Christmas Confections, Cowboys and Cupcakes

By Leslie P Garcia and Ana Perron

Christmas romance from sweet to decadently sensual. Four cowboy romances to savor long after the season.

 

In The Christmas Dare, Dey Resendiz and Brand Houghton share a lifetime of friendship and competition, until life takes them down separate paths. When her husband Alex dies in the line of duty, Brand is there to hold Dey together--for the unborn daughter her husband never knew about. But when friendship turns to love, can Dey survive the loss of her family heritage to Brand? And can two little girls with single parents help push Dey and Brand into accepting the most important "Christmas Dare" of their lives?

 

In Christmas Frosting, nothing goes together better than Christmas and desserts. Except maybe desire and romance.

Selden King wants to spend his holiday with his sweetheart, the beautiful hometown baker he has loved since childhood. Rori Medina, however, can't believe he's sweet on her. Although handsome as all get out, he's arrogant and unprincipled---so she has frozen her heart against him. When an ice storm forces them together on Christmas Eve, can Selden win her over with a holiday declaration of love? Will Rori dismiss his words as nothing but an empty confection---all sweetness but no substance? Or will Christmas and cupcakes be the magic recipe for romance?

 

In The Christmas Hand, when Ty Olivares goes home to make a new life for her daughter, she must confront her ex-fiancé, Church Trenton, who owns the ranch she should have inherited. When the ranch comes under attack, can she trust the man she still loves? Or has she always been blind to the motives of a man who profited from her own family's dysfunction?

 

The Christmas Corral played an important part in the lives of Josh Reynolds and Andi Castellaños. The childhood sweethearts were torn apart when a small town accused Andi of sleeping with another man--her fiance's twin brother. After years away, Andi flees a stalker and returns home--with two foster daughters and identical twins who look just like their dad--but is that Josh, or the twin brother who died trying to escape the scandal?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leslie P Garcia
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223421986

Book preview

The Christmas Dare

Leslie P. Garcia

Chapter One

December 1997

One class. One more class before Christmas Break. Deyanira Resendiz slumped against the wall outside her last period class, not caring that she was squashing Mrs. Peters’ Christmas bows and packages. Other teachers would probably thank her, since the art teacher had an unfair advantage—her talented displays always won whatever spirit contest was on at any given moment.

So, Dey—did you find out? Luann Townsend screeched across the hall.

Dey pressed closer to the wall and heard foil paper crinkle. The points of a star-shaped bow pricked her through her clingy crepe sweater. She mouthed a curse and asked herself why she and the loudest senior on school grounds were best friends. Even given virtual learning and the quarantine of the last year and a half, Luann and she were oil and water—or anything even less mixable than those. But they’d been friends since fourth grade.

Bad girl, Deyanira, Brand Houghton whispered. I read lips you know.

His husky reproach tickled her cheek and ears, making her flinch. Why can’t you call me Dey like everyone else does? she hissed back. Inside the classroom, seats were being scraped across the floor, and voices could be heard calling out greetings. One more class.

Why should I? Brand answered, shrugging, and not lowering his voice. Deyanira is prettier than Dey, suits you better—and I can speak fluent Spanish. I don’t need nicknames.

Stuck up, she muttered, although everything he said was true. And did you find out? Because if you did, you know you’re not supposed to be talking. Our ranks are confidential.

They don’t matter ‘til May, he retorted, then grinned again and winked. Besides, we both know how this ends up.

It’s going to end up with you losing your girlfriend if Phyllis comes down the hall and we’re talking.

He shrugged again, and she wished he would just stop. Nemesis or not, Brand Houghton had played football since grade school— year after year in weight rooms and conditioning camps— year after year hoisting hay and throwing calves down when he roped. Just her luck. She lived on a ranch and had hoisted hay herself. She could rope as well as he could. But if his looks didn’t make her go weak as they did most of the senior class— he was her closest competition for valedictorian. They had played grade tag since Mrs. Peters’ first grade class.

