. This was the mom-and-pop business model where everybody knew everybody and bought local as much as possible. That was good for her bookstore, but there were times when Mila dreamed about ditching everything and starting fresh.

“I wish you’d change your mind about going out with me,” Ian went on. “I got a real nice date planned. Friday is two-for-one corn dogs at the Longhorn Bar. Two-for-one beers, too, if we get there early enough. Then I could take you to that pretty spot out by the creek where we could look at UFOs.”

She mentally stumbled over that last word. He probably thought he was being cute by not saying something expected like stars or moonlight on the water. Then again, UFO could be code for his penis. Maybe Uncovered F-ing Object or Unzipped Firehose Organ.

Mila huffed. “I don’t eat corn dogs, don’t drink beer and I have a phobia about UFOs.”

He nodded as if he got all of that. Which should have stopped him and caused him to turn around. It didn’t. He just kept on walking. Talking, too.

“Say, you’re not still into that pretend stuff, are you?” he asked.

Mila made sure she didn’t hesitate a step. In fact, she sped up. And she didn’t dignify his insult with an answer.

“Because I heard about it,” Ian went on. “Somebody said you dress up like people in the movies. Like Dirty Dancing kind of dress up. But that you don’t do the nasty with any of those fellas, that you just do the dancing parts. Well, if you want, I could dress up like somebody from the movies and dance with you.”

She wanted to say she had a phobia about dancing with him, but they both knew this wasn’t about dancing. It was about his wanting to get in her pants.

“I don’t do that pretend stuff anymore,” she assured him.

That was a lie. But she was taking a minibreak from it because the previous night’s enactment hadn’t played out so well. Apparently, her fantasy partner had a different interpretation of Buttercup and Wesley rolling down the hill. He thought it should involve clothing removal while he yelled, “As you wish.”

“Guess you’re still hung up on Roman Granger, huh?” Ian asked several moments later.

Mila hadn’t thought there was anything to get her to slow her lightning-fast pace, but that did it. “Roman?” she repeated as if that were impossible.

Of course, Ian knew it was more than possible. Everyone in town did, just as they knew about her fantasy role-play. She’d had a crush on Roman since she was old enough to realize that boys and girls had different parts.

Or “secret places” as her mother called them.

And speaking of her mother, Mila saw Vita sitting on her front porch as she approached her house.

“Oh, I gotta go,” Ian said. He pretended to check his watch, no doubt to make her believe that he had somewhere else to be.

Which wasn’t that far off the mark.

When it came to her mother, most people wanted to be anywhere else. Vita was the ultimate person-repellant, and while that had caused Mila plenty of problems in her life, she was thankful for it now because it sent Ian scurrying away.

Vita wasn’t your ordinary mother. Nope. She had her freaky flag flying with her Bohemian clothes—a long brown shirt, peasant blouse and dozens of cheap bead necklaces and bracelets. When she walked, she sounded like a chained Jacob Marley from A Christmas Carol.

But it wasn’t just the clothes that made her odd. Vita claimed to come from a long line of Romanian fortune-tellers. Even though Mila had never met any of her kin, the story that Vita liked to tell was that her family had stowed away on a pirate ship from Romania when Vita was just a baby. Mila doubted the story, mainly because her mother was only in her fifties, and that mode of transportation probably wasn’t possible in modern times.

Of course, there was nothing modern about her mother.

Or normal.

Vita did charms, exorcised spirits, blessed houses and read palms. Surprisingly, people paid her for those things, which only proved that some residents of Wrangler’s Creek weren’t normal, either. Even those people, though, thought her mother was weird.

And that meant Mila was weird by genetic association.

It didn’t matter that Mila owned her own business and never chanted, exorcised spirits or read palms. She would always be her mother’s daughter. It didn’t help, either, that Mila’s father had died in a car accident when she was just a kid, only five. He might have added some normalcy to her life if he were still alive.

Or at least that’s what she liked to tell herself.

It was just as possible that he would have only added another level of weirdness. After all, he’d married Vita.

Still, Mila had some incredible memories of Frankie Michael Banchini. He’d done funny faces to make her laugh, had secretly eaten those much-hated Brussels sprouts that Vita had insisted on serving her. And he’d never turned her away when she wanted him to read her a story. Mila was certain that’s where her love of books had started, and being around them was a way of keeping her father close.

She had loved him. Always would. And she loved her mother, too. Sometimes, though, Vita didn’t always make loving her that easy.

“There’s an ill wind blowing,” her mother greeted her. She lifted her head, looked at the cloudless sky. There wasn’t so much as a wisp of a breeze. “Bad juju. That might help.”

Vita tipped her head to a small white box on Mila’s doorstep. The kind of box that someone might use to gift a small piece of jewelry.

Since the porch wasn’t that big, Mila leaned in and had a look. Not jewelry. It appeared to be a blob of some kind of animal poop. Chicken, probably, since her mother raised them.

“Sometimes, you have to fight caca with caca,” her mother added.

Mila could only sigh, and she sank down on the step next to her mother. She considered asking her if she wanted to go inside, but she’d left her Buttercup clothes on the sofa and didn’t want to have to explain it.

“So, what bad juju should I expect?” Mila asked.

“I had a vision. Within thirty days, your life will be turned upside down.”

Oh, this was such a cheery conversation. Mila hadn’t lied to Ian when she had told him she didn’t drink beer, but there was a bottle of wine in her fridge that she’d need after this visit.

It wasn’t fun to encourage this conversation thread, but her mother wasn’t going to leave until she had said whatever it was she’d come to say. Best to get that “say” started.

“Are we talking a tornado here?” Mila asked. “Or something more personal, like me tripping and falling?”

Vita lifted her shoulder. “The vision doesn’t always dot the i’s or cross the t’s. But in these same thirty days, you’ll be on a quest to find the truth.”

Well, she was sort of heading in that direction, anyway. The fantasy stuff just wasn’t working for her anymore. Lately, she’d been thinking about being kissed. For real. Not as part of some reenactment.

“And after thirty days, you’ll no longer be a virgin,” her mother added in a discussing-the-weather tone. Vita took something from her pocket—a foil-wrapped condom—and handed it to her. “Use this, though. It’s a rubber, and it’ll stop you from getting knocked up. You put it on the man’s secret place when he’s decided not to keep it secret from you any longer.”

Mila stared at her. “I know what a condom is.”

“Well, good.” Vita patted her hand. And kept on patting. It went on for so long that Mila had to stop her or else she was going to have a red mark.

“Is something wrong?” Mila came out and asked.

Vita nodded, got to her feet, but not before patting her hand again. “I need to take a little trip back to see my family.”

She might as well have announced she was going to Pluto. Vita never traveled. Heck, her mother never left Wrangler’s Creek. “To Romania?”

Another nod. “I want to see them while they’re still around to be seen. Just don’t hate me when the shit happens. I had my reasons for doing what I did.”

Color her confused. What did Romanians, upside down, devirgining and bad juju have to do with her hating her mother?

“All will be revealed in time,” Vita added, and she started to walk to her bicycle, which was next to Mila’s fence.

She was still confused. “Want me to give you a ride home?” Her mother owned a car but rarely used it. Instead, Vita preferred to pedal the two miles from her place and into town.

Vita shook her head and kept moving. Mila would have gone after her if her phone hadn’t rung, and she saw her best friend’s name on the screen. Sophie Granger McKinnon.

“I’m at the hospital,” Sophie said the moment that Mila answered.

That was not something she wanted to hear from anyone but especially one who was seven and a half months pregnant with twins. “Are you in labor?”

“No. I’m fine. It’s not me. It’s my mom. She had some chest pains so I brought her in.” It sounded as if Sophie was crying. “Mila, they think she might have had a heart attack.”

Oh, mercy. “Just stay calm. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Who’s with you now?”

“Clay.”

Good. Clay was police chief Clay McKinnon, Sophie’s husband and a rock under pressure. He would help Sophie rein in her worst fears. Still, Mila needed to be there, too. She’d known Sophie’s mother, Belle, her entire life, and while Belle wasn’t exactly Miss Sunshine, she didn’t put curses on people.

“Garrett and Nicky are on the way, too,” Sophie added. Her brother and his fiancée. “Garrett was off buying some cattle, but he should be here soon. Anyway, I’ve tried to call Roman, but he’s not answering. I hate to ask you to do this, but could you try calling him again for me? If he still doesn’t answer, would you drive to his house in San Antonio and tell him what’s going on?”

“Of course,” Mila said without hesitation.

“I know Roman and Mom are at odds, but he’ll want to know. Convince him to come home.”

“I will.”

Mila wasn’t sure she could do that. Roman wasn’t an easy-to-convince sort of person. Plus, she always got a little tongue-tied around him. But surely once he heard about his mother, Mila wouldn’t need to do much convincing. He would hurry to be by her side.

She scrolled through her “favorites” contacts, found Roman’s number and pressed it. Since he hadn’t answered his sister’s call, Mila expected this to go to voice mail, but she was surprised when he immediately answered.

“Mila,” he said.

One word. Her name. There was nothing unusual about it, other than Roman had been the one to say it. And, like any other time she heard him speak, her stomach did a flip-flop. She so wished there was some way to make herself immune to him.

Mila gathered her breath, ready to tell him about his mom, but Roman continued first. “It’s Tate,” he said.

Her stomach did another flip-flop but for a different reason this time. That’s because she heard the concern in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“He ran away again, and I’ve been looking all over for him. By any chance, did he go to your place?”

