Книга - A Rugged Ranchin’ Dad

A Rugged Ranchin' Dad
Kia Cochrane


FabulousFathersFOREVER A FATHERWhen single dad Stone Tyler first met the beautiful and free-spirited Dahlia nine years ago, he was a rough-edged cowboy with no intention of getting married–ever. But it wasn't long before he was asking for Dahlia's hand, certain their love would last forever.But then an unthinkable tragedy struck their blissful home and tore his family apart. Although Stone and Dahlia couldn't deny the love that brought them together, they were suddenly separated by a world of pain and grief. Now Stone had to find a way to save his family and somehow convince his wife a lifetime of love awaited them….This ranchin' dad would do anything to save his family.







Stone knew exactly what he had to do. (#u2d76a9bd-4ed6-5ae8-bf49-a9bcf8aed48e)Letter to Reader (#u8ad8c0b2-c693-557f-a124-912ba331e05f)Title Page (#ud24fda04-97a3-5cb3-935a-daf3a22db8a9)Dedication (#u626bf865-55fe-5b15-a554-e721425b11ba)About the Author (#u3f1adc78-dd06-5432-a75a-02df2c50e749)Prologue (#u9311a727-906b-579c-abc4-f07ddb87e2c0)Chapter One (#u7c0bf8fa-3265-5074-84f2-ced1c6528374)Chapter Two (#uaee34136-0c5f-51fe-b2a4-ac9421c40208)Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Stone knew exactly what he had to do.

He’d known for weeks.

He had to pick up the pieces of his life—and Dahlia’s, too—and he had to do it now. Tonight.

His life had broken apart one year ago, large pieces of it crushed beyond recognition. Even so, one piece, shining and pure, yet sharp enough to draw blood, a piece Stone could hold on to, was solid and it was real.

He was still deeply, hopelessly in love with Dahlia—and he’d do anything, absolutely anything—not to lose her.

Even if it meant he had to risk his heart all over again....


Dear Reader,

Silhouette Romance is proud to usher in the year with two exciting new promotions! LOVING THE BOSS is a six-book series, launching this month and ending in June, about office romances leading to happily-ever-afters. In the premiere title, The Boss and the Beauty, by award-winning author

Donna Clayton, a prim personal assistant wows her jaded, workaholic boss when she has a Cinderella makeover....

You’ve asked for more family-centered stories, so we created FAMILY MATTERS, an ongoing promotion with a special flash. The launch title, Family by the Bunch from popular Special Edition author Amy Frazier, pairs a rancher in want of a family with a spirited social worker...and five adorable orphans.

Also available are more of the authors you love, and the miniseries you’ve come to cherish. Kia Cochrane’s emotional Romance debut, A Rugged Ranchin’Dad, beautifully captures the essence of FABULOUS FATHERS. Star author Judy Christenberry unveils her sibling-connected miniseries LUCKY CHARM SISTERS with Marry Me, Kate, an unforgettable marriage-of-convenience tale. Granted: A Family for Baby is the latest of Carol Grace’s BEST-KEPT WISHES miniseries. And COWBOYS TO THE RESCUE, the heartwarming Western saga by rising star Martha Shields, continues with The Million-Dollar Cowboy.

Enjoy this month’s offerings, and look forward to more spectacular stories coming each month from Silhouette Romance!

Happy New Year!






Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

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A Rugged Ranchin’ Dad

Kia Cochrane







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


For Keith


KIA COCHRANE

reads anything she can get her hands on. “I love books with happy endings,” Kia says, “especially romances.” Kia, who has been writing since she was nine years old, was born and raised in Virginia and now lives in North Carolina with her husband, their white miniature poodle, their golden retriever and their new kitten.







Stone Tyler on Fatherhood...

I never thought much about faith—until mine was put to the test. You see, I blamed myself for my daughter’s death last year. And I promised myself that nothing—absolutely nothing—would harm my little boy. Not if I could prevent it.

But I went about it all wrong. I took control of Field’s life. I took away all the things that he cared about—just to keep him safe. But I forgot that kids need freedom as much as they need rules. And to be trusted nearly as much as they need to be loved.

