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  “And your dad?”

  Gabe thought about his father for a moment. “Tough,” he said finally. “My dad is tough. And ambitious. A survivor. He was the oldest of seven sons.”

  “And then he turned right around and had seven sons of his own.”

  “That’s right. But all my uncles got the hell out as soon as they were old enough to take care of themselves, just to get away from my grandpa James. My dad’s the only one who hung around, the only one tough enough, he always claims. He used Grandpa’s money to make more money and when Grandpa died, my dad was his only heir.”

  “Would you say your dad married ‘up’?”

  “Yeah. Not that he didn’t have money and power already. My grandfather did pretty well for himself. He started with nothing, came here from Wyoming and won Bravo Ridge on a bet. That was in the early fifties. Then they found oil on the ranch. So Grandpa did all right and my dad took over from him. But my mom’s family was wealthier than the Bravos when she married my dad. And the Randalls go way back in San Antonio, since before statehood.”

  She stared out at the night. And then she turned to him. “The first guy you sent out here to talk me into selling?”

  “What about him?”

  “When he told me he represented BravoCorp and the Bravo family, I thought about the Bravo Baby. You ever heard that old story?”

  He nodded. Everyone remembered the Bravo Baby. Child of a powerful Southern California family, he was almost as famous as the Lindbergh baby. The Bravo Baby had been kidnapped, snatched in the middle of the night from his crib. His family paid a fortune in diamonds to ransom him back. The kidnapper took the money but never returned the baby. The world thought the child must be dead, but he’d lived. He grew up in Oklahoma City with no idea who he really was. They finally found him thirty years later—it turned out he’d been kidnapped by his own uncle, the notorious polygamist Blake Bravo.

  Gabe confessed, “Blake Bravo was my father’s cousin.”

  She gaped at him. “Get outta town.”

  “Seriously. Christmas before last, I went to a big family reunion in Vegas. I met a bunch of Blake’s grown children. And the grown-up Bravo Baby. He’s a PI in Oklahoma City now, married to a woman who lived next door to him when he was a kid.”

  “Before he had any idea who he really was, you mean?”

  “That’s right.”

  She looked at the stars again. “It’s a dinky little world, when you come right down to it.”

  “Guess so.”

  “And I want to know more about your mom and dad…”

  “Like what?”

  “Still together?”

  “They are. It’s a solid marriage. Sometimes I wonder why she puts up with him.”

  “Maybe she loves him.”

  He turned to meet her eyes in the moonlight. “Yeah. She does. And he loves her. Married more than thirty years and still crazy for each other. That’s pretty good, I think.”

  “In this day and age? That’s a lot better than just pretty good.” She smiled out at the night. A dreamy sort of smile. “You’re lucky, to have grown up with two parents who love each other. My mom was the best. But I wanted a dad so bad.” A sad laugh escaped her. “I used to pray that he’d come back to us. Truly. Down on my knees at the side of my bed every night, praying to the good Lord to bring my daddy back to me. And then, as I grew up, I got a little cynical, I guess. About men. And marriage. I couldn’t see what all the hoorah was about.” She was quiet, staring up at the far-away stars. “And then I met Rowdy.” She shook her head, slowly, and sighed. “There was just…something about that man. He was so good and kind and sweet. A truly fine man. I loved him and I married him. And even though I lost him way too soon, I’m so glad I knew him, if only for a little while….”

  He should have kept his mouth shut. But he didn’t. “He died in a riding accident?”

  She nodded. “He went out to fix a section of fence. Hours later, his old mare, Sagebrush, wandered back without him. We found him in the middle of the night. Something must have spooked the horse. He took a fall. Hit his head and broke his neck. Died instantly, they told me….”

  Gabe said nothing as Mary stared out into the night, long gone in private memories of a man he’d never met, a single tear sliding over her cheek, shining in the moonlight.

  Strange emotions welled inside him. He sat very still, resisting the ugly urge to say something hurtful, something cruel—anything to wipe that look of longing off her face.

  Jealous. I’m jealous.