It wasn’t an out-there kind of question. Tate had run away before, nearly two years ago, and he’d gotten someone to drive him to her house. That’s because Tate’s mother, and therefore, Tate, were Mila’s cousins.

Once Valerie and she had been close, too, since Vita had raised Valerie as her own. But it didn’t matter that Mila had once thought of her as a sister because she hadn’t seen Valerie in years. That didn’t matter to Tate, either. He just seemed to want a connection with anyone who was blood kin with his mother.

Something Mila understood, because she missed having that with her father.

Plus, Tate knew that Mila kept a spare key in the verbena plant so he’d be able to get into her house. She checked, and it wasn’t there now.

“I’m going inside to see if he’s here,” she assured Roman.

Mila got the door unlocked as fast as she could, and her gaze fired all around. Her house wasn’t that large—two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen and bath. So, it didn’t take her long to check out the place.

And spot him.

Tate was on the sofa, asleep on top of her Buttercup dress.

“He’s here,” she told Roman.

Roman said something she didn’t catch. Profanity mixed with a prayer, maybe. “Put him on the phone. I want to talk to him.” That didn’t sound like a prayer, though. More like the profanity tone.

Mila was about to tell him to take it easy on the boy, but she froze. “Oh, God.”

That’s because she spotted something else. Something in Tate’s hand.

A bottle of pills.

Tate didn’t have a firm grip on it. In fact, he didn’t have a firm grip on anything. His hand was limp, the bottle resting on its side in his palm, and he was as white as a sheet of paper.

“Call an ambulance,” she managed to say to Roman.

Mila dropped the phone and ran to Tate.

CHAPTER THREE

THAT WHOLE LIFE flashing before a dying person’s eyes applied to fathers, too. Roman now had firsthand proof of that.

In that moment when Mila had shouted for him to call an ambulance, Roman saw it all. His childhood on the ranch. His screw-ups. His arrest for underage drinking. Another arrest for reckless driving only a year after that. The arguments with his parents those things had caused.

He was probably being punished for all the crap he’d done, but Roman wished to hell that the powers that be had taken that punishment out on him instead of Tate.

In that life-flash, Roman had seen Valerie telling him that she was pregnant. They’d both been just eighteen and in their senior year of high school. He’d felt the sickening feeling of dread that this was yet something else he had screwed up. The feeling hadn’t lasted though, not after Tate had been born. The moment Roman held his boy in his arms, he knew he’d never love anything or anybody the way he did his son.

And now he might lose him.

Tate was breathing, that much he knew, and Mila had said something about Tate holding a bottle of medicine. Roman didn’t know what he’d taken or how much, but he knew what this meant.

His son had attempted suicide.

Hell.

Roman was damn perceptive when it came to his job, but he hadn’t seen that his own son was on the brink of doing something like this. It made the fight at school and being expelled fade way, way to the background.

“How far out are you now?” Mila asked from the other end of the phone line.

Roman wasn’t sure he could speak because his chest and throat were so tight. “About five miles. Anything from the doctor yet?”

Though he knew the answer to that. If there’d been something, anything, Mila would have told him. After he’d called the ambulance about thirty minutes ago, he had called her right back. She hadn’t gotten off the phone with him since then and had been updating him every step of the way.

The ambulance’s arrival.

The drive to the hospital, which thankfully was only a few minutes from her house.

And Tate and her going into the emergency room.

The medics had immediately whisked Tate away, but they hadn’t allowed Mila in there with him. Instead, she was outside the examining room.

“Nothing yet from the doctor, but I’m certain that Tate will be fine,” Mila said. It was hard to tell if she was BS-ing, but Roman decided to take her at her word. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around anything else right now. “Focus on your driving,” she added. “Make sure you get here in one piece because we don’t need another Granger in the hospital.”

That was for sure. One was more than enough.

He wanted to know if Mila had learned what meds Tate had taken. Or where he’d gotten them. But again, if she knew something she would have told him.

Unless it was bad, that is.

People kept all kinds of old meds in their bathrooms. Maybe Tate had even gotten into the Percocet that was left over from when Roman wrenched his knee. Or, hell, he could have gotten it from some kid at school or stolen something from the nurse who’d been cleaning his busted lip. Tate could have taken something that could kill him.

Roman heard his too-fast breath, felt himself losing focus, so he forced himself to keep talking to Mila. “Were you able to get in touch with Sophie and Garrett?”

Mila didn’t jump to answer that. Something that caused Roman’s chest to tighten even more. “Yes, Sophie’s here,” she finally said. Then Mila hesitated again. “You want me to put her on the phone?”

It was tempting because he loved his sister, and it might have soothed him to hear her voice, but Sophie was mega-pregnant, and there was nothing in his own voice that would soothe her. He damn sure didn’t want her going into early labor because she was upset.

“No. I’m taking my exit now,” Roman told her. “I’m almost there. Meet me at the ER doors so I know where to go. Oh, and try to get Sophie to sit down or something.”

He hit the end call button and started the last couple of miles. They crawled by. Too bad, though, that his thoughts weren’t crawling. Apparently, the life-flash was the only thing that was going to fall into the fast category today because his truck suddenly felt as if it were in snail gear. It didn’t help that Mila was right. He had to focus on his driving because it wouldn’t help anyone if he got in an accident.

It was the second time today that he screeched into a parking lot, and he hit the ground running as soon as he brought his truck to a stop. It took another lifetime for him to run to the ER, and just as he had known she would be, Mila was there.

“This way,” she said, and he pulled her into a quick hug as they ran. “The doctor is still in there with him.”

Roman got another hug from Sophie, who wasn’t sitting but rather pacing outside an examining room while she had her hands on her back. Roman didn’t knock. He just threw open the examining room door and went in.

Only to see Tate barfing into a bedpan.

His son was alive, conscious and sitting up. Roman wasn’t sure how many prayers of thanks he said in those next few seconds, but he had to have set a world record.

Tate wasn’t alone. In addition to the doctor, a nurse was there. Wanda Kay Busby, and she immediately smiled and winked at him. Roman hoped she had something in her eye to make her do that, because the last thing he wanted right now was a flirting nurse.

Or a cop.

There was one of those, too. His brother-in-law, Chief Clay McKinnon, was in the corner of the room, his back against the wall. Maybe Clay was there as family, but it was also possible he’d been called in because this was a suicide attempt.

Roman went to Tate and put his arms around him. He couldn’t tell if Tate was glad to see him because he was still heaving.

“Does your son have any known allergies?” the doctor asked. His name was Alan Sanchez, and Roman had known him most of his life. In fact, Dr. Sanchez had stitched him up a few times.

Roman shook his head and tried to think. “Sometimes dairy upsets his stomach.” Which probably wasn’t relevant here, but Roman’s thoughts were all over the place. He sorted through the tornado in his head and came up with some questions for Tate.

“Are you okay? What did you take? And why the heck did you do this?”

Tate couldn’t answer because he was still barfing.

Dr. Sanchez pulled a medicine bottle from his pocket and showed it to Roman. Not prescription stuff, but rather over-the-counter meds. Cramp Relief Nighttime, Roman read from the label. Beneath it was something that got Roman’s attention: “Nighttime relief of menstrual discomfort, PMS, bloating and headaches.”

“Tate took period medicine?” Roman asked, certain that he’d missed something.

“Well, it’s also a general painkiller,” the doctor explained, “and it has a sleep aid in it. A medicine similar to Benadryl. That’s why Mila wasn’t able to wake him when she found him in her house.”

“Period medicine?” Roman repeated. That told him just how bad off Tate was for him to down something like that. “Why did you do this?” he said to Tate.

Tate lifted his shoulder, which wasn’t an answer. At least not the answer Roman wanted to hear.

“He’ll be drowsy for a while,” the doctor went on. “We pumped his stomach, but that was just a precaution. We think he only took three. While that exceeds the recommended dosage, it’s not enough to be life threatening.”

All right. That was an answer Roman wanted to hear. Tate was going to be okay. The relief flooded through him, but it was quickly followed by another emotion.

Anger.

This was intentional. If he’d simply had a headache, he could have almost certainly found something else to take care of it, and he wouldn’t have needed three pills.

“Any idea how Tate got that cut on his mouth?” Dr. Sanchez asked.

That didn’t help with the anger that was quickly eating up the relief. “School fight.” Roman wouldn’t mention the other stuff about Tate being expelled and running away. No, that was something he would discuss with his son as soon as he quit puking.

“Why don’t we step outside and go over some paperwork?” the doctor added. “It’s going to be a while before Tate feels like talking.”

Yeah, and he might never feel like talking to his father. Well, that was about to change, because Roman was tired of sweeping all that teenage angst under the rug. It had brought them here, to this, and it was going to end.

Clay stayed put with Tate and the nurse, and Roman let the doctor take him by the arm and lead him into the hall. The moment the door opened, Mila was right there. No Sophie, though.

“How is he?” Mila immediately asked. “God, Roman, I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t know he would do anything like this or I wouldn’t have left that spare key in the verbena.”

Roman waved off her apology. “Thanks for finding him and getting him here. Where’s Sophie?”

Mila tipped her head to the other end of the hall. “Cafeteria. She’s getting a snack. But she’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Good. Then he’d make her sit. Maybe even talk her into going home with her husband. That would clear out the cop along with getting Sophie into a more comfortable place where she could get some rest.

Roman turned to the doctor. “Did those pills damage Tate in any way?”

“Probably not. At most he’ll have an upset stomach and be sleepy.” He looked down at a tablet where it appeared he’d made some notes on a medical form. “But I do need to keep him at least overnight. Tate will also need a psychiatric evaluation.”