I haven’t been a good father to my son this past year. Haven’t been much of a husband to Dahlia, either, to tell you the truth. But I’m trying to get past the grief and the guilt and to face the future with an open heart.

I just hope it’s not too late....


Prologue

Dahlia walked toward the beckoning white light. She felt warm all over—and, finally, at peace. She hadn’t felt this good since...well, since her hell on earth had begun twelve months ago.

The place was crowded. Everyone was lined up, waiting to get their wings, and to be escorted through the white gates. The guy in front of her wore brief bathing trunks, and he was carrying a surfboard, his shoulder-length blond hair still damp. He smelled faintly of salt and seaweed.

Dahlia sighed and glanced down at herself. She wasn’t much better. She had on worn, faded jeans and a soft blue denim shirt. Odd, she had always believed entering heaven meant wearing white.

She glanced at the sentinel beside the gate. He wore a long, beautiful robe of ivory silk. He also had wings and a glorious halo to go along with his leather notebook and pencil. Maybe you weren’t given white clothes until you passed through the gates.

Dahlia suppressed a sigh. What was taking so long? she wondered. She was filled with anticipation and excitement. Your loved ones were supposed to be waiting for you, weren’t they?

She bit her lower lip. Impatience was a trait she possessed in abundance, one that she wasn’t proud of, and she tried hard to rein it in.

She did permit herself a small, bouncing motion on the balls of her booted feet, hoping to relieve some of her stress. She hated waiting in lines, but comforted herself with the knowledge that this line would be her last one ever.

Finally, finally, she reached the man with the wings and the halo.

“Your name, please?” he asked briskly.

“Dahlia Tyler.”

“Ah, yes. Demise by being thrown from a horse.”

“Actually, Firelight didn’t throw me,” she gently corrected him. “The branch of a tree knocked me to the ground.”

“Ah, yes. Head injury,” he said, as though that explained everything. “My name is Basil, and I am the Chief Angel. Here is a ticket for your wings and halo at the end of the path.” He placed the ticket in her hand and immediately Dahlia found herself in a long white gown. Silk. Pure silk, she thought, running her hands over the material.

“Step through here, please.”

Dahlia studied the gate he was holding open for her. She wanted to get out of this white mist, and go through the gate. It was clear on the other side.

She could see stone pathways through beautiful green fields, could hear the sound of rushing water somewhere beyond the gate, and she wanted very much to go there. She needed to go there, where it was safe and warm—but where was...?

“Mom! Over here!”

And Dahlia saw her. Brooke. Her daughter, standing on the path. She was wearing the long white gown, wings and halo of an angel. She looked so beautiful, Dahlia’s heart ached. She hadn’t seen her little girl in such a long time.

Twelve months, to be exact.

Her little girl. Her precious baby—no, not her baby. Brooke always hated it when she called her that. Brooke was gazing back at her with big blue eyes, her long dark hair loose and free, a wreath of white flowers on her head.

“Mom, hurry! I’ve been waiting and waiting for you!” Brooke held her arms out with a joyous smile.

Dahlia started to run toward her, but Basil stopped her with a gentle, but firm, hand. “There will be a short delay,” he said quietly. “It has been brought to my attention—”

“Oh, no, please!” Dahlia cried. “Let me go through the gate now. I’ve waited so long for this,” she pleaded with him. She had to make him understand! “I want to be with my daughter. I haven’t held her or touched her in a year—”

“I am sorry, but there are rules, you know.”

Basil did look as though he regretted keeping her out of heaven, but why couldn’t he just let her go through the gate as planned? Why the delay? What had she done wrong?

“I’ve been standing in this line forever, waiting, waiting to be with my daughter.” Dahlia was close to tears.

Basil’s heavenly blue eyes rested gently upon her face. “It will only be three weeks,” he promised her.

Dahlia looked wistfully at Brooke, who was still waiting on the path. Then she nodded slowly. After all, she wanted to make a good impression. She took a deep breath and almost saluted. “All right.”

Basil looked pleased. “There is a man who is dangerously close to losing faith in himself. You are to help him find it.”