College scholarships and the personal pride in excellence they both cherished added weight this year, though. He took a step away as a tall, slim redhead turned their way.

Saved by the bitch. Dey couldn’t stand Phyllis Carr, and not because she and Brand were a thing. Phyllis hadn’t gotten the memo that bigotry was appalling or that the kids at Los Rios High School all got along—or had until her parents moved her here from a private school in north Texas two years ago. Dey couldn’t swear that Phyllis had ruined the half dozen friendships that had fallen apart since her arrival, but she always hovered around the principals like a bad luck charm in tight jeans and stiletto heels.

Brand smiled and nodded at her, then colored when she hauled him against her and flattened her mouth against his to whistles and cat calls.

Students streamed out of Mrs. Peter’s room, splitting around Brand and Phyllis as if they were boulders in a narrow stream. Luann crossed the hall right behind the clenched couple, mimicking a strangling gesture behind Phyllis, and grabbing Dey’s arm and pulling her into the art room. You’d think they’d get a room or something. So, who’s ahead right now, you or Branded?

You shouldn’t make fun of Brand’s name, Dey scolded. And no, I don’t know, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.

But I’m your best friend, LuAnn wheedled.

Even if. Dey hung her denim bag on the back of her chair and sat down.

Our final announcements of this year, Mr. Mata announced over the speaker, more jovial than usual.

Think he had a glass of Christmas spirits ahead of time?

Luanne’s whisper drew half a dozen furtive glances her way, and a few of their classmates snickered or covered grins with their hands.

"First, congratulations to Mrs. Peters, head of our art department, whose festive and beautiful bulletin board won first place in the Christmas Spirit Competition again this year.

Scattered applause broke out around the room, and Mrs. Peters preened and clasped her hands together and pretended modesty she only exhibited when her talents were recognized over the intercom. The principal went on to remind students to remove all food and personal items from school, due to the mandatory deep cleaning to be given during the break.

Seconds later, the classroom door burst open again, as students came in carrying boxes of pizza, a yearly gift from Mrs. Peters.

While students lined up for the pizza, she rummaged in her desk, drew out two rectangular red envelopes and walked toward the door. Dey, Brand, would you join me a moment? she called as she disappeared into the hall.

Brand glanced at Dey, eyebrows raised, and she shrugged. They left together to mock snickers and Phyllis slamming her backpack against the desk.

We won’t see each other again, unless we bump into each other at the Christmas Dare Dance or a store somewhere, Mrs. Peters told them. At the end of the year, you two will go off to colleges—and God willing, I’ll watch you receive your diplomas with the rest of the senior class, but this is my last day. I’m retiring.

Dey gasped, worried, and Brand shuffled. Are you alright, Mrs. Peters?

She laughed. I’m fine. But this class was only a half year, and do you remember who your first-grade teacher was?

You.

And I’d been teaching fifteen years already. You know what we’ve been through the last couple of years. She shrugged her plump shoulders, then reached out to pat Dey’s cheek. And don’t cry. It’s just time.

She held out an envelope to each of them, with their names written in her decorative handwriting. "A little something because I knew in first grade you were special—and you still are.

Dey felt a tear trickle down her cheek, and wiped it away before Mrs. Peters did, or Brand noticed. They’d grown up together on adjoining ranches, but he still teased her at how easily she got emotional.

We’ll miss you, Dey told the older woman, and when Brand nodded but didn’t speak, Dey tapped him with the toe of her boot. Won’t we?

Yes, he mumbled.

Well, don’t. I’m leaving with only one regret.

Brand shook his head almost imperceptibly, and his tanned brow furrowed.

Why was he trying to distract her?

What? Dey asked, ignoring him.

The minute she asked, she realized, and groaned silently to herself.

"You two are going to walk up to get your diplomas as first and second in your class—and no, I don’t know the ranks either. But you know I told you in first grade, and it’s true—you should be together. You were just so cute together, and that hasn’t changed.