Those two words felt like a punch to the gut. Obviously, the doctor thought this was more than teenager angst to request something like that.

“You’ll want to give Tate some time, too,” the doctor went on. “He seemed scared of what your reaction would be. Terrified, actually. When he first woke up, he asked me not to tell you. In fact, he said he didn’t want to see you.”

Roman felt Mila’s hand on his arm, probably because he was breathing like an asthmatic. His son was terrified of him. Great. Something else to add to his résumé of shitty screw-ups. He’d been right to worry about that when Valerie had told him she was pregnant.

“He’s a teenager,” Mila whispered to him. That was likely meant to comfort him and explain all of this away, but nothing could do that right now.

The doctor wisely gave him a moment by looking over his notes again. “It’ll take me a while to set up the psychiatric eval. A while to get him into a room, too. In the meantime, if you want to check on your mom, the nurse will stay here with Tate.”

Because Mila still had her hand on his arm, Roman felt her fingers tense. “I didn’t tell him,” Mila jumped to say. “I thought he already had enough on his mind for the drive here.”

Roman huffed. She was right, he had had enough on his mind, but he wasn’t someone who needed sheltering. “What’s wrong with my mother?”

Even now, just saying the word mother caused him to have a bad reaction. That’s because there’d been bad blood between them for so long that Roman’s go-to expression upon hearing her name was to scowl.

“Sophie brought her in a little while ago,” the doctor explained. “Belle was having chest pains, shortness of breath—”

“A heart attack?” Roman interrupted.

The doctor shook his head. “It’s called stress cardiomyopathy or broken heart syndrome.”

Roman just stared at him, wondering if this was some kind of sick joke. Apparently not. On the day his son had swallowed PMS meds, his sixty-year-old mom had had a broken heart reaction.

“It happens to some women her age,” the doctor explained. “We’re not sure why, but I’ll be keeping her for a day or two, as well. She’s in room 112, and you can look in on her now if you like.”

That was an offer that most sons could answer with a resounding yes, but he hesitated. “She doesn’t always have a good reaction when it comes to me. I don’t want to upset her.”

Again, like his son.

Roman was seeing a pattern here.

The doctor made a sound of agreement because he almost certainly knew all about Belle’s and his parting of the ways. A feud that’d come to a head when Roman and Valerie had refused to get married just because she was pregnant. His mother had considered that an embarrassment and a “slimeball” thing to do.

Her exact words.

It hadn’t helped, either, when Valerie had run out and left Roman to raise Tate alone. Ditto for not helping—the fact his mother and he were both mule-headed. But, by God, Roman had gotten plenty tired of having her judge him.

The doctor made some more notes. The way this was going, he might be scheduling a psych eval for Roman, too.

“Hold off on seeing Belle, then,” Dr. Sanchez said a moment later. “She might ask about Tate, and it’s not a good idea to tell her about him just yet. Let’s wait a few more hours until I’m certain she’s stabilized.”

Good idea. A few more hours might give Roman a chance to find level ground. The tornado was starting to spin in his head again.

The doctor looked at him. “I’ll need you to fill out some insurance paperwork.” He pointed to the reception desk at the front of the waiting room. “Just see the woman who’s seated there and she’ll get you started.”

Dr. Sanchez walked away, leaving Roman alone with Mila. He was too exhausted to figure out the right thing to say to her, but it was obvious she was worried.

“Bad day?” she asked. She didn’t crack a smile. In fact, Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Mila smile. But this seemed to be some attempt at humor.

He didn’t smile, either, but yeah, it’d been a bad day. His son’s life was a mess, and Roman wasn’t even sure how to fix it. Now, his mother was having heart problems. A problem with a weird name, at that. And even though it was minor in the grand scheme of things, his side was hurting—bad.

“Maybe this means you’ve gotten all the awful stuff out of the way,” Mila added. “That’s what my mom always says, anyway.” She made a face. “Except she says you have to flush the toilet to get rid of the poop and have clean water. My mom says a lot of weird things,” she added in a mumble.

She looked at him, her expression changing, and Mila reached out for him. Not as some kind of comforting gesture, either, but with both arms. And she lurched toward him. At first, Roman didn’t know why she’d done that.

Until somebody turned off the lights in his head.

And he dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I DON’T WANT whipped cream in my boxer shorts,” Roman mumbled. He wasn’t sure why, but it was hard to speak.

“All right,” someone agreed. “Seems like a reasonable request to me.”

It took Roman several moments to process the comment. It wasn’t easy because, in addition to it being hard to speak, it was also hard to think. His head was whirling like an F5 tornado. But, despite the whirl, he thought he might recognize the voice. Not Tiffany Ann, standing in his living room.

But rather his mother.

Hell. Even in a dream he didn’t want to talk to his mother about whipped cream sex, so Roman forced himself to wake up. Maybe there was glue or something on his eyes because he had to struggle to get them open.

Bad idea.

The light stabbed in his eyeballs and therefore his head. In addition to the whirling thoughts and dreams, he was also in pain.

“Would you like whipped cream somewhere else?” she asked. “Maybe like in some hot chocolate or on a piece of pie?”

Definitely his mother.

Roman got his eyes open again, expecting the remnants of the dream to vanish. It didn’t. His mother was right there, standing next to his bed. Except it wasn’t even his bed. Not his room, either.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“The hospital. We both are.”

That’s when he noticed his mom was indeed wearing a hospital gown. And he remembered. She’d been admitted for the heart problem with the funny name. His son was here, as well, and that caused Roman to jackknife to a sitting position so he could check on Tate.

Another bad idea.

Because the pain wasn’t just in his head. It was also in his side where the bronco had kicked him. His mom caught on to his shoulders and eased him back down on the mattress. Roman was already going in that direction, anyway, because he didn’t have a choice. He had to get control of the pain before he could walk.

“Your appendix ruptured a couple of hours ago,” Belle explained. “You had surgery.”

Yes, he remembered falling. Remembered the concern he’d seen on Mila’s face. But he didn’t have a single memory of the surgery. Later, he would want to know more about that, but for now there was something a lot more pressing.

“Where’s Tate?” he asked. “I want to see him.”

“He’s with the doctor right now, but he’ll be done in a few minutes.” Belle motioned toward the two other beds that were to Roman’s left. “Doc Sanchez fixed up this room for all of us. Isn’t it nice? It used to be two rooms, but it had one of those squishy dividers that he pulled back. This way we can be together but still have two bathrooms.”

Maybe it was the fog in his head or the pain, but Roman didn’t get it. “All of us? Here? Together?”

Belle nodded, smiled. “He thought it would be a good idea for you, me and Tate to be close to each other.”

It wasn’t a good idea at all. “He knows that you and I don’t get along,” Roman reminded her.

Belle shrugged. “Maybe he thought it’d be good therapy or something.”

Well, it was or something, all right. It was stupid.

As soon as he could, Roman would request another room. Better yet, he’d get out of here the moment he could stand up. No way did he want to be trapped with the woman he’d left town to escape.

“You want me to see if the nurse will bring you some whipped cream now?” Belle asked. “That’s all you’ve been mumbling about since they brought you in from recovery.”

Hell’s bells. He hoped he hadn’t said too much. Of course, unlike Tate, his mom probably didn’t know what a Brazilian strip wax was.

“But I have to tell you,” she added. Any time she started a sentence with those six words, Roman knew that nagging would shortly follow. “I think it’s a bad idea to eat all that sugar right after surgery. Of course, you always were a rebel like that even when it wasn’t good for you. I don’t think you can argue with me about that.”

Oh, he could, but Roman chose not to.

“No whipped cream,” he assured her. He glanced down at her arm and realized she had an IV pole next to her. An IV needle in her arm, too. Roman had one, as well, but he wasn’t standing. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Probably, but when you started talking, I thought we should have a little chat first before Tate gets here.”

Roman groaned. “I don’t want to hear anything from you about Valerie and me not getting married—”

“Agreed.”

It was a good thing Roman was lying down because he would have collapsed from shock. In the past thirteen years, his mother had never passed up an opportunity to harp on him. Maybe she was drugged up or something.

Heck, maybe he was drugged up.

“Tate needs peace and quiet right now,” she went on. “I’m supposed to have that, too. And I’m betting the doc won’t like it if you’re all agitated and wanting to eat whipped cream. Might cause you to pop a stitch. Anyway, I thought we could each come up with a safe topic to discuss like the weather or whipped cream. We could even have our own safe words.”

“Safe words?” Maybe his mom would have known about a Brazilian, after all. Mercy, he hoped not. He had enough unresolved issues with her without putting that in his head.

“Yes, you know like bumfuzzle or Dippity-do,” Belle explained. “Words that we wouldn’t normally say. We could say one of them if the conversation is taking a direction that might hit one of our hot buttons. Then we would immediately stop talking about whatever it is we were talking about. I mean a complete verbal shutdown on the subject.” She paused. “You don’t use Dippity-do in conversation, do you? Because if you do, we could go with another word.”

Roman was certain that even with the pain and fog, he managed a blank stare. “I don’t use Dippity-do. I don’t know what the hell it is.”

“Hair gel,” she said as if the answer were obvious. “And bumfuzzle is when you’re confused. My granddaddy used to say it. But I have to tell you, Roman, you’ve got more hot buttons than I do. Any little thing will tick you off. You’ve always been that way, and I think it’s gotten worse—”

“Dippity-do,” Roman snarled through clenched teeth. He didn’t expect it to work. But it did.

Belle hushed—a complete verbal shutdown on the subject—but she did add an indignant wobble of her head as if disapproving of the shushing.

