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Mr Serious
Danica Winters


Duty and danger bring an alpha hero to Mystery, MontanaWaylon Fitzgerald had a life of adventure all planned out—one that did not include returning to his family's ranch to bring his missing ex-wife into custody for murder. With so much bad blood between them, the sexy military police officer understands why his ex's sister, Christina Bell, hates him. And yet he and Christina spark a sizzling attraction.What changes everything for Waylon is Winnie, Christina's adorable ward…and the startling revelation that he's her father. When she goes missing—her mother a killer at large—Waylon's world is upended. Will he redeploy to follow his passions around the world…or stay where his heart has found an unexpected Christmas present?







Duty and danger bring an alpha hero to Mystery, Montana

Waylon Fitzgerald had a life of adventure all planned out—one that did not include returning to his family’s ranch to bring his missing ex-wife into custody for murder. With so much bad blood between them, the sexy military police officer understands why his ex’s sister, Christina Bell, hates him. And yet he and Christina spark a sizzling attraction.

What changes everything for Waylon is Winnie, Christina’s adorable ward…and the startling revelation that he’s her father. When she goes missing—her mother a killer at large—Waylon’s world is upended. Will he redeploy to follow his passions around the world…or stay where his heart has found an unexpected Christmas present?

Mystery Christmas


“Everything’s going to be okay, Waylon. Nothing has to change,” Christina started.

The knot of nerves in his belly tightened. Now he was sure everything was about to flip on its head.

“My sister made a lot of mistakes. You know most of them. Heck, you were the victim of most of her poor decisions,” Christina continued, as she ran her fingers over the back of his hand. “But, there was one mistake… Well, not mistake, but rather an error in judgment that…well… We all… We…”

“We are just as much at fault as Alli,” his mother said, her voice high with nerves. “We should have told you sooner. Years ago, but—”

“Wait,” he said, with a raise of the hand. “What exactly should you have told me years ago?”

“It’s about Winnie…” Christina began.

His heart stopped at the sound of the little girl’s name.

Christina looked up at him and her eyes were filled with a look of apologetic fear. “Winnie is yours, Waylon. She’s your daughter.”


Mr. Serious

Danica Winters






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Mac.

You’re the mac to my cheese and the butter to my bread.

Thanks for making life such an amazing adventure.


DANICA WINTERS is a multiple award-winning, bestselling author who writes books that grip readers with their ability to drive emotion through suspense and occasionally a touch of magic. When she’s not working, she can be found in the wilds of Montana, testing her patience while she tries to hone her skills at various crafts—quilting, pottery and painting are not her areas of expertise. She believes the cup is neither half-full nor half-empty, but it better be filled with wine. Visit her website at www.danicawinters.net (http://www.danicawinters.net/).


Contents

Cover (#u27594db1-137e-57ed-afc1-ed586dee9a7a)

Back Cover Text (#u024c0a7a-8700-54e1-8312-da8a40c6bbec)

Introduction (#ufa3cd359-4d40-5701-a2c1-c72991579be5)

Title Page (#u9d44be2d-c4da-5296-8b47-e0b638afb2b1)

About the Author (#u5dcbf09e-7982-5ef2-bf5a-3990754c063a)

Dedication (#ue28fd4b5-144f-5afd-8e44-6088bd593704)

Chapter One (#uf3f01347-d340-59be-b690-ffd17a9972a2)

Chapter Two (#u65dc80a4-2e9f-503d-b8ad-5d6e3c0b0bcf)

Chapter Three (#u50e98af2-af37-57d3-96d6-1ec43e2fcb6b)

Chapter Four (#u6447b91d-8847-577b-b684-81ddf9aceb8a)

Chapter Five (#u5ac5f8e7-8da0-507e-959f-c95eedf2d5d7)

Chapter Six (#uaa407349-bae6-5f9e-94d4-f06486362f25)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u45c7ab56-a307-55a8-8665-3da5421f2b2e)

It was Waylon Fitzgerald’s firm belief that most people were the same when it came to their wants. People were driven to desire four major things: good-enough sex, at least a comfortable amount of money, to be happy most of the time and to find someone to love them. Lucky for him, he’d never been like most people. His dreams were so much bigger—he wanted it all, and more. He wanted to travel the world, to help those in need, to live the dream and have a life driven by passion—not by good enough.

The helicopter’s headset crackled to life. “Where do you want me to put her down?” The pilot motioned out the window of the Black Hawk as they passed over the stock pond in the pasture where his mother normally put the horses out this time of year.

His family wasn’t going to like that he was bringing the helicopter to the ranch, but thanks to the disappearance of his ex-wife, Waylon had had to catch the next available flight. As luck would have it, his friend was relocating bases from Fort Bragg to Fort Lewis and he got to come along for the ride.

He’d always loved the feel of the chopper, its blades cutting through the air and the thump they made, just like the thump of a heart. Maybe that was what the chopper and the army were—his heart. He glanced down at Dunrovin Ranch and the guesthouses speckled throughout its expanse.

As much as he had loved the place where he spent most of his childhood, the lifestyle it symbolized was exactly what he feared the most—boredom. A life spent in habitual motion. Feed the horses, take care of the guests, take care of the ranch’s maintenance, take care of the animals and go to bed, ready to repeat it every day until one morning he just didn’t wake up. It wasn’t that he judged his adoptive mother and father, Eloise and Merle Fitzgerald, for their need for complete stability. It was because of their stability and values he had even made it out of childhood alive. He owed them everything.

“Waylon?” the pilot asked again. “You got a place?”

“Put her down just there.” He motioned toward the gravel parking lot that stood empty in the midmorning sun.

That was strange. This time of year, Dunrovin was normally hopping with life—winter-themed weddings, riding classes and parties to celebrate the coming of Christmas.

As the pilot lowered the bird toward the ground, people started spilling out of the main house. His adoptive mother waved at the helicopter, and even from a distance, he could see the smile on her face. In just the few years since he’d left the ranch, she’d grown gray and her back had started to take on the slight curve that came with age and osteoporosis. His father, the quiet and stoic man who was always working, stood beside her, holding her hand.

Next to them was a blonde. She was tall and lean, the body of a rider, but he didn’t recognize her. She turned slightly, and he could make out the perfect round curve of her ass in her tight blue jeans. Perhaps she was one of their trainers. Either way, he’d have to watch out for her. She looked like the kind of woman who would end up in one of two positions with him—either toe to toe in a shouting match, or between the sheets. As it was, he just needed to get in and out of the ranch and back to work. The last thing he needed was any more drama than necessary.

The blonde shaded her eyes as she frowned up at him, but after a moment her gaze moved to the apple tree in the corner of the lot. Standing high in its branches was a little girl who looked to be about three years old. Her brunette curls blowing in the rotor wash as she gawked at him.

What in the hell was a girl that little doing standing in a tree?

The blonde jogged toward her as if she’d had the same thought.

“Be careful,” Waylon said to the pilot, pointing to the toddler.

The pilot pulled back on the stick, and the powerful draft at such a low altitude kicked up a thick cloud of dust.

The little girl in the tree started to sway, and Waylon called out a warning into the deafening roar of the chopper’s wash.

The girl trembled as she struggled to keep hold of the bark. She looked up at him as a gust of wind set her off balance, and her left shoe slid from the branch. The girl’s blue dress moved against her like an unwieldy sail and propelled her out of the tree. She careened toward the ground.

From where he sat, it looked as though she landed face-first at the bottom of the tree.

“Bring this bird down, dammit!” he shouted.

Hopefully the little girl was still alive.


Chapter Two (#u45c7ab56-a307-55a8-8665-3da5421f2b2e)

What kind of man thought it was okay to fly into a quiet ranch like he was some kind of freaking hero? Who did Waylon Fitzgerald think he was? All that man ever did was leave destruction in his wake, and as far as Christina Bell was concerned, this was just another example of how little he cared when it came to how his actions affected others.