Inappropriate, maybe, but—truth is always truth. Remember that. She wiped her own eyes and smiled. And Merry Christmas.

Chapter Two

November 2012

Dey shivered and wondered how she would survive the frigid weather. Thirty-four degrees in the Big D, and Dallas expected snow and ice overnight. The lonely sound of bagpipes and taps, the 21-gun salute— the noise faded away into nothingness, and still she stood here, looking in disbelief at her husband’s grave.

The journey through streets lined with officers and citizens paying their respects, the procession of police cars— the slow trip that ended here pierced her heart as the cold couldn’t. Oh, Alex.

Dey, we need to go, dear. Alex’s mother laid a shaking hand on her arm, and her husband Ben nodded. The last thing Alex would want is you being here in the cold. Kathy Ford smiled through escaped tears. He always said you were the sunshine day or night.

You two go ahead, Dey urged. I’ll go now, I promise. I...I just want another few moments.

They hugged her and left, and she was alone, except for her stoic driver waiting by the black limousine. She shouldn’t keep the poor man out here.

She knew that, but all she could see— all she could think— was that she should have gotten up four days ago, before Alex left for his final tour. She didn’t—he always scolded her when she got up at four but didn’t go in until nine—and so he didn’t know. He didn’t know that they were finally expecting.

Sleet stung, and mixed with her tears. Her face felt frozen, like her heart. The driver shifted uncomfortably, and she took a step toward him, but stumbled. Strong arms wrapped around her and kept her from falling.

I’ve got you, Brand murmured, carrying her to the limo and helping her in.

For a second, Dey wondered why he was here. Her mind went back to a vivid blue line on a test strip, then to blessed nothingness.

Hours later, Dey woke in a warm, dark room. Someone tall and solid moved in the shadows, a wraith, and for a moment, she thought she’d woken from a nightmare and Alex had come home.

Food smells filled the room—grilled meat, fresh bread, cinnamon, and spices. She realized she hadn’t eaten, and promised herself she would. Then she groped around the end table until she managed to turn the light on.

Brand stood by the mantels, looking at pictures in the dim light from the hall. When he realized she was awake, he set a 5 X 7 photo back and turned around, concern in his face. The picture of them, Dey realized, on graduation day.

Alex hadn’t ever been jealous— he told her he was proud of her smarts and knew he had nothing to worry about. When Brand lost his mother soon after Alex and she married, Alex insisted she go pay their respects to the family she’d grown up with, almost interchangeably with her own.

Have you warmed up a little? Brand asked. Even after I put the quilt on you, you kept shaking.

She looked away, not wanting to burden him. Her cold went so deep, and she didn’t know if he could understand that.

Come eat.

She didn’t say anything, just walked over and sat down.

They sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by boxes from a restaurant and home-cooked meals with sympathy cards from friends and neighbors. He filled a plate for her when she didn’t move, then served himself.

Her pain wrapped itself around her, silent and killing. The last time she went to the ranch, to plead with her mother not to leave her father, tears had streamed down her face, and she sought shelter in Brand’s arms. Not for the first time—they’d hugged often, the way friends did. But now she was a cold, distant stranger he didn’t know.

Will you come home, Dey? he asked finally.

The question surprised her. She tilted her chin up and stared at him. I am home.

I just thought— Brand shrugged. Dey, the ranch is still there. Still your home—and your dad’s still there.

He remarried two years ago. He doesn’t need me.

It’s almost Christmas. Of course, he needs you—at least a visit from.

I’ll call, she said. Send a card.

Brand sighed, but he dropped the subject. Your food’s getting cold. It’s really good—

I’m not hungry.

Brand wiped a hand over his face, frustrated and worried. Deyanira was stubborn. Her parents’ separation and their remarriages had wounded her—she still believed in till death do us part. He needed to get back to the Houghton ranch, to his own father. After the pandemic, the surge of asylum seekers pouring into areas along the river, sometimes at the expense of fencing and livestock, and everything else, he didn’t want to be gone too long. But he worried about her anyway. You need to eat, Dey. When she lifted her head to glare at him, he added gently, I wasn’t snooping, but when I got the quilt—I saw the test."