  He thought it and instantly tried to deny it.

  But he couldn’t. There was no denying it. He was jealous of a dead man. A dead man who had owned a hundred and twenty overgrown acres and a tumbledown shack, yet had somehow managed to lay claim to the heart of a woman like Mary.

  He wondered, feeling sick to the core, what in hell was happening to him. He’d never been the jealous type.

  From inside the house, they both heard the faint cry.

  “I’ll get her.” He started to stand.

  But Mary reached across and put her hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to burn him, to brand him inside his skin.

  Her voice came to him. “You stay put.” She sounded relaxed, no hint of tension. “Enjoy the evening.” He realized she didn’t have a clue what was going on inside him. “I’ll see to her.” And she pushed herself upright and headed for the back door, the dog following behind.

  Gabe let her go. He stared at the stars and breathed in the night air and told himself to get a grip. Nothing was going to happen between him and Mary.

  He’d been there when she needed a friend. And that’s what they were: friends. He no more wanted to get anything romantic started with her than she did with him.

  He sat in that plastic chair, staring up at the moon and the distant stars for a good half hour. By then, he had himself convinced that the weird moment of supposed jealousy hadn’t been real. Just a bizarre emotional aberration brought on by their forced proximity over the past day and a half. Now that he’d dealt with it, now that he saw it for what it was, it wouldn’t be happening again.

  Eventually, he got up and went inside. The house was quiet. He slipped off his boots and left them at the door and took the few steps to the open door of the bedroom.

  They were sleeping, both of them. Mary lay on her side, her arm curved protectively around her baby. He tiptoed into the room. Carefully, so as not to wake them, he lifted the folded afghan from the bottom of the bed and settled it over them. From the corner, he heard the thump of a tail on the floor. The dog gave a soft whine, and then with a sigh, put her head back on her paws and closed her eyes.

  Gabe sneaked back out again, silently closing the door behind him, glad to see Mary conked out. She needed every minute of sleep she could get.

  In the kitchen, he raided the refrigerator, helping himself to a mound of cold tuna casserole and a tall glass of milk. When he was through eating, he rinsed his dishes and put them in the dishwasher. About then, he heard a scratching sound from the bedroom. The dog wanted out. He opened the door a crack and she emerged. She went through the kitchen to the doggy door and he went on into the living room. At the alcove that enclosed the stairs, he hesitated. Mary had a spare room up there.

  But no. Better to just stretch out on the couch, be nearby if she needed him. There was a blue blanket tossed across the armrest. He pulled it over him, grabbed the remote from the coffee table and switched on the TV very low, thinking it would keep him company until he finally fell asleep.

  Turned out he didn’t need it. He shut his eyes and he was over and out.

  He didn’t wake up till Ginny started crying a couple of hours later. He got up and went to the bedroom and found Mary in the rocking chair, nursing her. Mary rocked them gently back and forth.

  She looked up and gave him the weariest smile. “Hey.”

  “How’re you holding up?”

  “I’m okay. Really. Go on back to sleep.”


  “I will. In a little while.”

  He took the straight chair in the corner and when the baby was through nursing, he got up and held out his arms.

  Mary didn’t argue. She gave him the diaper to put on his shoulder and then she gave him the baby.

  “Get in bed,” he told her, as he rocked Ginny slowly from side to side.

  Mary pulled back the covers and got in, settling back on the pillow just as Ginny burped. And then filled her diaper.

  Gabe chuckled. “Like clockwork, this girl.”

  Mary started to push the covers back. “I’ll—”

  “No way. Stay where you are. I can handle the diaper thing.”

  And he did. The smell and the mess were pretty awful. Other than that, nothing to it. He gave Ginny back to Mary when the job was done, and used her bathroom to wash his hands, figuring he’d go on back to his bed on the couch.

  But Ginny kept fussing. Mary was getting up again to sit in the rocker with her when he came back into the bedroom.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a little colic or something…”

  “Give her to me.”

  “Oh, Gabe. You don’t have to—”

  “Give her to me and get back in bed.”