She rushed to her niece as the girl tumbled out of the apple tree and landed on the ground. The girl let out a shrill cry, but it was nearly drowned out by the chopping of the blades of the bull-in-a-china-shop helicopter.

“Winnie, are you okay?” Christina called above the sound.

Tears streamed down Winnie’s dusty face, cutting through the dirt and exposing her unmarred skin below. “It hurts.”

“It’s okay, Win. You’ll be okay.” Christina ran her hand over the girl’s head, smoothing her curls and trying to comfort her. “Where does it hurt, sweetie?”

Winnie cried, and her sobs stole her voice, but she motioned to her right arm and wrist. Of course it would be the girl’s arm. She’d probably put her hand down during her fall in an attempt to catch herself.

As soon as the helicopter touched down, Waylon ran over, dropping his bag on the ground at Winnie’s feet. “Are you okay, kid?”

Christina turned toward him, and she could feel a snarl take over her face. “You leave her alone.”

He took two steps back, like he was afraid a bite would follow the growl. It might have been the smartest thing he’d done so far. All she wanted to do was come at him. He was the reason Winnie was hurt—in many ways, he was responsible for the bad things in her life.

She stared at him as the helicopter lifted off the ground and set to the sky. Alli had told her that he was a military police officer for the army, and she had seen pictures of him in the main house, but none of that did him justice. The man, all two hundred-ish pounds of him, was lean, and from what she could see, his chest was just as muscular as his legs. Even his forearms were thick, so much so that the muscles stressed the cloth of his rolled-up plaid sleeves.

He gave her a small smile, like he hoped that it would be his get-out-of-jail-free card, and she forced herself to look away from his almond-shaped eyes, buzzed black hair and copper-toned skin. He was a far cry from the scraggly teenager whose pictures adorned Eloise Fitzgerald’s walls. Christina didn’t like him, but she couldn’t deny he might have been one of the sexiest men she’d ever seen in real life. She could certainly understand how her sister had fallen for the man. And regardless of Alli’s latest drama, she had been right in divorcing the man if his entrance was any indication of his character.

Just because a man was ridiculously handsome and knew how to make an entrance, it didn’t make him a man worth calling a husband—or a father.

Yep, she definitely hated him. Maybe it was just her hatred of every man who’d left his wife in the lurch, or it could have been all the things Alli had told her about the guy, but there was nothing redeemable about him. Not even that stupid grin he tried to ply her with.

“Is the kid okay?” he asked, his rough voice suddenly taking on a silky edge.

It wouldn’t work with her. No way. No how. Especially when he referred to his daughter as “the kid,” but then again, he didn’t know who she was to him.

Winnie looked up at the man and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her good hand. “My arm,” she said, lifting her limp right arm for him to see. “It hurts.”

He squatted down next to Christina, far too close. He smelled like motor oil and spicy men’s cologne—if she had to explain it, she would have said it was the scent of a real man. On the other hand, it was the scent of Waylon Fitzgerald—notorious father at large.

He didn’t reach for the girl; instead, he leaned back on his heels as though being that close to a hurt child made him deeply uncomfortable.

“Does your back hurt, sweetie?” Christina asked.

Winnie shook her head and stood up, being careful not to put any weight on her arm. The area around her wrist was red and had already started to take on a faint bruise. It had to be broken, yet amazingly the little girl had stopped crying.

“What’s your name, kid?” Waylon asked.

“Winnie. I gonna be three.”

“You’re such a big gir1.” He looked over at Christina. “Is she yours?”

She snorted at how ridiculous his question was. “I’m her guardian.”

Waylon frowned as though he was trying to connect the dots. “So you are...”

She ignored his question. As far as she was concerned, he didn’t need to know her. He’d missed his chance to know her and her family when he’d chosen to elope with Alli. He’d never cared before—and he didn’t need to start now.

Eloise and Merle Fitzgerald made their way over to them as the helicopter disappeared into the distance. Eloise looked torn between worry and excitement. “Waylon!” she called, waving. “Hey, kiddo!”

Christina stood and wrapped Winnie in her arms, holding her against her legs as she chuckled at Eloise’s welcome—calling Waylon a kiddo was about as fitting as calling a wolf a Chihuahua.

Waylon didn’t look back at them as he made his way over to his mother and gave her a solid hug and a quick peck to the cheek. He turned to his father and shook the man’s hand. Apparently, Waylon was the serious kind, a guy who was all business. His father deserved a hug—even if Waylon thought he was too much of a man for that kind of thing.

She sighed as she thought of all the reasons she had to keep the secret about Winnie from him. He definitely wouldn’t be as good a parent as she was—and Winnie deserved the best care she could get.

Eloise glanced over at her and, almost as though she could read Christina’s mind, gave her a slight raise of the brow before she knelt down to talk to Winnie. “You gonna be okay, pumpkin? That was a pretty big fall, but you were so brave.”

“Nana, I tough.” Winnie smiled, the action tight from pain, but thankfully Eloise’s compliments were taking her mind off her arm.

“Nana?” Waylon interrupted.

“Oh, yeah.” Eloise waved him off, but from the way she didn’t answer her son’s question, Christina could tell that she was also questioning exactly if, how and when they should give him the news. Eloise turned back to Winnie. “Let’s go see Dr. Richards. I bet he would like to hear about how brave you were. Okay, pumpkin?”

“I want Wy-ant.” Winnie said, giving Eloise her special brand of puppy-dog eyes—the ones that worked on everyone who lived at the ranch and especially Christina.

For a brief second, Christina felt guilty for not telling Waylon then and there about Winnie being his. It wasn’t really her secret to tell, and even if it were, the revelation would change everything—he would likely want to step into his role as a father and take Winnie away from Dunrovin. Even the thought of more change broke her heart.

She glanced over at him, hoping he would crack a smile—anything that would make him seem like a man who deserved to be Winnie’s guardian. He just looked back at her, a solemn look on his face. So much for that.

Perhaps all she could hope for was that he wouldn’t want to take the girl away. Maybe he would want his daughter to stay at the ranch while he continued to roam the world, but it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take. She loved the girl entirely too much to risk her future on Mr. Serious and a life that he most likely didn’t want.

“I’ll call Wyatt,” Christina offered, but in truth it was just an excuse to get away from the infuriatingly handsome army man.

Sometimes, when things were this confusing, the only thing to do was run.

* * *

ALL WAYLON WANTED to do was get out of this place. He hated hospitals. Thanks to his time in Iraq, there was no place he dreaded more. If a guy was in the hospital there, bad things had gone down.

Truth be told, in Iraq, the name of the game was bad things.

Every second there was another enemy, another battle to fight, another person to protect. And here, back in the civilian world, no one seemed to understand how ugly the real world was. Waylon’s brother Wyatt tapped his foot as he sat next to him in the waiting room, agitated that they hadn’t been invited to the examination room with Winnie, where they were going over the results of the X-rays.

“She’ll be okay, man,” Waylon said. “Kids are resilient. And, honestly, except for the bruise, she seemed fine. Who knows, maybe her wrist ain’t broken.”

Wyatt nodded. “That kid’s tougher than you think. If she cried, there had to be something majorly wrong. I’ve seen her get stepped on by a horse and barely bat an eyelash.”

He’d nearly forgotten how tough even the youngest members of the family were expected to be. There was no time for weakness when they were out checking on cattle during calving season or when they were breaking a new horse. If there was weakness, animals would sense it, and undoubtedly use it to their advantage. The ability to disguise pain was a vital part of existence out here in the wilds of Montana, where it often came down to survival of the fittest. Since he’d left three years ago after his divorce, he’d barely thought about the ranch—and he had completely forgotten how much Mystery, Montana, felt like a throwback to a bygone era. It really was a different culture, a tiny microcosm of society where the values revolved around family and community.

It was a different world than the one he’d been in overseas.