She nodded, tears running down her cheeks again. I found out the morning he—I thought then I’d wrap it up and give it to him tonight—our fifth wedding anniversary.

Brand picked up a napkin and began blotting her tears, until she took the paper out of his hand and did it herself. Thank you for being here, she whispered to him, and picked up her fork.

He shrugged. You were there when we buried Mom. They ate silently for a few minutes, then Brand pushed his plate aside. I guess it’s just what we do, being there for each other.

She nodded, and for a second, he thought she might manage a smile. Yeah, she said instead. Brand, that’s one reason I’m staying. Alex’s parents need to know their grandchild. They’re older than dad, and not well. And they lost their only son.

Just don’t forget us, Dey—your family. Mine—you’re ours, too. We love you.

A few hours later, he left. Given the travel advisories the trip would be slow and grueling. But he couldn’t bear Dey’s pain, and he needed to get home.

Chapter Three

November 2021

So much for dry South Texas. Dey stretched and moved in the seat. Rain had accompanied them from Dallas, and showed no signs of stopping. The downpour between San Antonio and the Webb County marker had slackened, at least, and it could be worse—the temperature held in the upper sixties. Cool for the area, but not unbearable.

She flicked on her turn signal and pulled into Great Snacks Alive, Pueblito Chiquito’s largest—and gaudiest—business. The gas station had a food counter and an exhibit that appalled and enthralled visitors—a huge aquarium holding rattlesnakes captured in the area.

Alexa, we’re going to get tacos. Put on your jacket and shoes.

She glanced at the rearview mirror, tilting it down to show the middle seat of the suburban. Quilts, jackets, and a backpack filled the small area, with no signs of a human occupant visible. Then Dey grinned. One tan paw poked out a little on the left side, twitching slightly.

One, two, three, on the dog, Dey crowed, like the kid she’d been when she and Alexa used to play hide and seek. Still no sign of her daughter.

Smiles, find Alexa, Dey ordered, and everything on the seat fell to the floor as the German shepherd wiggled and poked around under the pile until Alexa groaned and sat up.

Do I have to get out? she whined. She’d been a pain since they left Dallas, refusing to look out the windows and in a perpetually bad mood. You said it never rained here. It’s been raining the entire time we’ve been on the road.

And in Dallas before we started. Let’s go in and get tacos and use the restroom. We’re almost home.

Oh—are we turning around and going back to Dallas? Blue eyes reflected in the mirror. She looked like her dad, but Dey had no idea who she took after—she didn’t know anyone in the family as cynical and contrary as her daughter.

She lost her dad before she knew him, the therapist had reminded her. Let her deal with that in her way. You don’t want her to bottle up anger and bitterness.

A tan, black masked head popped up behind her. Stay, Smiles, Alexa ordered, and the dog sat down again, but whined piteously. The German shepherd hadn’t been trained as a therapy dog, but the calming effect he had on everyone around him defied logic. His perpetual curiosity and joyful demeanor hid a fiend when he thought Alexa might be in danger, and if Smiles felt at home on the Wind Spur, Dey hoped his owner would, too.

Great Snacks Alive boasted Christmas decorations only a convenience store in south Texas that kept live rattlers could. Colored lights outlined the building and curtained the windows. An inflatable cowboy in a Santa hat danced in the wind and rain—Lord knew where that thing had come from. And the music featured the mix that Dey missed in Dallas all these years—a traditional carol like Silent Night followed by the raspy, accusatory "Amarga Navidad." Sweetness and bitterness, snack food and snakes. Dey grinned as she followed Alexa in. For the first time since she left Dallas, she felt at home.