  Gabe hid a smile as she handed him the baby and got right back under the covers again. She was done in, without even the energy to argue with him.

  “Sleep,” he said, as Ginny wiggled on his shoulder and wailed into his ear.

  Mary sighed and shut her eyes. Gabe left her alone, taking the baby out into the living room, where he walked the floor.

  The walking did zero good. Ginny kept on fussing. Gabe rocked her from side to side and jiggled her gently. He patted her back and tried desperately to think of a lullaby to sing to her.

  Since his mother had had him and his brothers and sisters one right after the other, he had been nine when Zoe, the youngest, was born. He didn’t have any memories of how to calm a crying newborn. He was the damn fixer, and he couldn’t make a baby stop wailing in his ear.

  If it hadn’t been well after midnight, he would have called his mom and asked her what to do. He might have called her anyway, even at that late hour. But his father would be there, in bed beside her. And as soon as he knew it was Gabe, he’d be grabbing the phone, demanding to know what the problem was.

  Uh-uh. Gabe wasn’t up for another Davis Bravo rant. He would handle this problem on his own. They didn’t call him the fixer for nothing.

  He began to experiment. He tried cradling her in his arms, face up. She cried louder. He put her on his other shoulder. Didn’t help. But then he shifted her onto her stomach, laying her along his forearm, her legs to either side, her little head cradled in his hand.

  Damned if that didn’t seem to settle her down. She burped a couple of times. And then she yawned.

  And went to sleep.

  Gabe held her that way until his arm got tired. Then he put her to his shoulder again. She snuggled in and burped again, never even waking.

  He dared to sit on the sofa, and then to carefully stretch out on his back, easing the baby down off his shoulder, so she slept on his chest. And then, gratefully, he closed his eyes.

  When he woke the next time, it was five in the morning. And Ginny was awake and starting to fuss again. He carried her in to Mary, who was already getting out of bed to come and get her.

  It went as before: Mary fed her, then Gabe took her, burped her and changed her.

  “Go back to sleep,” he told Mary and he took Ginny out into the living room with him again. Now that he knew the way to calm her, he laid her right on his arm. She sighed.

  And slept.

  Gabe stared down at the snoozing infant, thinking that he’d accomplished one or two pretty near-impossible feats in his four years as the family fixer. He’d charmed the most difficult clients and contacts into doing things everyone swore they would never do. He’d found a way to get his younger brothers out of some pretty rough situations, too. Once he’d even talked the Mexican authorities into releasing Jericho into his personal custody when they’d had him on a trumped-up drug trafficking charge and they’d made it more than clear they intended to keep him south of the border for a very long time.

  Funny how figuring out a way to make Ginny stop crying in the middle of the night gave him every bit as much satisfaction as any of the major screw-ups he’d ever made right. As he lay down on the sofa again, and the baby snuggled on his chest, he almost laughed—except he was afraid he might wake her up.

  “Losing it,” he whispered softly, and kissed the top of Ginny’s head. “I’m losing it, Ginny. I’m gone, gone, gone….”

  And then he shut his eyes and went to sleep and when he woke up it was daylight and Mary was standing over him, wearing sweats and a T-shirt, the dog at her feet and Ginny in her arms.

  He bolted to a sitting position. “What? She’s hungry?”

  “She was. I just fed her and changed her. If we’re lucky, she’ll go right back to sleep.”

  He heard a truck engine outside and turned to look over the back of the sofa as the old pickup rumbled past, headed around back.

  “Just Garland,” Mary said.

  He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll go out there and help him.”

  Mary felt better. Much better. It was partly that she was twenty-eight and healthy and quick to recover even from a tough job like having a baby. But it was also because Gabe had taken Ginny for most of the night, leaving her alone to get some much-needed sleep.

  Another reason to be grateful to him. There were so many. It was getting kind of embarrassing how good he was to her. How much she owed him, her own private “fixer.”

  Should she be suspicious? Was that what was going on here? He’d seen a way to get to her, to make her feel obligated? Was it all a way to work on her, to weaken her resolve until she finally said “yes” and sold him the Lazy H?