It surprised him, but for a moment, a feeling of sadness and nostalgia overtook him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed home. Well, he’d missed some things about home. He glanced over toward the door that led to the examination rooms, where the blonde and his mother were with Winnie. The blonde seemed to hate his guts. When he took off again, he’d miss a lot of things, but her hate wasn’t one of them.

Hopefully he had time to make her change her mind about him—he’d overcome worse odds with women before. Heck, Alli had really hated him when they’d first met. She had been waiting tables at the little diner in Mystery, the Combine, making money before moving along to the next town. The first time she’d seen him, he could have cut glass with her sharp glare. He’d loved that about Alli, the way she was so strong and always ready to stand up for herself. So many women just let men walk all over them, but not Alli. Then again, it was that same strength that had pushed him away and led her into the arms of another man, and then another, and another.

“Have you heard anything new about Alli?” Waylon asked, trying not to notice the way his gut clenched when he thought about all the hard times he’d gone through with the woman.

Wyatt shifted in his standard-issue plastic hospital chair. “They have her car at the impound lot. We’re holding it until we get the full forensics report. But thanks to Lyle, it may take a while.”

“Lyle is still working for you guys? Can’t you find anyone better?” he teased his brother, but he knew exactly how it worked with small-town politics—where the good ole boy system was still alive and well.

“Lyle isn’t all bad,” Wyatt said with a laugh. “Though he probably could use a refresher course or two. He did find the photos that pointed us toward Alli in the case of Bianca’s murder.”

“Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.”

“You got that right.” Wyatt’s laughter echoed through the nearly empty waiting room. “If you want, when we’re done here, we can run up to her car. Maybe you can spot something we’ve missed. Though, I gotta say, there ain’t a whole lot there.”

“Maybe you just needed your little brother to come home and show you how to do real investigative work. Like we do in the military,” Waylon said with a booming laugh.

“Is that what they’re calling the Girl Scouts these days?” Wyatt smirked.

It was moments like these, when his belly hurt from laughter, that made him realize being home wasn’t just about a change of location. It was more about family—and family was something he could never replace.


Chapter Three (#u45c7ab56-a307-55a8-8665-3da5421f2b2e)

Waylon was certain he shouldn’t feel guilty for the state of Winnie, yet he couldn’t help the tug at his heart each time he looked at her clunky, Ace bandage–wrapped arm as they all made their way into the main house. Dr. Richards had said it was only a sprain, but just to be sure he hadn’t missed a microscopic crack, Eloise and the girl’s guardian had gone along with his plan to keep it wrapped for at least the next week.

Waylon followed the blonde woman toward the kitchen as Winnie pushed past. The woman had barely spoken to him since they had left the hospital. Pissed didn’t even seem like a strong enough word to express the vibe she was sending his way. It was going to be a long week at the ranch. He’d thought war zones were bad, but at least there he wasn’t the sole focus of a woman’s wrath.

His mother stepped up beside him, and as she noticed him watching the woman, she chuckled. “Don’t worry about Christina—she’ll come around. She’s just a bit protective of Winnie, that’s all.”

“Christina?” He let out a long breath. “As in Alli’s sister, Christina?”

“The one and only. She’s been a real asset to the ranch. Didn’t you recognize her?”

He’d only ever seen pictures of Alli’s sister. Alli had made sure to keep him at arm’s length from her family—when he had suggested having them at their wedding, it was in that moment Alli unilaterally decided they should elope. He should have seen it as a warning that she had some issues, but no, love had made him blind. So blind he hadn’t noticed when she had started to keep him isolated; after a couple of years he never saw his friends or even his brothers.

If he’d been smarter, he would have seen what she was really doing—using him to take care of her while she pursued another man. As much as he had the right to, he didn’t hate her. Emotions were crazy, and love was even more illogical. Not that he still loved her. No. That feeling had died the moment he’d left the ranch and run away to the military. The day he signed his papers was the day he had let his past go—that was, until now.

Christina turned around, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, and glared at him. “For some reason, Winnie is asking about you. You may want to go see her.”

He could almost hear the hiss in her words. Yep, she hated him. Sweet.

He sighed, and his mother gave his arm a little squeeze. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m telling you, her bark’s worse than her bite.”

He had a feeling he would get the chance to see if his mother was right, but if Christina’s attitude toward him was any indication of her bite, he was sure he’d come away with at least a mark or two.

Winnie sat at the table while Wyatt set about grabbing supplies for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As he walked to the table, Wyatt turned to Waylon. “Want one?” He lifted the jelly. “This is what you eat for lunch in the Girl Scouts, right?” His brother laughed.

Stepping behind Winnie so she couldn’t see, he flipped his brother the bird. “It’s still better than a solid diet of doughnuts, Deputy.” He rubbed his stomach. “In fact, I think you’re growing a bit around the middle.”

Wyatt laughed. “You need to move back to the ranch.”

“You looking for someone to help you with your Dumb and Dumber act?” Waylon teased.

The girl wiggled in her chair. “Yeah, Way-lawn.” She said his name like she had to think about each syllable on its own, and it made it sound like a children’s rhyme. “You come back. And you know what? We have party.”

Waylon chuckled. “Is that right?”

“Uh-huh,” she said with an overly exaggerated nod. “Way-lawn, you and me, we dress up. You help me?”

He’d had bullets whiz by his head in active combat zones, and he’d stepped in front of high-value dignitaries, ready to give his life for the greater good, yet, as Winnie looked up at him, he couldn’t help the fear that rose within him. He had no idea what to do with a kid—especially a kid who wanted to do a craft project. Maybe he’d have more of a clue if she wanted to strip down an assault rifle, but costumes—he was totally out of his league.

Christina gave a wry laugh from behind him. “Waylon doesn’t do that kind of thing, sweetheart. If you want, though, I can help you later.”

He noted the jab she was taking at him, and he couldn’t help rising to the fight. “Nah, Ms. Winnie. Don’t you worry, I got you. You want a costume? I’m your man.” His stomach clenched as he thought about how ill equipped he was for the promise he’d just made.

“Don’t you have a job to do? You know, trying to find my missing, fugitive sister? Or are you going to just let her get away with murdering the vet and William Poe’s wife?” Christina rebuked.

She stared at him, and some of the anger that had filled her features seemed to melt away, replaced by shame. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, not waiting for him to talk. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just...just...”

“Hurting,” he said, finishing her thought.

She sighed, not admitting he was right, but he could see from the way her posture softened that he’d hit the truth. Of course she would be hurting and scared, and probably overwhelmed. Her sister was her only family, since their mother had passed away a few years back.

“I want to find her. Alli needs to come home,” she said, her gaze moving to Winnie and the bandage on her arm.

What was he missing? There was something happening that they weren’t telling him—he could feel it in the air.

“What’s going on?” he asked, tired of skirting the issue.

“Huh?” Christina looked up at him, a look of shock flashing over her features. “What do you mean?”

“You guys are hiding something.” He turned to Wyatt, who all of a sudden seemed wholly consumed by the process of making another sandwich. “What is it that you don’t want me to know?”

His mother walked into the kitchen, almost as if the question had beckoned her to the room. She glanced around at Christina and Wyatt, as if giving them some signal. “Everything’s fine, kiddo. We’re all just worried about Alli.”

“Did she do something you aren’t telling me? I mean, besides murdering Bianca and that other woman and then going on the run?”

His mother smiled. “It’s not what she did but what she didn’t do that is the problem.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His mother touched his shoulder. “Just work on finding Alli. Then we can deal with everything else.”

Some of the fondness he was feeling toward being home drifted away. He’d forgotten how the family always turned inward first—and because of his time away, he now stood outside the circle.

“Look, why don’t we run over to the impound lot?” Wyatt said, waving the peanut butter–laden knife around in the air.

“You’re not leaving me here alone to wonder what’s going on,” Christina pressed, but she glanced over at his mother with a question in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch Winnie,” Eloise offered.