Oh, great! “Who is this man?” she asked.

Basil checked his list, then looked at her for a moment that seemed to stretch endlessly between them. “His name is Stone Tyler.”

Dahlia gasped. She’d never get into heaven now. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell to get Stone to believe in anything. Not after what had happened to their daughter.

“This is top priority,” he continued. “Stone Tyler is worth a little more effort.”

“Yes, I know he is,” Dahlia said softly. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t reach him. She’d tried and failed countless times before.

“Remember the power of love.”

Dahlia sighed at the trust she saw in Basil’s blue eyes. She peeked through the gate, but she could no longer see Brooke. Wearily she turned away.

Once again Basil stopped her with a gentle hand. “You have three weeks. If you do not complete your mission and return within the scheduled time, you may not go through the gate,” he warned.

“I’ll be here. I promise.” Dahlia looked at the ticket in her hand. “Do I have to give this back?”

Basil shook his head. “No, it is yours to keep.”

Dahlia stood still for a moment, frightened by the idea of leaving this place, and of the uphill battle ahead to restore Stone’s faith in himself. But she would do it.

She had to.

She’d do whatever it took to be with her daughter again.

Then she felt herself tumbling down, down, down....


Chapter One

Stone Tyler waited anxiously outside the hospital room while the doctor examined his wife. What in hell had he been thinking? Why had he spouted off about wanting to shoot Firelight? It wasn’t the horse’s fault that Brooke was dead.

He buried his face in his hands. If he hadn’t said all those things about killing Brooke’s golden palomino, then Dahlia wouldn’t have—

Guilt piled on top of guilt, like so many layers of dirt and grime.

He wouldn’t have shot Firelight. He wouldn’t have taken his rifle out to the corral and put a bullet in his daughter’s beloved horse.

He’d just been...frustrated. And angry.

At himself, mostly.

But why couldn’t Dahlia understand that the ranch was no place for Field? He didn’t want to lose his son, too. Why couldn’t she understand how much he needed to keep his surviving son safe—no matter the cost?

Why couldn’t she just let him do his job as a father? Sending their ten-year-old boy to a boarding school in San Antonio was not the end of the world. Stone hated the idea of not seeing his son every day, but Field could come home on weekends. Dahlia acted as though San Antonio was on the other side of the country, instead of only sixty miles from the ranch.

He glanced up when he heard footsteps. It was the nurse. “You may see your wife now,” she said. Her smile was reassuring.

He rushed to the door of Dahlia’s room, the past couple of days crowding his mind. The argument, Dahlia racing off blindly to save Firelight, the way he’d found her, unconscious, in the meadow, the coma she’d been in for the past thirty-six hours...

Relief crashed in on him, flooding him with memories. It hadn’t always been like this, Stone thought, as he hesitated outside the private room. Once there had been love and laughter.

Once he’d had a family. A whole family—with Dahlia, Field and Brooke.

Now it was breaking up all around him, and he didn’t know how to stop it from happening.

Stone entered the room, the scent of roses and carnations assaulting him from all sides, reminding him of the flowers at Brooke’s funeral.

And in the middle of the flowers, Dahlia lay still and silent in the white bed. But at least she was okay. The doctors had said so. All they’d been waiting for was Dahlia to wake up.

The doctor and nurse separated and let him pass between them, so he could bend over Dahlia’s bed. Stone swallowed slowly, taking her limp hand in his. “Dahlia,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. Everything will be okay now. I promise.”

He held his breath. He’d been talking to her for the past day and a half, hoping to get through to her. And then, a few minutes ago, she’d stirred and tried to open her eyes.

But what if she slipped back into a coma when she heard his voice this time? What if he was the reason she’d stayed unconscious for so long?

“Dahlia, open your eyes,” Stone said tightly, his fingers gripping her hand like a lifeline. That was exactly what she was to him. His lifeline.

The center of his universe.

But she was going to leave him if he sent their son away.

“Dahlia.” His voice was soft now, urging her to come back to him. “Dahlia, it’s Stone. Open your eyes and look at me.”