She didn’t know the cashier, but the woman had the Pueblito Chiquito friendliness and introduced herself, welcomed her back when Dey explained she’d grown up on a ranch near here, and then introduced Alexa, who plopped an armload of spicy chips and junk on the counter.

That stuff’ll eat holes in your belly, the cashier warned. Alexa’s a pretty name. You sure must look like your daddy—

My name’s Alex, Alexa snapped. And I don’t have a dad! She raced out, leaving the cashier stuttering and red-faced.

I’m so sorry, Holly apologized. I shouldn’t have said—

Dey shook off the apology and followed her daughter out. Her insistence on being called Alex was new. And hard—Alex was gone. She named her daughter Alexa to honor him—but not to replace him. She didn’t know what the therapist would think. Maybe leaving Dallas was wrong.

A pickup truck pulling a horse trailer stopped on the side of the parking lot. A horse, visible through the slats, shuffled and snorted. Alexa pressed her face to the window, eyes and smile wide.

Horses and dogs. For one of the few times recently, Dey knew exactly how Alexa felt.

Maybe coming home for Christmas could really mean coming home for good.

Chapter Four

Most of the ranches they passed on the final leg of the trip hadn’t decorated for Christmas yet. All the way down from Dallas, entire neighborhoods were ready for the holidays. Dey’s stomach fluttered nervously. She’d been gone a long time. Who knew how bad things had really gotten on the heels of a pandemic that crippled so much of the world? She’d always believed the close-knit ranching community could survive anything. She didn’t want to be wrong—Alexa belonged here now, and she wanted the childhood for her that she still cherished.

She turned right when they reached the Wind Spur, and drove slowly down the rutted drive. Alexa straightened and stared out the window, and Smiles plastered his snout to the window glass.

There was a pickup parked by the house—silver, with the interlocked maroon HR on the door. Houghton Ranch. Brand’s father, Randall, must have dropped by to visit her dad. The two men were lifelong friends, just as she and Brand were.

Let’s go in and say hello before we unload, Dey suggested. Your grandfather has company.

For once, Alexa didn’t dawdle, staying so close behind her that Dey could hear Smiles’ nervous panting. Those mothers who never second-guessed themselves were charmed—guilt swamped Dey. Why hadn’t she brought Alexa here more often after her father’s death? No child should be awkward coming home to grandparents.

Dey didn’t knock, just opened the unlocked door, and walked in, through the foyer to the living room. Her father, Mike, wizened by years under the sun and hard work, pushed himself up from the corner of the couch—and beside him, Brand stood, too.

So glad to see you gals, her father said, holding out his arms. Dey hugged him, and when she kissed his cheek, felt the moisture—he was crying. She stepped back and motioned her daughter over. You remember Alexa, Dad?

Alex, Alexa corrected. She let him hug her. Smiles sat near her, watching alertly.

Hi, Brand greeted, as Dey hugged him. Alexa, I haven’t seen you since you were about four. Would your dog attack me if I hug you?

Alexa shrugged and grinned a little. Don’t know. And I’m Alex.

Well, I lived through that, Brand teased, a sparkle in his dark eyes. So can I pet him, too?

Sure. Alexa leaned over and patted the shepherd first, then nodded at Brand. "Go ahead. Smiles, friend," she added to the dog.

And that freaks me out just a little, Brand whispered loudly, and Dey and her father both laughed.

But you live on a ranch, Alexa pointed out. Don’t you have a dog?

My father has three, he assured her. After my Bruce died a few years ago, I just couldn’t get another one right away.

You named a dog Bruce? Alexa asked, horror in her voice.

No imagination, Dey teased. Brand once named a horse—

A clatter on the stairs interrupted them. A red-headed girl around Alexa’s age raced down the stairs, almost falling on the bottom step as she saw everyone clustered there and tried to stop.

Hi, she murmured, turning red.

Phyllis. Dey smiled and said hello, but she felt as if her high school nemesis were standing there.

Jo, this is Dey—you’ve heard about her—and her daughter Alexa—

Alex, Alexa corrected, and smiled, not at all flustered. This is Smiles, she added, introducing the dog.