Whatever was going on revolved around that little girl. Waylon glanced at Winnie. How was she involved with all of this? Was it possible she was Alli’s daughter? Was that why there was such a rush to find the woman—and why they had been adamant that he come home to help them in the search? He pushed the thoughts from his mind. Alli had always told him she was unable to get pregnant. The child couldn’t be hers.

* * *

THE IMPOUND LOT was attached to the prerelease center on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t much of a place. Wyatt punched in his key code, and the gate of the chain link–enclosed lot opened with a grinding sound. There was a collection of beat-up old cars and one late-model Mustang. Most of the jalopies had flat tires or shattered windshields, and more than a few had both. The lot even had a few campers that looked like they’d escaped the show Breaking Bad, complete with what Waylon was sure were meth labs inside.

He chuckled, but his humor was short-lived as they drove around the corner and came into view of the convicts’ exercise yard. One of the prisoners looked over, and as he caught sight of Wyatt’s patrol unit, he spat on the ground and flipped them the bird. As the other prisoners noticed, the middle finger came in almost a concert-style wave, rippling through the yard.

“Nothing quite like the royal welcome, right?” Wyatt said, ignoring his fan club.

“I’m acquainted with the lifestyle,” Waylon said with a cynical laugh.

Christina tapped her fingers on the car door. “That’s what you guys get all the time? No wonder you both have chips on your shoulders.”

He and his brother looked at each other and shared a smug grin. A few middle fingers were nothing compared to facing down a drunk man with a gun who wanted to kill him for some past injustice he felt he had suffered at the hands of the police. It was a strange feeling to know that most of the time, wherever he went, people despised him.

Sure, it was true most of the population weren’t criminals, but the people they worked with every day weren’t the general public—in his case, the criminals he worked with were even worse than Wyatt’s. For Waylon, when he was working on a base between deployments to war zones, the people he arrested were well trained in weapons and self-defense—his job was to handle trained killers. Wyatt just had to handle drunken idiots.

Wyatt parked his car next to a black Hyundai Genesis. “It was pretty beat-up by the time we got the report that it had been abandoned. You know how that goes,” his brother said, motioning toward the wreckage.

The car had a flat tire on the passenger’s side, and its windshield was shattered. For a moment, Waylon imagined Alli’s car on the side of the road, people smashing it just because they could. People had a strange, innate need to destroy things that stood alone or abandoned. It was almost as though anonymity was enough justification for them to give license to their destructive nature.

“I went over this car with Lyle, top to bottom,” Wyatt said, getting out and walking toward Alli’s car.

“What all did you find?”

Wyatt shrugged. “We ran fingerprints, but nothing came of them. And all we found inside was the normal crap—wadded straw wrappers and a few fries under the seats.”

“But nothing that you think would help us figure out where she could have gone?” Christina asked.

Wyatt looked over at her. “You and I both know she’s in Canada somewhere. She’s probably watching a hockey game, drinking Molson and laughing at how stupid she thinks we are.”

“She’s not like that. She knows you aren’t stupid. She just got herself into a bad spot, and it escalated. I don’t condone what she did, but there has to be more to it than we know. She had her problems, but I never thought she was capable of...you know,” Christina said. She looked down at the ground with what Waylon assumed was shame.

He wanted to tell her he was just as confused and upset a woman he had once loved had made such a stupid series of decisions, but there was no making any of what Alli did better. There was only bringing her back so she could pay for her crimes—and so he could ask her all the questions he was dying to ask. He just couldn’t understand how she had fallen into such a pit of self-destruction. Sure, she had never been exactly healthy, but he’d never thought she was capable of taking a life.

Then again, if he’d learned anything on the battlefield and as an MP, it was that all people were capable of pulling a trigger if the conditions were right.

“I’m sure when we find her we can get to the bottom of this,” Waylon said in his best attempt to make Christina feel better. From the tired look on her face, he had failed.

“So,” Wyatt said, opening the car’s door, “we did find a receipt on the floor on the passenger’s side. We tracked it down—it was to a gas station just outside Mystery. Alli filled up with gas, but beyond that there wasn’t anything usable.”

Waylon stepped beside his brother and leaned over the passenger’s seat. The car was filled with the dirty, stale scent of the long neglected. He pulled the odor deep into his lungs. Over the years he had been around more than his fair share of abandoned vehicles that had been left behind by people on the run. The one scent the car didn’t carry was the putrid odor of death. Its absence was really the only thing they had going for them—at least, for now.

He opened up the glove box. It was empty.

“We took all her documents out. They are in evidence, but there really wasn’t anything unusual, just her insurance card and registration.”

He closed it. “Huh.” He stared at the headliner for a second.

Almost as if it were a sign, a wayward fly crawled out from behind the black felt. He reached up and ran his fingers along the edge of the liner. It gaped where the bug had exited. His fingers brushed against something rough—paper.

He pulled the paper out and held it in his hands as he stared at the thing in disbelief. “You went through the whole car, huh?” He lifted the paper high for his brother to see.

“What’s that?” Wyatt asked, his mouth open slightly with shock. “I swear, we went over this thing from top to bottom.”

It was total dumb luck Waylon had found the paper. It was almost like the proverbial needle in the haystack, but he wouldn’t admit that to his big brother. “Hold up your hand,” Waylon said with a mischievous grin.

Wyatt frowned, but he played along, lifting his hand and extending his fingers.

“Oh, yep,” Waylon said. “It’s those stubby fingers that are the problem. You just couldn’t reach it.”

Wyatt balled his fingers into a tight fist, but he laughed. “Real funny, jackass. You just got lucky and you know it. In fact, it probably got loosened up when they towed the car.”

“Wait,” Christina said, “if you guys are done picking at each other, what is on it? Is it from Alli?”

Waylon opened the folded page. Inside was a note in Alli’s jagged, hurried scrawl. All it said was “I’m sorry. But, William, I don’t understand. Why?”

It was almost as if while she had been writing the note, she had been interrupted and she had stuffed it half written in the headliner. What in the hell was it supposed to mean? And why would she leave such an obscure note behind? Had she meant for them to find it, or was it meant for someone else?

He thought he didn’t hate Alli, but in this moment, the feeling threatened to overwhelm him.

Christina glanced over her shoulder and he could hear her breath catch.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Christina said, mimicking his thoughts. “What did she mean by ‘I don’t understand’? She’s the one who started all of this mess. She set the rules to this game.”

He handed the note over to Wyatt. His brother shook his head and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll get this into evidence, but I have a feeling it’s going to be just about as helpful as the straw wrappers. Do you remember William Poe?”

Waylon had met the county tax appraiser a time or two in passing, but aside from Poe’s relationship with Alli and a brief mention of him in the newspapers thanks to the murder of his wife, Monica, Waylon didn’t know much about the man.

Waylon shook his head.

“Poe is like a greased pig,” Wyatt said. “Just when I think I can pin him down for something, he slips out of my grasp. I thought for sure he was involved with Bianca’s and Monica’s murders, but the guy always has an alibi. Always.”

“And from what I hear, it usually involves politics or a woman’s thighs,” Christina added.

Wyatt laughed. “And sometimes a combination of the two.”

“Did you check his alibi?” Waylon asked.

Wyatt looked at him with a raise of the brow. “Really? Dude, I’m not completely incompetent at my job.”

He instantly regretted asking his brother such a stupid question. Of course Wyatt knew what he was doing—Waylon hadn’t meant to step on his toes, but he was just so used to working alone, or rather, being in command, that coming here and being second in line in the investigation was out of his comfort zone.

“Boys, boys, you are both good at your jobs. Wyatt, I don’t think that’s what your brother meant,” Christina said, trying to smooth the ground between them. “Right, Waylon?” She put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

“Of course. Sorry, man.”

Waylon stood up, and Christina’s fingers slipped from him. He looked back at her, and he couldn’t help but notice the way the midday sun made her normally icy blue eyes sparkle with warmth.