Her eyes opened and Stone looked into the violet-blue depths. The tip of her pink tongue slid out to lick her pale lips. “Stone,” she said as she felt around her shoulder area with her free hand, frowning up at him in bewilderment.

“What is it, sweetheart? Does it hurt?” The pounding of his heart seemed to reverberate until the floor shook beneath his feet.

“Didn’t I get my wings? Did they get crushed when I fell?”

There was a moment of hushed silence. Stone looked from his wife to the doctor.

“Your wife’s had a severe blow to the head, Mr. Tyler,” the doctor said quietly. “Give her some time.”

Stone swallowed nervously, his gaze moving raggedly over Dahlia’s face. Her head was bandaged, her blond hair spread out on the pillow. She was small anyway, but in the hospital bed she looked smaller and more helpless than he’d ever seen her.

“Stone.” Her voice was only half a whisper. “What happened to my ticket?”

“Your ticket?” he asked.

“The ticket for my wings and halo. Basil gave it to me before he sent me back to earth.” Her deep blue eyes, the color of the innermost part of a pansy, were fixed on him as she smiled. “He sent me back to help you,” she said clearly, and then her eyes fluttered closed.

“Doc—” Stone felt full-scale panic wash over him.

“Mrs. Tyler’s merely asleep.” The doctor’s voice was calm and reassuring.

But Stone felt anything but calm and reassured.

Apparently his wife believed she was an angel.

A week later, Stone signed all the necessary papers in order to take Dahlia out of the hospital and back to Lemon Falls and the ranch. According to the doctors, Dahlia was healthy enough to go home—even if she did still think she was an angel.

Stone turned as the nurse wheeled Dahlia out of her room. The woman smiled reassuringly at him. Different nurse, but the same smile of reassurance, he thought in exasperation.

“You ready?” he said to Dahlia, hoping she couldn’t see how uneasy he felt. “I put your suitcase in the car.”

She nodded, her blue gaze never leaving his.

He noticed how she sat quietly, without fidgeting. He wondered if Dahlia truly was strong enough to go home, or if her current demeanor was what the doctors meant by possible changes in her behavior.

As Stone guided his Ford Explorer through the heavy traffic in San Antonio, he kept stealing glances at his wife. Dahlia continued to sit quietly beside him, her hands folded primly in her lap. What was she thinking about? he wondered.

She’d always been so full of fire and energy and life, her excitement at the promise of each new day contagious to all those around her, and a positive influence even at the blackest of times.

But Stone barely recognized the subdued woman sitting beside him now, the woman she’d become this past week.

For days now, he had avoided the subject of angels with Dahlia. And he’d constantly reassured the rest of the family that all she needed was some rest. But this morning he had his doubts.

“You okay?” he asked her, as they drove out of the city. “We can stop—”

“I just want to go home and be with my baby.” Her voice was soft as it cut into his words. And his heart.

Stone’s breath caught in his throat. Had she forgotten? Didn’t she know that Brooke was—

“How is Field?” she asked slowly. “Really: How was he this morning?”

Stone was filled with sudden relief. She was talking about his son, not their daughter. Though Field was not Dahlia’s biological child, she’d been his mother for most of his life.

Stone stole another glance at her. The heavy bandages had been removed from her head this morning, replaced by a much smaller one. Dahlia’s hair, its shades of blond as varied as a Texas prairie, was pulled back in a ponytail, the soft bangs hiding most of the dressing.

But she looked so pale, he noticed with a sharp tug of guilt.

“He sounded okay when I talked to him on the phone,” Dahlia continued. “But Field keeps things bottled up inside.”

Like you.

That was one of the accusations she’d hurled at him before her accident, Stone remembered. And it was still between them, as solid and unrelenting as though the words had been carved in rock.

Dahlia turned in her seat and fixed him with her luminous, violet-blue gaze. “He told me you’d been reading and discussing The Three Musketeers with him before bed. That’s wonderful.”

“I always talk about books with him. What’s so wonderful about it?” Stone was more curious than defensive. He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her.

“You haven’t done that in a long time.”

Their gazes mingled.