“Well, this was your idea.” He stared at her, daring her to disagree with that, or with anything else he might add to it.

“Bumfuzzle,” she mumbled.

Good. They’d reached a truce. A weird one with words he didn’t especially want to say aloud, but the truce was in the nick of time.

Because Tate came into the room.

His boy looked better than he had when Roman had seen him earlier. Tate wasn’t throwing up at least. But he was in a wheelchair, and Sophie was pushing him. That caused Roman to try to jolt from the bed again to help her, but Sophie waved him off.

“Don’t even think about getting out of that bed,” Sophie scolded Roman. “You scared the living daylights out of all of us when you collapsed. How’s your head? You smacked it pretty hard when you hit the floor.”

Roman touched his fingers to his forehead. Yep, that was the source of the pain, and he remembered hitting it. Also remembered Mila trying to break his fall.

Sophie maneuvered the wheelchair close to the middle bed, and Tate got out of the chair and onto it.

“Are you okay with this sleeping arrangement?” she asked, glancing at all three of them.

Roman would have slept in a pit of rattlesnakes if he could be near his son. Since there was a sudden lump in his throat, he settled for nodding. Tate nodded, as well. Maybe because he figured Roman wouldn’t chew him out in front of Belle. He wouldn’t. But not because Belle was there. He needed to have a long, serious talk with Tate, but he had to keep his temper out of it.

Even if he was hurt and furious that Tate had done what he had.

“Are you okay?” Roman asked him.

Tate shrugged and grunted. It was more of a response than Roman normally got so he’d take it.

“The doctor said he’d be in soon to talk to you,” Sophie explained. “And a nurse will be by to take Tate to meet the therapist.”

Tate grunted again, a sound that could have meant anything. Roman hoped it was a sound of approval because Tate certainly needed to see someone.

“Garrett and Nicky will be here in a couple of minutes,” Sophie went on. She dropped down into the wheelchair and rubbed her belly. “Clay’s on his way, too. They won’t stay long, though, because visiting hours end at nine.”

Roman tried to check the time, but he wasn’t wearing his watch. He didn’t have his phone, either. But since it was dark outside, it had to be past eight.

“Is Clay gonna arrest me?” Tate asked.

Sophie glanced at Roman and Belle again, maybe to see if either of them had put that idea in Tate’s head. Roman certainly hadn’t. Belle shook her head, as well, and got back in her bed.

“No, of course not,” Roman assured him, and Clay had better not try, either. He wasn’t sure if attempted suicide was illegal or not, but it didn’t matter. “Any idea how long we’ll all be here?” he added to Sophie.

“If she doesn’t have another episode and agrees to bed rest at home, Mom will be released tomorrow. Tate will stay until you’re discharged. That’ll be two or three days, depending on how you behave,” Sophie quickly added when Roman opened his mouth to complain that he didn’t want to spend that much time in a hospital. “If you try to rush this, you could mess up your stitches.”

That bit off whatever complaint he was about to make. Plus, there was a silver lining to this that he was just now seeing. Once Belle was discharged, Tate and he would be in here alone. Where they could maybe talk.

There was a soft knock on the door, and since it was already open, Roman saw Mila. Her expression was as tentative as the look in her eyes. As it usually was whenever she was around him. She was already nibbling on her bottom lip.

“Come in,” Sophie insisted. She went to Mila and pulled her into her arms for a hug. They’d been best friends for as long as Roman could remember, and it was clear their friendship was still strong.

Roman wished he could feel the same way about Mila. After all, she’d been damn good to Tate, and today she’d probably saved his life. He owed her for that, but sometimes when he looked at her, she reminded him of Valerie and the heart-kicking he’d taken from her.

When Mila and Sophie finished the hug, Mila lifted a bag. “My mom sent gifts. Sorry,” she immediately added. “They’re wrapped so I don’t know what they are.”

She took out a pink box for Belle, a blue one for Tate and a bright red one that she handed to Roman. He was a little surprised that Vita would remember to include him in the gift giving. Or, for that matter, that she even knew he was in the hospital. Of course, everyone in town probably already knew. If they’d had a local TV channel, it would have been on the news.

Belle opened her box right away and took out what appeared to be a small jar of ointment. “It says on the label it’s for healing.” She unscrewed the lid, smelled it, and some of the color blanched from her face. She quickly resealed it. “Well, it’s the thought that counts. Please tell your mother thank you.”

After the face his grandmother had made, Tate was a little hesitant opening his. He touched it the way a person might if they were trying to avoid poison ivy. But there was nothing smelly inside. He took out a yo-yo. Tate glanced at him, Belle, Sophie and then Mila as if they might have an explanation for the gift choice.

None of them did.

Roman wasn’t sure Tate even knew what it was, but his son forced a smile. “Please tell Mrs. Banchini thanks and that I like it.”

Mila smiled, not forced, and all attention then turned to Roman. He nearly feigned being too weak to deal with opening presents, but one of them would just open it for him. He was going to have to man-up and deal with whatever Vita had given him. Considering, though, that the woman put curses on people, he approached his with the same caution that Tate had.

There was a gold foil wrapper inside.

At first, Roman thought it was candy, but no, it was a condom.

He quickly shut the lid, cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, personal,” he said because everyone was clearly waiting for the big reveal. “Tell Vita thanks,” he added, and hoped it sounded sincere.

He wasn’t.

Did the woman expect him to be having sex while he was in the hospital? Good gravy. He really had to do something to tone down his badass reputation.

“Is it an egg with poop on it?” Mila asked. “Because my mom likes to send stuff like that. She gave me chicken poop earlier when—” She stopped and suddenly got very interested in looking in the empty bag that had once held the gifts.

Roman didn’t think there was anything else interesting in there, but he did wonder why Mila hadn’t finished. And why Vita had given her chicken shit. He had no intention of asking her either of those things—he could probably find out from Sophie, anyway—and besides, they were interrupted.

A nurse stepped into the doorway. Not the Busby sister, but it was someone Roman knew well. Alicia Dearman. He’d lost his virginity to her way back when, and judging from the smile she gave him, she was remembering that in great detail. Roman remembered, too, and it wasn’t something he wanted to repeat.

He could almost feel his testosterone levels drop with that thought.

Still, Alicia was a barracuda in bed. And yes, teeth were involved, and even if he hadn’t just had surgery, he wasn’t looking for sex. He wanted to focus on his son.

Even though Vita obviously thought the sex would win out.

“How are y’all doing?” Alicia asked. She spared Belle, Mila, Sophie and Tate only a glance and kept her attention on Roman.

Roman adjusted his badass expression and added a bunched-up forehead so it would look as if he was in pain. He was, so it wasn’t that hard to do.

“Poor baby,” Alicia said. “I’ll see about getting you some meds. For now, though, I need to borrow this little guy. Dr. Woodliff wants to see him.”

That was a name Roman didn’t recognize, but he figured it was the therapist. “Can I go with him?” Roman asked.

“No, that’s okay,” Tate quickly said, and Alicia made a sound of agreement.

Roman tried not to let that sting. Especially since it would have been hard for him to get out of bed right now. Still, he wanted to know what the therapist was going to say to Tate. And vice versa.

Especially the vice versa.

Tate might tell the doc that the reason he took those pills was because he hated his dad. Hell, Tate could think Roman hated him. He didn’t. But for some reason, Tate just wasn’t feeling the love. Maybe because he was feeling Valerie’s rejection even more.

“I’ll just walk with them,” Sophie said when the nurse wheeled Tate out into the hallway. “That way, I can maybe find out how long Tate’s session will take.”

Roman thanked her. Sophie wouldn’t listen at the door or anything, but she might be able to get a sense of how Tate felt about all of this. His son was far more likely to open up to his aunt, or even to the janitor, than he was to Roman.

“I should be going, too,” Mila said. She headed for the door, but Belle practically scurried off the bed to stop her.

His mother looked in the hall and shut the door. She also pulled Mila closer. “I had one of those life-changing moments when I thought I was dying,” Belle said to her.

His mom probably thought she was whispering softly enough for Roman not to hear her. She wasn’t.

“I’ve heard that can happen.” Mila glanced at him as though he knew what this was all about. Maybe Belle was going to give her some safe words, too. If so, he hoped they were better than bumfuzzle or Dippity-do.

“It got me thinking,” Belle went on. “I stopped living my life when I lost my husband. It was as if I buried myself right along with him, and I want that to change. I’m only sixty, not a hundred and sixty.”

Mila gave him another uncomfortable glance, but his only response was a “you’re on your own here” shrug.

“Anyway, I know you love those online fantasy sites,” Belle went on. Now, that got his attention, and Roman found himself trying to quiet his pulse just so it wouldn’t drum in his ear and he could hear better.

Fantasy sites? Maybe this had something to do with books. After all, Mila did own a bookstore.

“I’m off those for a while,” Mila whispered. Her voice was considerably softer than Belle’s, but he still heard it.

“Yes, the Buttercup fiasco. I heard you talking to Sophie about it on the phone. But that was just one negative experience out of a dozen or more, right? And honestly, as pretty as you are, no wonder Wesley wanted to get in your pants.”

That really got his attention. Was this Wesley guy real? From the sound of it, yes. And also from the sound of it, he’d done something to Mila to upset her.

“I want the name of the site,” Belle went on. “I want to have a 10 movie experience. You know, Bo Derrick running down the beach with her hair braided.”

Mila shook her head. “I’m not familiar with that—”

“’Cause you’re too young, but I remember it.” His mother made what appeared to be a dreamy sigh. “And I always wanted to do it. I want to do that beach scene where the seaweed washes over the kissing couple, too.”