My daughter, Jolene, Brand finished. But she prefers Jo.

Dey frowned at the pointed glance Brand sent her, but he winked and shrugged.

Jo only had eyes for Smiles, approaching him as she might a horse, with her hand out, and cooing his name. The shepherd’s tail thumped, and he let both girls pat him and admire him.

Conceited, Dey whispered to Brand. Typical male.

He had shifted slightly and stood by her, watching the girls as they gushed over the dog and started asking each other questions about themselves. Hey, take that back, Deyanira, he protested, throwing an arm around her casually, as he’d done as long as she could remember.

Only this time, heat surged through her, burning her. Since when did Brand’s touch affect her as if.... She moved uncomfortably, feeling herself blush, and remembered that she hadn’t asked how Phyllis was—Brand’s wife. Jo’s mother. She put distance between them so she could face him without touching him.

Brand, I’m so sorry—how rude of me not to ask. Is Phyllis upstairs with Lupe? How’s she doing?

Jo let out a choking screech and slammed through the door.

What—

Jo, wait— Brand shouted after her, and followed.

Outside, car doors slammed, and Alexa went to the door and peeked out. They’re gone, she announced in disbelief. Mom, what did you do?

Damned if I know. Her father’s confusion mirrored her own, but he just picked up the copy of Western Horse from the couch. Lupe’s upstairs. Her knee’s been bad, and she said she wanted to be sure your rooms are ready. Truth is, I think the idea of having folks here flusters her—it was just us for quite a while. He opened the magazine. Her father hadn’t ever been vindictive. But his words hurt anyway—she could have come sooner. She wasn’t even sure why she hadn’t.

As she led the way upstairs, she hoped that old saying about you can never go back wasn’t true.

Chapter Five

Her dad swore softly and dropped an armful of tangled Christmas lights beside him on the couch, then declared defeat. "No puedo."

Maybe if we’d done it last year, this year we could, Lupe scolded, her eyes dancing. Miguel spent the last few years finding reasons to play Scrooge.

No worries, Dey assured them. I’m running into Laredo to get a few things—and we need some new lights. I’ll pick them up, too. Her phone vibrated and she fished it out of her jeans pocket.

Brand. She hadn’t heard from him since he bolted out of the room at her mention of Phyllis. Hey.

Dey, I’m sorry—go out to lunch with me? I owe you an explanation.

You don’t owe me anything, but is Jo okay? She bit back asking about Phyllis—although she still couldn’t figure out what happened.

Maybe I don’t owe you, but I want to see you. And explain. Can I pick you up in half an hour?

My list is really long—I want to decorate this year. Lupe seemed kind of down that Dad hadn’t been up to it recently. And Alexa loves Christmas.

Jo told me everyone wants to sit behind Alex at school because she knows all the answers.

Alexa, and she only thinks she knows all the answers.

Brad laughed. Like us, Deyanira?

Dey smiled. No, not like us. We actually knew all the answers.

So, we’ve got a date?

Sure. But we’re not finished until I say so, Dey warned.

See you in a bit, he agreed.

Four hours later, Dey regretted her brash decision to do everything in one trip—and to wear a pullover knit sweater instead of short sleeves and a jacket. The temperature had been in the fifties when they left the ranch, but sweater weather didn’t really happen often in south Texas. Not even Brand’s casual comment about turquoise being her color compensated for roasting alive.

They sat across from each other at small tables in an ice cream shop. Dey propped her feet on the cross bars at the base of the table and regretted the boots, too. They were western boots, not the dress boots she wore often, and they were stiff and new—she bought them when she knew she would be riding again. And mucking stalls and hauling hay.

Anywhere else you need to go? he asked, glancing at his watch. Not rushing you, but I do have a meeting with a buyer a little later.

She shook her head. "All done. And if I need anything else, I’ll just drive into Pueblito Chiquito. Look for it at Great Snacks Alive."