He forced himself to look away and walked toward the back of the car, stopping by the rear tire on the passenger’s side. As he looked down, something odd caught his eye. “Wyatt,” he said, squatting down and pressing his finger against a deformation in the rim’s surface, “look at this.”

Wyatt came over. “It’s just a rock chip.” But he knelt down beside him.

“No.” Waylon pressed. “Look closer. That, Wyatt...is a bullet hole.”


Chapter Four (#u45c7ab56-a307-55a8-8665-3da5421f2b2e)

Wyatt dropped them off at the ranch so Christina could get her truck and they could set to work. She sent a quick glance over at Waylon. His copper-toned skin glistened in the midday sun, and she couldn’t help the little wiggle of attraction that rose up from her core.

Seeing him in his element, working over the car and finding what the rest had missed, had made some of the anger she had been carrying for the man fall to the wayside. He was good at his job, and he looked even better doing it.

This would have been so much easier if she could just stay firmly planted in her dislike. It made it easier to compartmentalize and keep him as an enemy. Yet every time he joked around, she was tempted to think of him almost as a friend.

He turned to her as Wyatt drove off. “You sure you don’t mind driving me around? I could just borrow one of the ranch’s trucks. You don’t have to keep me company.”

She appreciated the out, but her whole body pushed her to stay with him. “I’m doing this for Alli. I can’t stop looking just because you’re here.”

“Have you been looking for her nonstop since she went missing last week?” he asked. A frown crossed over his face, like he was surprised she had not given up.

“Of course. She’s my sister. I don’t have to agree with what she does, or the choices she makes, but I love her and I want to make sure that she’s safe.”

“If she called or you found her, do you think you’d be able to turn her in to the authorities—or Wyatt?”

She chewed on her lip. She’d already thought about that question, but she had pushed it to the back of her mind. “I need to know she’s safe first, then I’ll make that choice.”

“Does that mean you would let her stay on the run?”

Alli deserved to pay for her crimes. She had murdered, but Christina had to think about Winnie, too. The girl was already bearing the weight of her mother’s choices. If Alli went to prison, Winnie would have to visit that terrible place, but if Alli stayed on the run, things could be kept from Winnie until she was old enough to understand a bit better.

“Like I said, I’ll make that choice when I’m faced with it,” she said. “All I want now is to know that she’s alive and well.”

Waylon glanced down at his hands. “You know what? I get it,” he said, looking at his tanned and calloused fingers. “Your sister has a good heart. I don’t know why she acted like she did, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about her and what happens to her. I want her to be safe—just like you do.”

The way he spoke about Alli was endearing and completely unexpected. Alli had never spoken of him with anything close to the same warmth. In fact, if Christina had to guess, regardless of what Alli had told her, it was not a breakup he had instigated. If anything, it seemed like he might still have had feelings for her sister when they had split and maybe even now.

Which made the feelings Christina was starting to have for him all that much more wrong. How could she possibly be attracted to her sister’s ex-husband? There was something so daytime gossip show about the whole thing.

She chuckled at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Waylon asked.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” she said, trying to backpedal from her bad timing. “It’s just that...” She couldn’t tell him she was laughing about the way she was starting to feel about him.

“What?” he asked, spurring her on.

“It’s just that I think we’re one step away from being asked to be on the Maury show.” She covered her mouth as she laughed and, as she did, the look of pain on Waylon’s face disappeared and he smiled. It was filled with a jovial warmth, and there was even a look of something else in his eyes...something that resembled attraction.

Nope. She had to have it all wrong. There was no way he could be attracted to her.

“I...er...” she said. There was a faint warmth in her cheeks, and she tried to keep it in check. She walked toward her truck with him at her side. “I don’t mean your family. Your mom and dad are great. It’s just with the murders and everything...you know.”

He motioned that it was okay for her to stop her rambling. “It’s okay. I get it. And though my parents’ lives are in order, you and I both know the same can’t be said for the rest of us. That’s without even mentioning this thing with Alli.” He paused. “I can’t even begin to imagine what she told you about me over the years.” He glanced over at her, as if trying to gauge her reaction.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Alli had made a personal habit of ripping her ex-husband to shreds. Alli hadn’t done it in front of Winnie as she had wanted to keep Winnie’s father’s identity a secret from her, but that didn’t change the fact that over the years, some of the things she had told Christina had begun to wear her down and made her dislike him on principle.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he said, as though he could read her mind. “Listen, Alli and I had a tough relationship.” He said the word like it tasted of spoiled shellfish. “We never should have gotten married. I just thought that what we had was what love was supposed to be. I supported her—emotionally, mentally, even physically sometimes. It only made sense that we took the leap and made things official. But as soon as we got married, it was like a switch flipped. She went from bad to worse.”

Christina should have been offended that he was saying her sister was bad, but she really didn’t have a platform to argue anything different. Alli made poor choices on a regular basis.

“I thought I could handle her mood swings, but in the end—when she started sleeping with other men—I just couldn’t have her in my life anymore. We weren’t good together. We never were. It was just time that I left. She’s the reason I went back to active duty. And you know what? I’m glad that I left. It was far better than letting your sister rip my soul apart.”

His candor came as a surprise, so much so that Christina didn’t quite know how to react. She should have stood up for her sister, yet at the same time, she could feel for Waylon. Her sister had a way of tearing down the people she loved. It was just a part of her personality, as if by pushing away the people she loved the most, she could protect herself from being vulnerable or at the mercy of others’ feelings. It was almost as though she wanted to hurt them before they had the chance to hurt her.

It undoubtedly came from their childhood. Their parents had been emotional train wrecks—a world of constant cheating and berating. It was the reason Christina had sworn off men for the last few years. She had come too close to following in her parents’ footsteps. Not loving was just so much easier than living a life like that of her childhood.

“Alli had her fair share of problems, and maybe a few extra, too,” she said, giving him a knowing smile.

“I have mine, too,” he said, making the desire she was feeling for him even more intense.

Waylon wasn’t a perfect man, but Alli had been wrong when she’d told her that he didn’t have a heart. Even now, when he had the chance to make Alli the fall guy, he took his lumps.

She threw him her truck keys. “Remember how to get around?”

His face pinched. “This old town ain’t that big. I think I can remember where the Poe place is.” He got into the driver’s seat and revved the old truck to life.

Christina laughed as she slid onto the truck’s bench seat—far too close to the man who was starting to make her heart do strange things. “You got that right.” Sometimes, just like this truck, the town was entirely too small for comfort.

“Why did you come here?” he asked as he steered the truck onto the road. “I mean, no offense or anything, but there’s so many amazing places in the world—places where anything you want is at your fingertips. Why would you, a woman in her late-twenties who could have anything—and anyone she wanted—come to a place like this and stay?”

Did he really think she could have anyone she wanted? She almost laughed at the thought.

The only men who had ever seemed to be attracted to her were emotional nitwits. They were just too much like her father—wanting her when it was convenient for them, and then forgetting about her when it wasn’t.

She refused to chase another man. She wasn’t the kind of woman who pursued men and made things fit when they truly didn’t. She wanted the elusive unicorn—the kind of guy who actually made the effort, the kind who wanted her for her and not what she had between her legs, and the kind who fit into her life naturally instead of feeling like a fish out of water.

She glanced over at Waylon as he drove. He would fit right in. It was his family’s ranch. He knew everyone. It was neutral ground and a commonality that she would have with only a few, but his passions didn’t seem to lie within the boundary lines of the guest ranch. Rather, they seemed to be following his heart all around the world—living for adventure. He seemed like the kind of guy who was far more at home jumping out of an airplane than sweeping a floor.

He lived for his dreams.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. If only she had the same freedoms.