What the hell?

Roman must have made some kind of sound, probably a grunt of uncomfortable confusion, because both women looked at him.

“Did you hear us?” Belle asked, her tone one of pure shock. He wasn’t sure why it was hard to believe he’d heard her since he was only about ten feet away.

“I heard some of it. What’s this about, anyway?”

Mila couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if he’d put wet Pop Rocks in her panties. “Nothing. Just a way to keep myself entertained.” She brushed a quick kiss on Belle’s cheek. Waved an equally quick goodbye to Roman. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she added to his mom, and hurried out.

Roman waited for Belle to explain. And waited. And he waited some more. When it was obvious she wasn’t going to spill all, he opened his mouth to ask her about it. But opening it was as far as he got.

“Bumfuzzle,” she said. His mother made a locking motion with a key over her lips and got back in bed.

Heck. Roman hadn’t expected the safe word to work in her favor. But he didn’t press it. One way or another, he’d just get the truth from Sophie.

CHAPTER FIVE

“WHAT DO YOU mean Roman was asking about my sex life?” Mila asked Sophie, who was on the other end of the phone line.

This wasn’t exactly a conversation Mila wanted to have while walking across the hospital parking lot, but it wasn’t something she wanted to put off, either. Anything about Roman, especially Roman mentioning her, had a way of capturing her complete attention.

“He heard you talking to Mom about the fantasy stuff,” Sophie explained, “and when I went to see him earlier, he worked it into the conversation.”

“How the devil did he work that in?”

“He asked if you were still a virgin.”

Mila wasn’t sure why that caused her to blush. Everybody in town probably talked about that, but it caused a little tingle inside her to know that it was something on Roman’s mind. It likely wasn’t a deep interest for him, though. More like a curiosity.

“I told him yes, you were still a virgin,” Sophie went on, “and that he was the reason for it.”

Mila gasped and nearly dropped her phone. “You didn’t.”

“No. Just kidding. But it’s the truth.”

In part, and in a very roundabout way, it was the truth. Mila put her hand to her heart to try to steady it. She needed to regain her composure and get rid of the flushed cheeks before she went into Belle’s hospital room.

Where Roman would be.

Mila had wanted to wait to have this conversation with Sophie’s mom until after the woman got home, but Belle had called earlier and asked her to come over on her lunch break.

“Admit it,” Sophie went on, “no man has ever lived up to Roman in your eyes. Though I don’t have a clue why you feel that way. He’s pigheaded and sullen.”

Yes, but he was also alarmingly handsome. The kind of handsome that made a woman stop breathing. Stop thinking. And start feeling warm in all the secret places of her body. The Grangers were all good-looking, but in her opinion Roman was at the top of that good-looking man-heap.

And now he was here. And hurting.

Not just from his surgery but because of what’d happened with Tate.

“How was Tate when you saw him earlier?” Mila asked.

“Changing the subject. You always do that when I talk about Roman. But in this case I’ll give you a pass because I know you’re worried about Tate. So am I. The doctor said the pills didn’t do any harm, but that he’ll need to keep seeing the therapist.”

Mila had expected that. “Did Tate say how the first therapy session went?” She stopped outside the hospital doors since she didn’t want to continue this conversation while she went through the waiting room.

“He grunted when I asked. Have you noticed that Roman’s and his grunts are identical? It’s weird.”

Yes, she had noticed. For some reason, even the little things about Roman jumped into her head and stayed there.

“One more thing, and I’ll let you go,” Sophie said. “If you help Mom set up one of the fantasy dates, give Clay the guy’s name so he can run a background check on him. The way we do for you.”

Clay did indeed do that for her. He’d started it shortly after one of her “dates” had gotten drunk and broken into the bookstore. There’d been no real damage, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Mila assured her that she would, ended the call and made her way into the hospital. The waiting room was packed, making her wonder if these people all needed medical attention or if they were there to find out what was going on with the Grangers. Sometimes, it was tough being the richest family in town. People admired them, wanted to be them, but there were some who would probably like to see Sophie and her family brought down a peg or two.

And they had been.

Only two years ago Sophie and Garrett had nearly lost the family business when one of their accountants got involved in money laundering. It’d been a huge scandal. In part, because at first the main suspect was their CFO, Billy Lee Seaver. Since Billy Lee was also godfather to Sophie and her brothers, it had made the gossip even juicier.

Shortly after that, Garrett’s then-wife had gotten caught having sex with another man. That had fueled the worst of the busybodies for a while, but now that Garrett had divorced her and was engaged to someone else, it appeared that Roman and Tate would be the next up in the gossip barrel.

Mila would do what she could to nip it in the bud.

In part, she could do that just by being seen in public with her mother. Vita had a way of diverting attention simply by showing up. A way of making Mila uneasy, too.

Bad juju, her mother had said. An ill wind blowing.

Well, it had blown, all right. That’s why Mila was visiting three people she cared about in the hospital. She doubted Vita had known what was going to happen, but people did have gut feelings about this sort of thing. But if so, what gut feeling had prompted her to give Mila the condom?

And to say that Mila was going to have her life turned upside down and lose her virginity in thirty days?

Yes, definite unease, considering that Roman was back in town and that he was probably the only man in the universe she’d take to her bed.

Mila made her way to the hall of the hospital ward, and she immediately spotted Belle. Not in her room, but sitting in a wheelchair just outside the door. She wasn’t wearing a gown, but rather a dress.

“I’m waiting for the doctor to say I can go home,” Belle said right away to her. She moved the wheelchair toward Mila, halving the distance between them.

Mila glanced at her watch. “Why didn’t you just wait in bed?”

“Because Tate’s been out of the room most of the morning at appointments, and I’ve already had to use my safe word with Roman three times. My son certainly knows how to start a fight.”

Yes, and so did Belle. Mila kept that to herself, though. And she wondered about safe words. That wasn’t something she’d expected Belle to say, but Sophie’s mother was a little like Vita. You couldn’t be certain what would come out of her mouth.

Like now.

“Why would a man want whipped cream sprayed in his boxer shorts?” Belle asked.

Mila was certain she got a deer-in-the-headlights look. “I’m not sure,” she settled for saying. “Why?”

“Because that’s what Roman was going on about yesterday when he was waking up from surgery.” She took Mila’s hand, pulled her closer. “You think women have been doing that to him?”

Mila suspected that women had done a lot of things to Roman. Probably whipped cream along with other edibles. She might be a virgin, but she wasn’t clueless.

“That nurse, Alicia, has been flirting with him,” Belle went on. “I told her to take care of my bedpan. I didn’t have a bedpan, mind you, but I thought it would remind her that she’s not there to play under the sheets with my son. Will you talk to her about it?”

Mila would rather eat a cactus. But she nodded. If Roman gave her any hint that it was a problem, she would say something to Alicia. What, exactly, Mila didn’t know, but Roman was here to recover. That might not happen if Alicia managed to give him an erection.

“Now, to the fantasy,” Belle went on. “Did you bring me the webpage address?”

Mila nodded and took the paper with the info from her purse. She didn’t hand it to Belle right away, though. She moved the woman closer to some chairs and sat so she could make eye contact with her.

“Are you certain you want to do this?” Mila pressed.

“Of course. Didn’t you hear what I said about wanting to live my life? Lordy, I can hardly wait to get started. I’ve missed so much.”

Mila knew the feeling. But she also knew something else. “The fantasies can be fun, but they shouldn’t be a substitute for a real relationship. If you want to start dating, I’m sure there are several men in town who would love to go out with you.”

One man, anyway. Billy Lee Seaver. Mila didn’t think it was her imagination that the man had stars in his eyes when it came to Belle. Probably the only reason he hadn’t asked her out already was because she’d been his best friend’s wife.

Belle just stared at her. “You let the fantasy dating be a substitute for your life,” the woman pointed out.

“Yes. But I’m not doing that anymore. I’ve put the fantasy dating on hold.” Maybe permanently. It only made her feel even emptier when she went through the motions.

“Does that mean you’re going to date for real? I hope so.” Belle didn’t give her a chance to answer. “That’s why I copied this for you. One of the nurses let me use her computer. Not the one swishing her tushy around Roman. But one of the other ones.” She took a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Mila. “It’s three dating sites.”

Mila recognized them since they were the very sites she’d recommended to Sophie a couple of years ago. Sophie had gone on one date, and it hadn’t worked out so well. Besides, Mila really wasn’t up to going out with a bunch of men with the hopes of finding a prince among frogs.

“I don’t know about this.” Mila couldn’t have sounded more uncertain if she’d tried. But what she really felt was unconvinced, and nothing was going to get her to change her mind.

“Well, how about someone local, then?” Belle asked. She smiled, a sneaky little smile. “There are plenty of men in town who’d love to go out with you.” Belle didn’t add gotcha, but she could have.

“I’m thinking more about a hiatus from dating,” Mila said.

“Or we could double.” Belle suddenly got very excited as if that were a wonderful idea.

It wasn’t.

Mila would rather eat two cacti than double date with her best friend’s mom.

“And there’s Roman,” Belle added a moment later.

Mila silently cursed, wondering if the woman was actually going to start playing matchmaker. But Belle wasn’t looking at her. Instead, her attention was on the room she shared with Tate and Roman.

And Roman was there.

In the doorway.

Mila got another of those tingles again. An especially warm one that went all the way to places that should be no-tingle zones. Because Roman didn’t see her that way. He only saw her as Valerie’s and Tate’s cousin.