He laughed, but fiddled with his dish. About Jo, he offered finally, looking up then. Sorry for the way we left.

I guess I just was surprised Phyllis didn’t come with you. I mean—she and I didn’t like each other, but Brand—you know if you brought the devil himself to the ranch, we’d open the door for you.

She thought he’d laugh, but he didn’t—just shot her a glance she couldn’t decipher, then sighed. You’re not far off, Dey. Just so you know—Phyllis and I never married.

But—

How had she not known that? Maybe her father hadn’t known—he would have told her. No. She just hadn’t come home often enough it occurred to anyone. But—she knew Brand. He would have married Phyllis if he knew she was pregnant.

Look, I honestly don’t know how Phyllis and I ever dated, he said eventually. By the time I headed to college—I’d broken up with her. Right after her hissy fit when she found out I wasn’t going out for football.

But—you were recruited. I remember your mom worrying that you’d go into football instead of coming home.

Yeah. But Phyllis split. Wiped the floor with me, or tried to—but folks who knew me ignored the attacks and blew her off. Eventually, she left town. Her parents were still here, though—his company’s buying up land even way out here. Her father says when Laredo grows a little more, this will just be another suburb.

Dey reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. I’m sorry, Brand. I had no idea—but— She hesitated. But they didn’t keep secrets from each other. Jo’s almost the same age as Alexa.

You know the liquidation that ranch held—the one near the Oklahoma border?

Dey nodded, her expression sobering. I heard about it—but I don’t remember much. She swallowed. Two and a half weeks before.... She didn’t finish, but he knew.

I went to look at their Charolais. They’re doing better here in Laredo than some of the other beef breeds. I stayed over a week in Ft. Worth working out details—prices, transportation. And on my third night there—Phyllis walked up to the bar and sat down. I hadn’t been seeing anyone, really, and for a while—long story short, we hooked up. Pretty much until the end of the trip.

But...when she told you she was pregnant— Dey swallowed hard.

She didn’t. Near the end of the trip, feeling guilty, I looked for her—she told me she usually went out with friends to a different bar because I didn’t stay up late enough. She was there...not alone...and I turned around and walked out. I don’t think either she or the guy at the bar knew I was there.

But eventually, she told you about Jo?

"Last I heard, Phyllis was in a residential drug program—to avoid serving time.’

Don’t cry, Dey, he whispered, too late. He reached across and patted her face. I found out about Jo when a social worker who knows us called to tell me that I was listed as her father on her birth certificate, and could I take her. Phyllis lost custody before she went into treatment.

We should go, Dey said, standing. He stood, too, leaving a bill on the table and walking silently to the truck. He looked across at her as he turned the key.

Dey, you haven’t heard the worst. I haven’t told anyone—my father would—I just couldn’t tell him.

You never kept things from your parents.

Jo’s not my child.

What?

He backed out, not looking at her, his face a mixture of pain and stubbornness. When Jo had her tonsils out, they typed me to see if I could donate in an emergency—our types didn’t match. So, I had a paternity test done. I’m her father on her birth certificate. And I love her—but I could lose her someday.

And you don’t want to worry Randall.

My dad would be devastated. So would I.

Dey nodded. In high school Brad’s dad and her dad were already planning how they’d pass working ranches down to grandchildren. There were no words that could help, so she scooted as close as the seat belt allowed and wished she could hug his hurt away.

Chapter Six

A norther howled into south Texas on the 3rd of December. Frost turned grass baked brown from searing heat into a mottled concoction of wheat yellow, green, and white—pretty to look at, but nothing Dey missed. Dallas and north Texas bore the brunt of the change though, and would be below freezing all day, while the ranch country should climb into the low fifties.

Dey had driven Alexa and Jo into school, since the two girls attended together. Brand often came over to see her father, but rarely spoke to her, worrying her. Maybe confiding the situation with Phyllis made him uncomfortable.

That hurt. Phyllis was out of the