There had been a brief period of time, right after she had moved out of her mother’s house after her parents’ divorce, when she could have escaped. She could have gone anywhere in the world. At the time, she’d barely had two dimes to her name, but if she had truly wanted to get out, she could have. There was nothing holding her back—except her own fears and feelings of inadequacy. She hadn’t wanted to travel the world alone. Adventures alone were nothing compared to adventures with someone you loved—and that feeling had led her straight to her sister, and the gates of Dunrovin.

Until now, she hadn’t looked back. Yet, sitting next to Waylon—a man who was living his dreams—Christina couldn’t help but feel like she had missed a chance of a lifetime. Now she couldn’t go—she had to think of Winnie. She had to think of her life at the ranch. Family, and the ability to support them, came first.

The truck slowed down, and they bumped up the driveway leading to the Poes’—or rather William Poe’s—house. She still hadn’t gotten over her friend’s death. Every time she thought of Monica, she had to remind herself that she was gone. It was surreal. So many times over the last few days, she had lifted her phone to text her friend, only to remember that she was gone.

Though everything had changed in her world, the Poes’ house hadn’t. The siding was the same gray it had been a few months ago, and the garage stood apart from the house, filled with William’s collection of cars, its walls adorned with Sports Illustrated posters of scantily clad women.

She’d never liked stepping foot in the garage, and she had liked William even less—especially after Monica had told her about his private habits, which mostly centered on getting himself between the legs of as many women as humanly possible. How Monica had put up with it was still a mystery to her, but she’d always supported her friend. It wasn’t her place to judge her, but only to stand by her side.

Monica’s car was parked outside, like now that she was dead, there wasn’t a place in William’s home for any of his wife’s leftovers.

“You okay?” Waylon asked as she noticed him glancing over at her.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just made it a habit over the years not to hang out here. Monica was good about it—she normally let me meet her somewhere else.”

“You were friends with Monica? The lady your sister...” He stopped, like he was afraid that the words your sister killed would break her once again.

She couldn’t deny the fact he might have been right in his assumption. Even the thought of what her sister had done to her friend, and her reasons behind it, made a feeling of sickness rise up from her belly.

“Yeah. Monica is a cool—I mean, was a cool chick. She loved to ride horses. We’d spend hours riding the trails around the ranch. Honestly, looking back, I think it was just an excuse for her not to be around her husband.”

Waylon chuckled. “It’s funny how hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”

“Is that how you feel when you look back at your marriage with my sister?”

His face pinched slightly at the question, like he wished she hadn’t gone there. Lucky for him, as they pulled to a stop in front of William’s house, the man in question came out the door. William grimaced as he caught sight of them, and Christina would have sworn she could see him mouth a long line of curse words.

Instead of answering her question, Waylon jumped out of the truck like he would rather face the cussing county tax appraiser than talk any more about his failed marriage.

She couldn’t blame him. Relationships, and what came of them, were a tricky thing—especially in their case. Even as she thought about their confusing circumstances, she couldn’t help but watch as Waylon strode toward William.

His jeans had to have been made especially for him. There was no way something that fit that well around the curves of his ass could have simply come off a rack.

She giggled as she thought about the many web articles she had read about men who didn’t wash their jeans so they could get them to fit that way. Was Waylon among the no-wash crew? It was a random thought, but in a way it made her like him even more. It was almost as if the thought of him standing over his jeans at night and deciding whether or not they should be cleaned made him more human and less the imposing MP who had literally landed on her doorstep. More than anything, it made him real. Human. Attainable. But was he someone she really wanted to be with?

Waylon turned around and waved for her to come out of the truck.

She’d much rather have stayed—she had nothing to say to William Poe that she hadn’t already said. They’d had their moment together at Monica’s funeral. He had barely spoken to her or looked at her as they had stood at the cemetery, watching as people threw handfuls of dirt onto his wife’s casket. Yet, afterward, when everyone was saying their goodbyes, he’d made his position clear when he’d leaned in and said a few simple but inflammatory words: “This is all your fault.”

At the time, she hadn’t understood his thought process. How could he have possibly thought she had anything to do with his wife’s death? Sure, she had ties to all involved, but that didn’t mean she had taken a role in anything. On the other hand, she wasn’t completely innocent—there had been the night in the office when she had been talking about William and his actions with Monica. Alli had been just outside the door, listening to their conversation. No doubt that night she had drawn her sister’s crosshairs onto Monica’s back, but William couldn’t have known.

He was just angry, and she had been his easiest and closest target. Maybe because he couldn’t go after her sister, he had simply decided to come after her. Regardless, she hated him and how his choices had been an atomic bomb in all of their lives. If he had just kept himself in his pants, lives could have been saved and Alli would have never disappeared. He was like this town’s Helen of Troy, but instead of his face launching a thousand ships, his manhood had launched a thousand hours of tragedy.

She clomped out of the truck and made her way over to the two men. William gave her the same look of disgust he had given her at Monica’s funeral, like he had bitten into a wormy apple. The only worm here was him.

“I believe I answered all the questions when your brother brought me in, Waylon.” As William spoke, a small dark-haired woman walked out of the house. William, noticing the woman, turned and pointed toward the door. “Get back inside, Lisa.”

“Why are they here?” The woman pointed toward her with a shaking finger. “Did they find Alli?”

“Shut up and listen to me, Lisa. Go inside.”

Lisa looked taken aback, but she hurried inside.

“Who was that?” Christina asked.

William waved her off. “She is none of your business.”

Was the woman just another in his long line of conquests?

“You people have no right to be stepping on my property, and you have no right to be asking me any questions,” William continued.

“You’re right. You’re under no real obligation. Nothing you tell me would be admissible in court,” Waylon said, in an almost jovial tone, as if he could win the slimeball’s favor by acting like a friend. “However, I would think you would want to bring your wife’s murderer to justice.”

“You don’t want justice,” William said with a snort. “You just want to find Alli. You think if you can get to her first, maybe you can get her a lighter sentence when the crap rains down. But here’s the deal...” William pointed at Waylon, the move aggressive and escalating. It was the move of a politician. “Even if you find her, she’s going to pay for what she did. She’ll get the full weight of justice upon her. I will make sure of it.”

“Even if? What, do you think there’s a chance we aren’t going to find my sister?” Christina asked, enraged by the man’s tone. “What did you do to her?”

“Better yet,” Waylon interrupted, “what didn’t you tell my brother about what you know?”

William waved them off. “You and your screwed-up family aren’t my problem. You people are trash.” He looked into her eyes. “You are trash. And if you think I’m going to play your effing games, you’re wrong.”

“Our games?” Waylon looked genuinely confused by the man’s accusation. “What games are you talking about, Will?”

“My name’s William, not Will, Bill or Billy. Unlike you, Waylon, I wasn’t named after a dead country singer. My family wasn’t a bunch of rednecks.”

Up until that point, Christina had thought she had the corner on hating William Poe. Yet, based on the flaming-red color of Waylon’s face, she might have just lost the lead position.

“Listen here, bastard,” Waylon seethed. “I would’ve liked to go about this whole thing amicably. You could have made this all easy.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” William interrupted him, making a thin sheet of sweat rise to Waylon’s forehead as his hands balled into tight fists. “You came here. You’re accusing me of who knows what. You have no right to be here—and the only bastard here is you.”

Waylon lunged forward, but Christina stopped him by grabbing his hand. “Come on, Waylon.” She pulled him toward the truck. “If nothing else, now you know the type of guy that would lead a woman to kill.”


Chapter Five (#u45c7ab56-a307-55a8-8665-3da5421f2b2e)

Eloise had been cooking constantly since Waylon had stepped foot back onto the ranch, and the rich odors of roasting meat and butter wafted throughout the house. After their run-in with William, Christina was more than happy to settle back into the warmth and comfort of the kitchen as she helped Eloise put the finishing touches on the meal.

Waylon and Colter walked in, but they were so wrapped up in whatever they had been talking about that neither of them seemed to notice her sitting at the bar.