“Oh, there’s Twila Fay Betterton,” Belle said. “Yoo-hoo, Twila Fay!” she called out, and waved at the woman. “She’s probably here because her hemorrhoids are giving her fits again,” she added in a whisper to Mila. “Why don’t you go check on Roman while I talk to her?”

Again, without waiting for Mila to respond, Belle took off, wheeling her way toward Twila Fay, who did indeed look as if she were suffering from some kind of anal pain. Or maybe that was her usual expression.

And speaking of expressions, Mila tried to fix hers before she started toward Roman. She went with what she hoped was a friendly but casual smile. It faded quickly, though, when Roman staggered a bit and caught on to the doorframe to steady himself. Mila shoved the dating site list in her purse, hurried to him, and just like that, he was in her arms.

“Dizzy spell,” he snarled.

“Then you shouldn’t be standing. Come on. Let me get you in bed.”

Bad choice of words. Very bad. Because she went stiff, and there’s no way Roman could have missed that since they were touching in several places. Not the tingly place, thank goodness.

He chuckled, all low and husky. It sent out a Texas-size amount of pheromones. Mila quickly tried to rein in any effect that might have on her.

Too late.

The effect was there.

Roman put a stop to that, though, by brushing a kiss on the top of her head. It was the kind of thing a man might do to his sister. Or a friend. It was a kiss of death for any woman wanting romance. Which she wasn’t, Mila assured herself.

She led him to the bed and had him sit. Again, not a bright idea because she ended up between his legs, too close to him and with their gazes practically colliding.

“Thank you again for what you did for Tate,” he said.

Another nail in her kiss-of-death coffin. He felt obligated to her. And he shouldn’t. “Tate wasn’t in any real danger,” she reminded him. Thank God. “Someone would have found him soon enough, or he would have woken up on his own.”

Mila was about to add that when she took those particular meds the drowsiness only lasted a couple of hours, but she really didn’t want to discuss anything to do about the discomforts of her menstrual cycle with Roman.

“So, did you give Mom those dating sites?” he asked.

She stepped back from him. Nodded. And, in turn, Belle had given her a list. “If she goes through with any dates—” she put dates in air quotes “—then Clay will vet the guys.”

“Like he does for you?”

Mila didn’t make eye contact with him. Didn’t confirm what he’d just said, either, but she suspected this had come up in his conversation with Sophie.

“It works,” she answered, trying to sound light and carefree. “I’m in one piece.”

Physically, anyway. Whenever she was around Roman, she felt a little damaged. As if all the pieces were there but not in the right places.

Maybe that’s why there was tingling in her panties.

“You’re too good a person to not have someone in your life,” he added a moment later.

“Pot calling the kettle black.” She hoped that would cause him to chuckle again just so she could hear that pheromone-y sound.

But no. Roman shook his head. “I’m not a good person.”

Mila nearly jumped to argue with that. There were better than good things about him. He’d raised his son on his own. He’d built a business. And he hadn’t been in trouble with the law in years.

All right, that last part wasn’t so much good as it was that Roman had learned to follow the straight and narrow. Or maybe he’d just learned not to get caught.

“I don’t want anyone in my life,” he continued. “I only have room for Tate right now.”

Of course, she’d known that, but it was a little soul-crushing to hear him say it aloud. And this time, the words really sank in. Not just his, but Belle’s, too. And Sophie’s.

Because Mila did indeed want someone in her life.

She always had. She’d just wanted the wrong person, and it was obvious that wasn’t going to change. In fact, it could get worse. After what’d happened, Roman probably was going to spend even more time and energy just being a dad.

Mila glanced down at her purse. It was still open, and she could see the note with the dating sites that Belle had given her. She’d planned to toss it first chance she got, but that wouldn’t happen now.

Maybe it was time to move past the fantasy level and find someone who could fill all these empty places in her life.

Maybe it was time for clothing removal, after all.

CHAPTER SIX

ROMAN HADN’T BEEN sure there was anything worse than his mother’s annoying verbal jabs. But there was. And it was his son’s silence.

Now that Belle had been sent home the day before, Tate and he had the room to themselves. Something that Roman had wanted. That’s because he’d envisioned it giving them a chance to have some long, meaningful conversations.

It hadn’t.

Tate was playing with the yo-yo Vita had sent him while he watched some show about soy farmers. Not that there was a good channel selection on the hospital TV, but it was a hit to the ego that his son preferred organic soy farming to him. Before that, Tate had preferred a documentary on dwindling fly-fishing spots. Before that, he’d played a game on his phone until the battery had died. When no one had been able to find him a charger, the marathon of compelling TV had started.

Roman wasn’t sure how much longer this would go on. They were waiting on Dr. Sanchez to give them a yay or nay verdict. Nay would mean they’d have to stay in the hospital one more day.

A yay would mean they could go home.

Tate was fine physically and probably could have already left, but Roman was thankful the doctor had kept the boy with him. This way, they could leave for home together instead of Tate having to stay with the housekeeper, Garrett or Sophie.

“As soon as we get home, I’ll start looking for a new school for you,” Roman threw out there. Like everything else he’d said to his son, he rethought that. Maybe Tate wasn’t mentally ready for school yet, but he couldn’t imagine that it would be a good idea for him to just sit around in between therapy appointments.

And there would be therapy.

Dr. Woodliff had already made it clear that he wanted to see Tate indefinitely.

“I can drive you back here for your sessions,” Roman added, rethinking that, too. It was possible that just the thought of therapy was depressing for Tate.

It sure as heck was depressing for him.

So was the fact that he was getting behind at work. Of course, that depression was to a much lesser degree than what he was feeling for Tate. Roman had delegated some of the work to his assistant, and his business partner, Lucky McCord, had taken on some, as well. But sooner or later, Roman needed to tackle at least some of the paperwork. The trips he’d have to hand off, too, since he didn’t want to be away from Tate until things were back to normal.

That was another depressing thought.

Normal hadn’t been exactly stellar what with Tate’s surly moods. Roman hoped the new normal was an improvement, but he would settle for a life where his son didn’t feel the need to take pills to dull his pain.

“Will my mom be at my appointments with the doctor?” Tate asked.

It wasn’t an out-of-the-blue question. Dr. Woodliff had said that Valerie should come for some of the therapy sessions. Roman had nixed that at first, but then the doctor had reminded him that Valerie was at the root of this.

Root.

Yeah, she was. But that didn’t mean she would help matters if she came. She could only stir up Tate and make things worse. She’d stir up Roman, too. Not in a good way, either. There was no trace of the love he’d once felt for her, but there sure as heck was a lot of resentment.

Still, Roman had tried to call Valerie, using the last phone number he had for her. It was no longer in service so he’d asked Clay to try to track her down. Roman had even had his housekeeper take Clay the envelope that had arrived for Tate the day of the suicide attempt. There hadn’t been a return address on it, nor any hint of Valerie’s whereabouts inside. It had been just another recycled card, this one for his birthday. But there had been a postmark, and it was possible Clay could track her down using it. That was one of the few advantages to having a cop in the family. That, and the fact that his sister was crazy in love with the guy.

There was a knock at the door, and Roman sat up, figuring it was Dr. Sanchez. But it was Garrett. His big brother glanced at him, at Tate, the yo-yo and then at the TV.

“Well, hell. No wonder you’re down in the dumps,” Garrett said, clearly not afraid to address the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. “Here, this might help.” He dropped a phone charger on the bed and handed Tate a brown paper bag. “Burger and fries from the diner. I asked them to add some extra grease for you.”

Tate reached for both right away. “Thanks, Uncle Garrett.” He sounded so happy that Roman was surprised he didn’t add some “gee-whizzes” to that. Tate plugged in his phone and started in on the burger.

“Is that an extra grease burger for me?” Roman tipped his head to the second bag his brother was holding.

Garrett shook his head. “The doc said you’re still on a restricted diet so I got you some crackers and vanilla pudding.” He flashed his golden boy smile, the one that made him the darling of Wrangler’s Creek. “It’s not whipped cream, but it’ll have to do.”

Roman scowled at him. A long, mean scowl. Obviously, Belle had been blabbering. Thankfully, Tate didn’t ask about the whipped cream reference, probably because he couldn’t hear over his own chewing. He was wolfing down the burger as if it were the cure for everything that ailed him.

“So, when are they springing you from this place?” Garrett gave Tate’s bare foot a tug.

Tate shrugged. “Dad was just talking about that. Soon, I guess.” He stopped in midbite and perked up again. “Do I have to go back to San Antonio? Can I stay with you, Aunt Nicky and Kaylee at the ranch?”

Kaylee was Nicky’s four-year-old daughter. Hardly a companion for a teenager. In fact, there was no one at the ranch anywhere near Tate’s age.

Garrett looked at Roman. “That’s up to your dad, but you know you’re welcome anytime. Your dad owns the ranch, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, but he hates it there because of Grandma fussing at him. But I don’t hate it there.”

Roman nearly pointed out that Tate hadn’t spent a single night at the ranch, but he had visited a couple of times. However, this probably had more to do with Tate not wanting to return to his friends, because he would have to give some kind of explanation about why he’d been gone. Of course, most of those friends already knew he’d been expelled from school so they might think he’d already moved on.

Garrett turned to Roman, and while he didn’t smile exactly, Roman thought his brother might be fighting back doing so. That’s because Garrett wanted Roman back at the ranch. He was the person in the family who was always trying to get them all under the same roof.

But his mother was under that roof, too.

“I’d love for both of you to stay,” Garrett said to Tate. “But it’s up to your dad. He probably has something pressing back in San Antonio.”