  “Uh-uh.” She said the denial right out loud.

  She just didn’t believe it. He knew she wouldn’t sell. She’d told him enough times.

  He was, quite simply, a better man than he even knew. He’d been good to her for no other reason than that she’d needed a helping hand. And now they were bound; they were true friends.

  While Gabe was out with Garland, she put Ginny in her bassinet, fed Brownie and changed her water and then started making breakfast—enough for Garland, too. He came in with Gabe and she didn’t have to twist his arm hardly at all to get him to share the meal with them.

  Garland left at a little after seven.

  “Take a nap,” Gabe said. “I’ll wake you when that helper you hired gets here.”

  Mary didn’t argue. “If you insist on being so good to me, you just go ahead.”

  “Thanks,” he said dryly. “I’ll do that.”

  Her head hit the pillow and she was out like a light.

  She slept until Ginny’s fussing woke her. It was nine-fifteen. She picked up the crying baby and went out into the kitchen where Gabe sat at the table, answering e-mail on his laptop.

  He glanced up. “I called my office. They know I’ll be late. And I took a shower in the upstairs bathroom. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” Mary glanced toward the big window in the living room. “No sign of my home care specialist, huh?”

  “Not yet.”

  Ginny kept fussing, so Mary took her back into the bedroom, sat in the rocker and fed her.

  When the feeding and changing were done, it was nine forty-five. She picked up the phone and called the agency. They said the woman was on her way.

  The phone rang just as she hung up. It was Ida.

  Gabe came in from the kitchen as she was saying goodbye. He waited till she hung up. “Well?”

  “My helper is on her way. And Ida called. Johanna’s finally on a plane to St. Louis. Ida says she’ll be back tomorrow. In the morning, if she can get a flight.”

  “Good. So call that agency back and te
ll them never mind.”

  Oh, she did want to do exactly that. Why would she want some stranger in her house when she could have Gabe? “Gabe. Really. No.”

  “It’s only one more day,” he argued. “I can manage it at work.” He gestured toward the kitchen and the open laptop on the table in there. “I’m handling things well enough from here.”

  But she only shook her head again. “It’s just not right.”

  At ten after ten, a dusty compact car finally pulled to a stop in front of the house. A girl got out. Slim, with long blond hair and a prairie dress—puffy sleeves, full skirt to mid-calf. Flat shoes. Mary watched her approach the front door with a sinking feeling. The girl couldn’t be more than eighteen at the most. She looked younger. Barely more than a child.

  “Hi,” the girl said brightly when Mary opened the door. She had a wide, pretty smile and a face scrubbed clean of makeup. “I’m Whitney. Whitney Dale. And I’m so sorry. I know I’m late. I’m, well, I’m just really bad at directions.” The smile faded. “I got lost.” All at once, she looked like she might burst into tears. “I got all the way to Wulf City and then I had to ask at a gas station and then I didn’t get those directions right. I ended up in New Braunfels. And then Gruene. It was awful, just awful…”

  “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

  “Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I forgot the contract. I better…” She made a fluttery gesture back over her shoulder. “You know. In the car…”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Okay. Great. Be right back.” Whitney whirled and raced back down the steps.

  Mary stood, staring after her, trying to tell herself that it would work out, that just because she seemed ditzy and way too young didn’t mean she wasn’t perfectly capable.

  From her bed in the corner, Brownie let out a whine. Mary sent her a glance. She whined again, brown eyes soulful. Mary couldn’t help thinking that even the dog seemed to have her doubts about this supposed home care specialist.

  But then the girl came inside and sat on the couch, her dress fanning out around her like the petals of some country flower. She started talking. “Whew. I just want you to know, I’m new at this. And I’m not very good with babies. And I really hope you don’t want me to cook. I’m a terrible cook. But I can clean—pretty well. And I’m real good company. The lady at the agency said you were pretty desperate.” She smiled, looking perfectly angelic. “So I guess a beginner will be okay with you.”