Colter looked a lot like his older, biological brother. They both had the same copper-tinted skin, dark brown eyes and jet-black hair, but beyond their looks, the two were nothing alike. Waylon carried himself as though he were ready to take on the world, while Colter...well, it could be said that he was constantly at ease. It was almost as if Waylon carried a chip on his shoulder big enough for the both of them, so big that Colter had never felt its weight.

“Heya, Colt,” Christina said, giving him a small wave.

He smiled brightly, the simple action lighting up his face with his characteristic warmth. “How’s it going, lady? Long time no see.” He walked over and gave her a hug so big that her feet came off the floor.

She laughed, but she couldn’t help but notice the frown that flickered over Waylon’s features at his brother’s display of affection. Or was it that his brother had suddenly displayed a bit of affection toward her? Either way, she pried herself out of Colt’s arms.

Winnie came running into the kitchen. There was dirt streaked over her face, and her Ace bandage was covered in sticky greenish-brown mud.

“Winnie, were you out in the barn again?” Christina asked, giving the girl an admonishing look.

“Lewis and Clark gotta have cookies,” Winnie said, like giving horses their treats was a vital part of any growing girl’s day. “They so hungry.”

Christina fell victim to the girl’s big brown eyes—eyes that looked entirely too much like her father’s. She instinctively glanced toward Waylon. He was smiling at the girl, and the warmth made her heart shift in her chest. He wasn’t supposed to like children—especially Winnie. If he fell for the girl’s charms and the time came when he was given a choice of having her, Christina would undoubtedly lose out to him and the girl would be taken away.

She wrapped her arms around Winnie, claiming her even though Waylon had no idea she was up for grabs. “Why don’t we go get you cleaned up before supper. Your—” She stopped before she let the word nana fall from her lips. She didn’t want him to ask about the moniker again. The less he knew, the easier it would be.

“What?” Winnie looked up at her.

“Nothing. Let’s just get you cleaned up. You don’t want to be a mess when it comes time to eat.”

Winnie pulled out of her arms. “You’re gonna play dress up.” She pointed toward Waylon. “Yeah, Way-lawn?”

His handsome and confusing smile disappeared. He might have liked Winnie, but he probably wasn’t any closer to wanting a kid than at the moment he’d landed.

“Ah, yeah,” he said, pulling the word into a long collection of syllables. “You still want to do that, eh?” He looked over toward Christina, sending her a questioning glance.

She shrugged. He could stay in the hot seat for a little while longer. Sometimes all it took for a man to go running was an hour with a mercurial toddler—especially his type, the kind who didn’t know the difference between a sippy and a bottle.

Winnie ran over, took him by the hand and started to drag the begrudging Waylon toward her room at the far end of the ranch-style house. She and Alli had shared a room, but now she was on her own.

“Come on, Way-lawn. It’s gonna be fun!” Glee filled Winnie’s words, so much so that Christina was tempted to let him off the hook and take his place.

She didn’t mind living in the land of Pinterest costumes and childish dreams. She embraced country living—a world of quilting parties and Sunday dinners. She found great comfort in the fact that they had their own lifestyle and their own brand of perfection.

Even though Waylon had grown up in this world, the tight look on his face made it clear he didn’t have the same sentimental attachment. He looked like he would be far more comfortable in the throes of war than the throes of pink felt and glitter.

Eloise walked out of the kitchen carrying a bag of frozen corn as Waylon made his way into the girl’s room. “Is he really going to go with her?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

“You know Winnie. She has a way of convincing even the stillest of hearts to start beating again.”

Eloise gave her a soft, knowing smile. “I don’t think it’s just Winnie who has that gift.”

She wasn’t sure exactly what the woman was implying, but the thought made Christina shift her weight uncomfortably. She wasn’t having any effect on Waylon, and whether or not Waylon was making her feel unexpected and somewhat unwelcome things...well, there was no way the woman could have known.

Before Eloise could make her think of anything else, she escaped down the hall after the keeper of hearts. She stood outside the bedroom door, listening to Winnie telling Waylon about her stuffed animals. Apparently, according to the story she was telling him, her favorite was her orange-and-white plush cat she had dubbed Mr. Puffy Face. Yesterday the cat had been dubbed Hank; regardless, their interaction made Christina laugh. Winnie hadn’t been herself since her mother’s disappearance, and it was nice to see some happiness return to the girl.

She leaned against the doorjamb, the door open just far enough to see in but not far enough to interrupt the two from their play. Winnie had put on her pink Sleeping Beauty dress, and Waylon had a purple bejeweled tiara perched at an awkward angle on his head.

Christina chuckled as she turned back to the kitchen.

Eloise pulled out the roast from the oven as Colter stirred the vegetables. From the formal dining room, she could hear the titters of laughter as Wyatt and his fiancée, Gwen, set the table. As she stood watching, a comforting feeling of home filled her.

It felt so good to be a part of all of this—and the family. If she had been on her own with Alli’s disappearance, she didn’t know how she would have been able to make it this far—just taking care of Winnie was a full-time event, and that was to say nothing of her job at Dunrovin, taking care of the animals and helping to train the horses, and the daily needs of living. It felt so good, standing here and letting life go on around her.

It made her wish this moment could last forever—but bad or good, all things in life were dictated by the fickle hands of time. Even intangible things like love fell victim to it—love ebbed and waned, or at least it always had when it had come to the men in her life.

The only time that wasn’t true was when it came to her love for Winnie. To love a child was an incredible experience. They could drive her to the edges of madness, they could treat her worse than a stranger, and yet at the end of the day, all their trespasses could be forgiven with the whisper of I love you, or their scent on her skin. Christina hugged her arms around herself as she thought about how close those days could be to coming to an end.

“Is Waylon going to make it out of that bedroom alive?” Wyatt asked, pulling her from the pits of her thoughts.

“I—” she started but was cut off as Waylon appeared in the kitchen’s doorway, sadly without his sparkling tiara.

“Is there any tinfoil?” he asked, a childlike smile on his face.

Eloise opened up a drawer, pulled out a blue box and handed it over to Waylon. “You’re not going to make her dress up like leftovers, are you? Winnie isn’t going to go for the idea,” she said with a chuckle.

He raised the box like a wand. “No worries, I have this under control.”

“Is that army-speak for you are letting a two-and-a-half-year-old run you?” Wyatt asked with a raise of his brow and a thin smirk.

Waylon laughed, and his whole face lit up. His copper skin made the crow’s feet nearly invisible at the corners of his eyes, but if she looked closely, she could just make them out, almost as if they were a secret about him that was there only for her. She tried to control the drive she felt to move nearer to him, but as she stared, her desire intensified.

“Hey, now, I’ve let worse women control me. At least this one’s cute, she likes me and she enjoys having me around—it’s a lot more than I can say about some others,” Waylon joked, but as he looked at Christina, he shut his mouth like he wished he could have reeled the words back in. “I...I just mean...” he stammered. “Not that I meant Alli or anything.”

“I’m not going to say anything,” she said, cutting him a little slack. “I have no room to judge anyone when it comes to relationships.”

She could have sworn she saw Eloise and Gwen share a look. They were wrong if they thought something was happening between her and Waylon. There weren’t any feelings between them—at least not any that came from Waylon—and her feelings were probably nothing more than her trying to come to terms with his new bond with Winnie. Regardless of whatever those two women were thinking, the only thing she and Waylon would share was the love they each felt toward one curly-haired two-year-old.

She turned away as Waylon brushed against her, making his way back to the girl. Where he had touched her burned with an unexpected and unwelcome heat, and she rubbed her arm as though she could make the feeling disappear by wiping it away.

The door to Winnie’s room clicked shut, and Wyatt peeked around the corner before turning back to everyone in the kitchen. “Have you told him yet?”

She glanced down at the floor, afraid that if she looked at Wyatt he would be able to read each confusing thought and feeling that ran through her.

“Don’t you think he has a right to know?” Wyatt pressed.