Yes, Roman did. His sanity was what was pressing. It was bad enough being here in town, and despite the safe words his mother had come up with, Roman doubted she’d stick to using them. No, once the shock of her heart problem had worn off, she’d be back to her own harping self. And he’d be back to snapping at the harping. Not exactly a peaceful environment for his son.

Then Tate said something that changed everything.

“Please, Dad.”

That was it.

Two little words that had plenty of emotion behind them.

Roman’s kneejerk reaction was still to say no. Their life and home weren’t here. His job wasn’t, either. Plus, there was that whole other part about the ranch being a crap-pit for him. Too many memories. Too much bad blood.

“Please,” Tate repeated. “Can we go there together?”

And that question erased any argument Roman could have given him. However, Roman could put some conditions on it.

“Okay, we can stay at the ranch.” Roman was surprised a thunderbolt didn’t hit him because he’d sworn he wouldn’t go back there. “But only for a couple of days. Just until you’re feeling better.” Until he was feeling better, as well, since Roman wasn’t sure how fast he’d be back at full speed.

Judging from Tate’s frown, he didn’t like Roman’s condition. “Uh, I was thinking I could finish out the school year here. It’d only be for six weeks,” he quickly added. “I could go to school here and keep on seeing Dr. Woodliff without having to drive back and forth.”

Obviously, Tate had given this a lot of thought. Too bad he hadn’t let Roman in on it so he could have figured out if this was a good solution or a disaster in the making. Garrett was of no help. His brother just shrugged.

“You might not be able to get into school here,” Roman reminded him. “They might not take transfers this late in the semester.”

“Dr. Woodliff said they would. He said his wife is a teacher there and that he could help me with it if that’s what we decided to do.”

So, Tate hadn’t only thought about this, he had also talked to his therapist about it.

“You wouldn’t have to go to the ranch with me,” Tate went on. “I know you’re busy and all with the rodeo stuff. But I’d be okay there without you. I mean, it’s not like I need a sitter or anything.”

No. But Tate did need a father.

And Roman needed his son.

Garrett lifted his eyebrow but didn’t smile. That’s because he knew what Roman was about to say. Best not to gloat especially when the gloatee might punch him first chance he got.

“Okay,” Roman said. “We’ll stay at the ranch.”

Tate smiled. Actually, it was more of a grin. “Thanks, Dad.”

He would have said it a thousand times just to get that kind of response from his boy. But saying it and living it were two different things entirely.

Roman hoped like the devil that he didn’t regret this.

* * *

ROMAN REGRETTED THIS.

The moment he stepped into the house at the ranch, he felt as if he’d gotten sucked into a circle of hell that Dante had forgotten to mention.

Home.

Home was a good place to be if it wasn’t filled with shit memories. And this place was doused in them. Added to that, there was a hoard of people there to greet Tate and him. Alice, the housekeeper. Lawson, his cousin. Sophie, Nicky, Kaylee, Clay, his mother and an old family friend, Billy Lee Seaver. They didn’t exactly shout “surprise” when Tate and Roman walked in with Garrett, but it was obvious that this was some kind of celebration.

No Mila, though. Roman had thought she might be here for this. But she was probably still at work.

The hugs started, and even though they tried to keep them gentle because of his surgery, Roman winced a few times. Winced, too, when his mother told him he needed a haircut. He probably did, but he made a mental note not to get one while he was there. Yes, it was childish, but his mother brought that out in him.

“You have your old rooms, of course,” Sophie said.

She took the gift bag from Vita and some flowers that Roman was holding. Actually, there were six bouquets in all, most sent by his business associates. Tate and Garrett had those, and Alice hurried to take them so that Sophie could show them to their rooms.

Roman didn’t need her help finding his, but he didn’t know exactly where his mom had set up a room for Tate. He only knew that she had done it because she’d mentioned it any time he was around her. Of course, she always mentioned it as a complaint that Roman had never let the boy stay there.

The house was sprawling by anyone’s standards, and they went down the hall where there were several bedrooms. His was exactly as he’d left it thirteen years ago, right down to the rodeo trophies he’d won, and the motorcycle magazines. It was like walking into a time capsule preserved in that circle of hell.

“Your room’s right next door to your dad,” Sophie told Tate.

It was a good room. Big and with windows that overlooked the barns and pastures. Roman knew that because it was the same view he had.

“Your housekeeper brought some clothes and such,” Sophie went on. She tipped her head to a suitcase on the floor in Roman’s room.

Garrett came in and put the flowers on the desk. His mother was hovering right behind his brother. At least the others hadn’t followed for this part of the homecoming. Not that Roman didn’t want to see them. He did. He just didn’t want to see them right now.

“You want to go for a ride?” Garrett asked Tate. “We got in some new horses this morning, and we can see how they do.”

“Yeah.” Tate was obviously eager to do that.

“I would ask you, but you’re not in any shape to get in a saddle,” Garrett added to Roman.

“He’s supposed to be on bed rest,” his mother reminded him.

“So are you,” Roman reminded her right back.

Hell. He had to stop this snapping. Roman didn’t want to drag Tate’s mood down to his own shitty level.

“You want to take a nap?” Sophie asked him when Garrett and Tate headed out. His mother finally left, too.

“Sure.” That was a lie. Roman just wanted a moment so he could steel himself up for the rest of this visit. Six weeks. It suddenly felt like an eternity.

Sophie smiled, kissed his cheek. “My advice? If you need a place to escape, come to the guest cottage. That’s where my office is and there’s plenty of room. There’s enough office space for you, too. Temporary office space,” she added.

“Thanks. For both the offer and the temporary part.”

“I know this isn’t easy for you, but it’ll be nice to have you around.”

“So Garrett won’t have to courier all the paperwork from the ranch that I need to sign,” he commented.

“That, and we love you. You didn’t forget that, did you?”

No. It was the one thing that had given him any sort of anchor. Especially after Valerie had left. Roman took hold of her arm, eased her closer. Well, as close as he could, considering her huge belly, and he brushed a kiss on the top of Sophie’s head.

“I love you, too, Prissy Pants,” he said.

Because it was an old childhood nickname that she hated, it got the exact reaction he expected. Sophie punched his arm. And she was good at it, too. It stung like hell. He’d obviously taught her the right way to punch.

“You know I can always smother you in your sleep, Quick Zipper,” she fired back.

Ah, good one. Roman hated it as much as she did Prissy Pants. He hadn’t always hated it, though. Once he’d thought it was cool that the other teenagers had considered him, well, a guy-slut who got a lot of action. But after he’d knocked up Valerie, the label just made him feel like a guy-slut who should have been more careful.

Sophie’s gaze went to the window where Roman saw Garrett and Tate heading for the barn. “Can Tate ride?” she asked.

“Yeah. He’s had lessons.”

Lessons. That made him wince, too. He was an eighth-generation Texan from a long line of ranchers. It seemed a little like nails on a chalkboard to realize that his son hadn’t grown up riding. Maybe he could change that. Since Tate was going to have to move schools, anyway, maybe Roman should buy a place in the country where they could have horses.

Sophie put the gift bag on the desk, and even though he didn’t actually see her look inside, she must have gotten a peek of the condom. “Did Vita expect you to need that while you were here?”

“Who knows with Vita.”

She made a sound of agreement. “Because Vita gave Mila a condom, too, along with some mumbo jumbo about there being some big changes in her life.”

Judging from Sophie’s tone, she thought this was all connected. It was, but the only connection was in Vita’s warped mind.

“Mila and I aren’t hooking up,” he assured his sister. “I don’t hook up with virgins.”

“Good.”

Well, he hadn’t expected that. Roman had always gotten the feeling that Sophie was trying to matchmake Mila and him.

“Despite what Mila thinks right now,” Sophie continued, “she’s not the casual sex type. And she shouldn’t have sex with some guy from a dating site just because she no longer wants to be a virgin.”

Since Roman could see himself in the dresser mirror, he knew he made a face. “Is that what she’s doing?”

Sophie made a face, too. One of disapproval. “She’s considering it. Mom gave her these dating sites, and Mila said she was going to use one of them.”

Roman had to do a mental double take. “Why would Mom give Mila anything about a dating site? It was Mom who was asking Mila about them.”

“No. That was Mila’s fantasy dating sites.” She stopped. “How’d you know about that?”

“Mom has zero whispering skills, and it wasn’t as if I could get up and walk somewhere else. They were talking about it right after my surgery.”

Sophie nodded as if all of this was crystal clear. It wasn’t. He motioned for her to continue with her explanation.

“Before I started seeing Clay, Mom looked up some regular dating sites for me. Those are the ones she gave to Mila, though I can tell you from personal experience that it was a sucky ordeal. Anyway, Mila gave Mom the sites for fantasy dating, but I’m hoping Mom will decide against doing those.”

So did he. On both counts. A woman shouldn’t have to risk a “sucky ordeal” for her first time, and he didn’t want to think about his mother having fantasies of any kind.

“I plan to talk to both of them about it. Now, you go ahead and get some rest.” Sophie gave him another kiss and walked away.

Well, rest had been the game plan, but Roman wasn’t sure that would happen now. If he tried to nap, he was certain the only thing that would be going through his head was the conversation he’d just had with his sister.

Crap.

Why did he even care a rat’s butt about this? His mom and Mila were grown women. And plenty of people used dating sites, even strange ones like those that catered to the fantasy experiences. One of his business associates had found a site that catered to men who liked threesomes. Then foursomes.