Stone abruptly tore his gaze away. He inhaled and exhaled quickly. He’d been halfway hoping that Dahlia’s memory—the part that had to do with his so-called rejection of Field—wouldn’t return.

“He needs you, Stone.” Her voice was gentle. “He needs his father now more than ever.”

“He’s got me.”

“But for how long?”

Stone shook his head slightly. He had no intention of rehashing old arguments. This was one discussion that’d had most of the tread worn off it already.

“Have you changed your mind about sending Field away?”

“We don’t need to talk about this now.” Stone tightened his grip on the steering wheel and kept his eyes on the road ahead.

Dahlia’s hand stole over to touch his, and he felt the warmth, the softness, of her fingers. Slowly, carefully, some half-forgotten feelings stumbled to life. His heart started to race like a freight train, blood rushing through him, giving him life and energy and this fierce awareness of the woman sitting next to him.

He gently squeezed her hand and held it on the seat between them. If only...

“Have you changed your mind?” she repeated.

And the moment shattered like superfine crystal.

It left Stone with a broken, empty feeling inside, and a sense of having something so very close within his grasp sliding free. He wanted to give her the world. He’d lay down his own life for her. But he couldn’t give Dahlia anything close to what she wanted from him.

“Damn it, Dahlia.” His voice was low and rough with emotion. “You make it sound as though I’m sending him away as some sort of punishment. It’s a good school,” he insisted for perhaps the one millionth time.

“He loves it on the ranch.” Still the same gentle voice.

Stone jerked his head around and met her steady gaze. “But Field is isolated from other kids his own age.”

“Then you haven’t changed your mind?”

He hesitated. He wanted to give her what she wanted. He wanted to make things right between them. But not at the expense of Field’s safety. He couldn’t take the chance.

“No,” he said with deliberate gentleness. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Just you wait and see.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded, his voice suddenly rough with exasperation—and with intense longing for the way things used to be between them.

Dahlia merely shrugged and smiled that calm, smug little smile of hers while entwining her fingers through his. Her touch was warm and possessive, and all thought literally flew out of Stone’s mind.

All he knew was her touch.

Her velvety-soft fingertips. Her delicately shaped fingers. Her small hand with the square-cut diamond ring and matching white-gold wedding band.

He remembered the day he’d put those rings on her finger. The day he’d promised to love and cherish and protect her for all their days on earth. He’d meant every word of it, too.

Only...he hadn’t been able to protect her.

Or their daughter.

Stone grew pensive and uneasy. How could Dahlia sit beside him so calmly after what had happened between them? His wife was not a calm person. She was warm, intense, playful, intelligent, willful, obstinate, impulsive, beautiful and impatient. But she was not, by any stretch of the imagination, calm!

Until this week. This week she was not only calm, but positively serene.

Like an angel.

Oh, Lord, he was losing it, Stone groaned from somewhere deep inside. The result of too little sleep, no doubt. And too much worry. But Dahlia had always looked like an angel—and now she was behaving like one!

“Dahlia, do you feel up to talking?” He asked the question gently because he didn’t want to push her. But he had a lot on his mind, and some of it needed to be said as soon as possible.

“You want to talk to me?”

There was such bewildered surprise on her face and in her voice, that he cringed inside. He remembered the requests for conversation, for some kind of emotional connection these past twelve months. Requests that had slowly turned to angry demands and then to tearful begging.

Then they just...stopped.

“I think we should talk about what happened,” Stone said slowly.

“About what happened?”

Stone kept his gaze fastened on the road ahead. “I wouldn’t have shot Firelight,” he told her quietly. “I was angry and frustrated, and said a lot of stupid things I didn’t mean. And I’m sorry. It’s my fault you got hurt.”

“I shouldn’t have ridden off that way, without even waiting to saddle her first.”

Stone felt her fingers curl up in his hand, the light scraping of fingernails against his flesh. He wanted so much to tell her how scared he’d been of losing her, how this week had been, to him, like stumbling clumsily out into the light after a year of sleepwalking through the darkness.

But he could wait and tell her that.