Eloise waved him off. “He has every right to know, but it’s already been nearly three years. What’s another few days?”

“He’s going to be furious when you tell him. He’s never going to understand. I know I wouldn’t,” Wyatt continued.

Gwen walked over to him and wrapped her arm around his. “This isn’t our choice, Wyatt.”

“That doesn’t mean that we aren’t going to be accountable when he learns the truth.” Wyatt put his hand on his fiancée’s and made small circles on the back of her skin.

The simple action made Christina want to hug herself tighter. Gwen was so lucky to have found love with one of the Fitz brothers. They all had their issues, but they were all good people, even Waylon—or rather, especially Waylon. She could only imagine how good it would feel to have him making small circles on her skin, especially after him merely brushing against her had almost brought her to her knees.

She forced herself to look away from the cute couple, reminding herself that as picturesque as they were, a relationship wasn’t what she wanted. Sure, it started out with flowers, sweet words and tender touches, but nothing that good lasted forever.

“If we tell him,” Eloise said, pulling her from her thoughts, “there will be no going back. Once the truth is out there, he’s going to have to make some major choices in his life. He’s innocent in all this. He has always done his best, and I’m sure if we tell him the truth, he will try to make the best choices he can. But who knows what those choices will be.”

Wyatt shook his head. “We can’t stand in his way.”

“I know,” Eloise said. “Right now, with all the uncertainty with Alli and what she may or may not do... Well, he’s already burdened enough. Don’t you think?”

“Give him more credit. He’s strong. He can handle the truth. And he needs to be able to make his own decisions.” Wyatt motioned toward the bedroom.

“No one is arguing that, Wyatt,” Christina said, trying to come to Eloise’s aid. “It’s just that we need to make sure he’s ready.”

“Come on,” Wyatt said, shaking his head. “No one’s ever really ready to be a parent. Even if you think you are ready, it’s not until you’re thrown into the situation that you really know what you’re in for.”

Eloise smiled as she raised her brow. “Is there something you two need to tell us?” She rubbed a small circle on her lower belly.

Gwen’s mouth dropped open. “No... I... Not yet...” she stammered.

Wyatt chuckled. “Mom, come on. Don’t tease her.”

Eloise laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with me hoping for a few more grandchildren. It’s never too soon to start trying.” She gave them all a little wiggle of the finger. “Little Miss Winnie needs a partner in crime.”

Gwen’s face was bright red, and Wyatt had started to take on a sweaty sheen. Christina felt for them and the pressure the matron of the family was putting on them. At least she wasn’t in their shoes. She might be asked about her relationship status all the time—it was the curse of being over twenty-three and not married—but those questions were far easier to field when compared to talk about babies.

Thankfully, before any more uncomfortable questions, the door to Winnie’s room opened. They all went silent.

Waylon walked into the kitchen. He frowned. “What’s going on? Why are you guys so quiet?”

Eloise smiled. “What, kiddo? We aren’t being quiet. We were just waiting on you two rascals to be done playing around before we sit down to eat.” She motioned to the roast, once again taking control of the situation like a master.

Christina smiled. She could learn a few things from Eloise.

“Okay.” From the way Waylon stood there looking at his mother for a moment, it was easy to see he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press them further. He shook his head and turned away from them toward the hall. “If you are all ready, I’m proud to present Princess Leonia of Leo Land and her cat, Mr. Puffy Face.” He gave an over-the-top whirl of the hand and a deep, exaggerated bow.

He stood up and started to hum the theme song for the Miss America pageant. Christina couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. It was surreal to be watching the oh-so-handsome MP doing tongue trills for the entrance of a two-year-old.

Winnie marched into the kitchen. Her walk was more like the cowgirl she was instead of the princess she was pretending to be. She had on the pink Sleeping Beauty gown, her bandaged arm was wrapped with tinfoil to make it look like a clunky sword and she wore a foil crown. The crumpled and uneven crown had two large spikes Christina was sure were supposed to be purely decorative but looked conspicuously like devil horns.

Winnie had on bright pink lipstick that was smeared over her teeth as she smiled, and it was heavy on the left side of her mouth, like Waylon had pressed too hard while applying. Winnie smiled brightly, the motion filling her eyes with joy.

Oh, what it would have been to be a child once again, to find true, unadulterated joy in things most stodgy adults thought ridiculous. It would have been so nice to go back to those moments in life, where a thing like playing dress-up was all it took to forget one’s troubles. There were no concerns of what was to come, bills that needed to be paid or the things that were required to make another person happy. There was just one pink dress and one ill-fitting tinfoil crown.

Wyatt leaned in close so only Christina could hear him. “He isn’t perfect, neither is his life, but maybe he wouldn’t be such a bad dad after all.”

He hadn’t needed to tell her what she was already thinking. Some things—like the look of pride that Waylon was giving Winnie—spoke volumes about what it meant to truly love. And love was the only thing that really mattered.


Chapter Six (#u45c7ab56-a307-55a8-8665-3da5421f2b2e)

Waylon had never been one for sleep much, but last night had been long and filled with dark shadows. It was almost as if Dunrovin had started to move in around him, threatening to trap him with its candy canes and pink princesses. He had managed to escape once before, but it had been when things had been ending with Alli. Now that he was back at the ranch, it was hard to remember any of the other reasons he’d left besides his disastrous marriage.

Rolling out of bed and making his way to the kitchen, he was surprised to find Christina already standing in front of the coffeepot as it percolated and bubbled with life. The scent of hot coffee filled the kitchen, but beneath it was the heady aroma of the woman standing with her back to him. The strange mixture made him suck in a long breath, pulling the scent of her deep into his lungs. She smelled like shampoo, hay and something earthy. It reminded him of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Christina swayed her hips as though she were dancing to a song only she could hear, but as she moved, she hummed a few bars. A piece of hair fell from the butterfly clip that held up her blond locks. She was so dang beautiful. If he wasn’t here about her sister, if he was just living his everyday and somewhat mundane life back at Fort Bragg, he would have made his move. As it was, he simply stood there, taking her in.

Last night there had been a moment when he’d been dancing with Winnie in her princess dress and he had caught Christina smiling. That look had almost made it seem possible she liked him, but he wasn’t sure he was qualified to get a good read on that woman. She was so confusing. Mad one minute, and the next she was giving him a look that in most circles meant they would be exchanging more than phone numbers.

He chuckled.

Christina turned around with a jump. “How long have you been standing there?” She pulled at her Van Halen nightshirt. There was a hole over her left hip, and her hand found the spot like she hated the thought of him seeing any part of her naked flesh.

He smiled as he stared at her fingers and thought about the word naked. Just the thought made his body quiver to life. Yes, he could handle seeing her lying on his bed, waiting, wanting.

“Waylon, how long have you been there?” She gave him a look as though she was wondering if he had lost his mind.

“Huh? Not long.” He forced himself to look at the clock on the stove while he tried to get his body back under control, but mornings and him...well, it was just another battle that he rarely seemed to win. He shifted his weight to hide anything that might have slipped into view. “Actually, I was just going to grab a cup of joe before heading up to where they found Alli’s car.”

“I thought you might have something in mind. I’m glad I caught you. I want to go.”

“Haven’t you already gone up there?” A minute ticked by on the clock.

She turned back to the cupboard and took out two travel mugs. “Yep, but after I saw you work the investigation on the car yesterday...well, I would love to think that you might be able to pull something from the scene, just like you pulled that note out of the headliner.”

That was pure dumb luck, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it to her. He liked the thought of her thinking he had some special gift when it came to an investigation. He would take being her hero any day.

“I doubt there’s anything left up there for us to find. They went over that scene pretty good, according to Wyatt’s notes. And it’s been nearly a full week. By now, between the weather and normal wear and tear—well, we’d be lucky to even find the exact spot.”

“I’ve been up there. I can show you where they found the car.” Christina sloshed the coffee into the cups. Her hands were shaking slightly.




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