Since it was obvious he wasn’t going to get any rest, Roman used the French doors in his room to go into the backyard. As a teenager, he’d used them to sneak in and out of the house, and he was sort of doing that now. He wanted a moment to himself. And he got it. No one, including any of the hands, was around. Not a surprise, really. On a nice spring day like this, there was plenty of ranch work to do, and Garrett and Tate would have gone out through the other side of the barn once they’d saddled up.

The stitches in his side were still letting him know he wasn’t completely healed, so Roman kept his steps light as he walked across the yard and to the corral where he spotted two palominos. Probably some of the new horses that Garrett had mentioned he’d just bought.

His brother had certainly made this place successful. Roman had the proof of that in the financial reports that Sophie sent him each month. Not just for the ranch, but for Granger Western, as well.

The bottom line was they had plenty of money.

But then, they always had. They hadn’t done anything to get that seed money started. They could thank their ancestors for that, but his siblings had certainly built on that, and built big. Roman had done the same with his rodeo promotion business, but he never forgot that it wouldn’t have been possible without those silver spoons they’d all been born with. Most of the time, though, people forgot about all the hard work that it took to keep those spoons polished.

He made his way to the corral fence to get a better look at the horses. He not only got that, Roman also got a jolt from the memories. There were memories everywhere on the ranch, but there was a bad one here.

This was where he’d had one of those pivotal moments in his life. Well, actually, the pivoting had started earlier that day. He’d been about the same age as Tate and had ridden his bicycle over to his great-grandfather’s old house. Not far, just a half mile or so, and it was a trip he’d made plenty of times before. That day, however, he’d seen his father’s truck, pulled off onto one of the trails that led to the house. Roman had stopped because he thought his dad had broken down, and he’d looked around, expecting to see his father fixing a flat tire or something.

But Roman hadn’t seen that.

Instead, he’d gotten an eyeful of his father making out with the new waitress from the Maverick Café. Roman couldn’t remember her name, but he sure as hell could remember seeing his dad kissing her and running his hand into her unbuttoned squirrel-brown uniform top. Even though Roman knew little about sex in those days, he was well aware of what was going on and recognized the heat-glazed eyes and the groping.

When his dad had spotted him, he’d stopped, bolted from his truck and gone after him, but Roman had ridden his bike into the woods and hidden.

Roman had also cried.

He hadn’t exactly put his dad on a pedestal because, in addition to being his father, his dad was also an asshole. Always wheeling and dealing. Always playing mind games. But the bottom line was he was still his dad. And Belle had still been his mom. In those days, Roman had had her on a pedestal. That had been before the harping, before the constant flood of criticism. When he still had respect for her.

But it all changed that day.

His dad had finally found him a few hours later, right here, next to the corral fence. He’d been neither apologetic nor remorseful. Just the opposite, in fact. He’d simply said to Roman if he told anyone what he’d seen in that truck, that he would ground him and sell his favorite horse, Lobo. After that, his father had walked away as if he’d just delivered some kind of decree that Roman would obey.

He didn’t.

That “decree” had made Roman feel dirty, as if he’d been the one to do something wrong. It hadn’t been fair, and in those days, Roman still believed in fairness.

It’d taken a week for him to build up the courage, but Roman had finally gone to Belle to tell her. He had waited until she was alone in her rose garden, and even though he’d fumbled with what he was saying, Roman had spelled it out for her.

Her husband was cheating on her with a woman—a girl, really—who probably wasn’t old enough to vote. And not only that, he’d threatened Roman into keeping his secret. A secret that was twisting and tearing his insides apart as only bad secrets could.

His mother hadn’t even looked at him the whole time he was talking. She’d kept clipping those roses, kept placing the flowers in a perfect, flat row on the basket looped over her arm. No tears, no denials, no falling apart as he had feared she would. She simply said the words that still echoed in his head.

“Go inside and wash up, Roman. Your hands are filthy.”

Even now, her reaction stunned him, and he’d tried to repeat what he’d told her, in case she hadn’t understood. But she had. When her watery blue eyes had finally met his, Roman had seen it all. She not only knew about her husband’s cheating, but she also wasn’t going to do anything about it.

He’d gone to his room and cried again.

The last tears he had ever shed.

Roman had tried to make sense of it. Hard to do that with his thirteen-year-old’s mind. And he hadn’t wanted to tell Garrett, his big brother, because he had known that Garrett would confront their dad. Garrett was the good guy even back then. He would have confronted their father, who would have given him a punishment equal to or possibly worse than the threats he’d issued to Roman, and it wouldn’t have made any difference.

Belle would have condoned the cheating with her silence.

Maybe his mother hadn’t wanted to give up being a Granger. Maybe all of this—the house, ranch and money—meant more to her than her self-respect. Maybe she’d just been too weak to walk out of the marriage.

Whatever it was, Roman had lost respect for her that day, too. And for his father. Because his dad had indeed grounded him and sold Lobo.

Roman hadn’t expected Belle to go to his father and tell him what he’d said. But obviously she had, and she didn’t lift a finger to stop her husband from carrying through on his unfair threats. Then she’d tried to fix things by leaving him a picture of Lobo on his bed.

As if that would help.

It hadn’t. Not that day, anyway. But he’d kept the picture and looked at it from time to time. Still did. Because it was a reminder that things you loved could be snatched away. It was also a reminder, though, that there’d been something important enough in his life to love.

After that, Roman said fuck-you to fairness and to his mom and dad. He’d said fuck-you to a lot of things. And he had done that right here, standing at this very corral fence.

His father had continued the unfair shit for the next ten years before cancer claimed him. He’d made Roman the owner of the ranch when Garrett was the one who wanted it. Maybe that had been his father’s way of trying to pull Roman back into the family, but it hadn’t worked.

Ironic, though, that Tate had been the one to get Roman back here.

His father was probably laughing his butt off in the grave.

He was so deep in thought that he didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late to duck for cover. But at least it wasn’t his mother. It was his cousin Lawson.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” he asked, tipping his head toward the horses. He walked to the fence, stood next to Roman.

They were the same age and looked more like brothers than cousins. On occasion, they’d raised hell together by drinking and making time with some of the more willing girls in Wrangler’s Creek.

“Garrett loves this place,” Lawson went on.

That caused Roman to look at his cousin. Because it sounded as if there was a “but” coming.

Roman cursed. “Please tell me Garrett’s not thinking about leaving here once Nicky and he get married.”

“No way. Nicky and her kid love it here, too, and you couldn’t get Garrett to move away if you stuck dynamite up his ass. There might be trouble coming, though.”

Hell. “What kind of trouble?”

He motioned to the back part of the ranch. “You know that land by the creek?”

With just that question, Roman got an inkling of what this was about. Because that land had been in dispute for more than six decades. It was an old family history lesson, but Roman’s great-grandfather, Zachariah Taylor Granger, or Z.T. as people called him, had a brother, Jerimiah, who was Lawson’s great-grandfather. Both Z.T. and his brother had built not only the town of Wrangler’s Creek but the ranch, as well. However, after a falling out, they’d split the land.

Except for about a hundred acres that, at the time, had been leased out to another rancher.

The lease had long since expired, and that meant the ownership of the land was in question, and it was a prized chunk of acreage to own because the creek coiled through it. Garrett needed the creek water to keep the ranch growing.

“Your brothers don’t even ranch their land,” Roman said, though he was certain Lawson needed no such reminder.

“That might change. Lucian is thinking about bringing in large herds.”

“Lucifer,” Roman grumbled.

Lawson didn’t object to the nickname for his oldest brother, especially since he was the one who’d given it to him. Roman’s family wasn’t the only ones on the outs with Jeremiah’s kin. Lawson had parted ways with his three brothers, as well. That was mostly due to Lucian. Roman was a badass novice compared to Lucian and the man’s cut-throat business tactics. Lucian and his brothers already had a huge ranching operation in another part of the county, but if they were looking to expand, they’d definitely be looking here.

“Did Lucian tell you this?” Roman asked.

Lawson shook his head. “Dylan.”

Another of Lawson’s brothers. Roman was a novice womanizer compared to Dylan, but at least he wouldn’t stab you in the back. Dylan fell into the lover rather than the fighter category.

“I’ve already told Garrett all of this,” Lawson went on, “but he’s not spreading the news just yet. Especially since it might not happen. Dylan’s trying to talk Lucian out of doing this.”

Okay, maybe Dylan had some fighter in him, after all.

“Tell Dylan thanks,” Roman said. It wasn’t thanks because of him but because of Garrett. This place did mean everything to his brother.

“I will. I’m seeing Dylan later this week. He’s coming into town to meet Mila for a drink.” And with that, Lawson walked away.

“Mila?” Roman cursed in pain when he moved too fast to catch up with Lawson.

When Roman did step in front of him, Lawson looked at him as if he didn’t understand what had to be a look of concern on Roman’s face. “A friend set them up on a blind date,” Lawson explained. “Of course, it’s not really blind because they know each other. Not well, though... Say, what the hell’s wrong with you? Are you about to keel over again from the pain?”

Roman took a moment to decide how to answer that. He took another moment to try to figure out why it bothered him that Mila was going on a date with his cousin. And it did bother him. There was no mistake about that. It bothered him because Dylan was a love-’em-and-leave-’em type.

Just like Roman.

And considering what Sophie had told him about Vita giving her a condom and Mila using a dating site, maybe she had decided to lose her virginity to Dylan.

Dylan would take it, too, because he wouldn’t care if he broke her heart in the process.

“Are you okay?” Lawson asked.

No. He wasn’t. Roman had to stop Mila from making a huge mistake.

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