Right now he was enjoying the profound relief that she had forgiven him. The rest could come later.

He was especially enjoying the feel of her hand close and warm inside his. It had been a long time since she’d allowed him to touch her, to get this close, even for a moment or two. It had been months since they’d connected physically, in any way, shape or form.

That was mostly his fault, too.

Stone’s mind skated back through the years. He’d been thinking a lot about their marriage this week. He’d taken a huge personal risk by letting himself fall in love with Dahlia nine years ago. Devastated by the way his ex-wife had abandoned him, with no warning, no explanation, just cold, calculated betrayal, he had been unable to see love and marriage in his future ever again.

Until he met Dahlia.

A warm, beautiful free spirit who’d been content to gloriously take each day as it came.

She’d been the healing balm to his wounded pride and broken heart. She’d taken him and his abandoned son and turned them into a family. Strong, loving and patient, Dahlia had guided him through a bad time in his life.

Now it was his turn. His turn to be strong. His turn to guide them past the tragedy of Brooke’s death to begin again. Only...how?

“Remember the first time I brought you to the ranch?” Stone tightened his grip on her hand.

A sweet, fleeting smile drifted over her face as she gazed up at him. “I was so scared, wondering if Blade and Rocky would like me.”

“My brothers know a good thing when they see it.” Stone grinned at her. “Wasn’t it one of my brothers who played matchmaker and got us together in the first place?”

“Flint kept telling me about his big brother Stone—”

“For months he kept telling me about this new girl at college that he’d met and how he thought I’d like her—”

“And you kept stalling, not wanting to meet another female again for as long as you lived.” Dahlia laughed.

Stone laughed, too. They’d done this countless times before, each giving their version of his brother Flint’s one and only attempt at matchmaking.

“I was still scared when it came time to meet the rest of your family, though.” Dahlia shifted slightly in her seat and leaned her head back. “I took classes with Flint, but meeting your other two brothers—and especially your baby boy—was a big day in my life.”

“And meeting you was a big day in mine,” Stone told her softly, taking his eyes off the road long enough to look at her. Dahlia’s eyes were a startling, dazzling shade of blue, a dark, velvety contrast to her pale gold skin and sunny blond hair. “The most important day in my life.”

He watched for a second or two as her blue eyes darkened and deepened in wonder, and shock waves of longing splintered through him.

“Was it, Stone?”

The wistful note in her voice wrenched at something hidden far back in the boarded-up places of his heart. How long had it been, he wondered uneasily, since he’d said anything even remotely reassuring to her?

“You know it was,” he answered, suddenly feeling too much, needing too much from her.

Taking several deep, steady breaths, he concentrated on the traffic, unable to trust his tenuous self-control. They were on a two-lane, paved country road now, and the light, morning traffic was a welcome distraction.

So were her fingers, snuggled deep inside his hand. Her closeness eased the ache of emptiness that had tormented him the past year. It had been so long since she’d wanted anything to do with him, either physically or emotionally.

Grief over Brooke’s death had taken its toll.

Stone grew still as he remembered the one exception. Nine months ago, Dahlia had decided she wanted another baby—but he’d had to refuse.

Something else she’d wanted that he couldn’t, in good conscience, give to her. Because there was no way in hell that he’d bring another child into this world, to love it, care for it...

And then lose it.

The melting ice around Stone’s heart slowly hardened.

Dahlia watched as Stone drove the rest of the way to the ranch, both hands now gripping the steering wheel. Watched the way he’d withdrawn, once again, into that lonely, private place deep inside himself.

Brooke’s death had absolutely destroyed him, she acknowledged, as fear and doubt swept through her. He wasn’t going to let her help him. And here she was, with only two weeks left to complete her mission!

Two weeks—when she’d been trying to get through to him for twelve long, painful months.

But Stone’s will, as always, was one of pure steel.

How could she possibly make him believe in anything ever again? How could she make him see what a terrific father he was? And that what he needed to do now, most of all, was to trust his feelings when dealing with Field. How could she hope to restore his faith in himself, to trust his own good judgment again?

But that was her mission from Basil.

Oh, dear, how was she to accomplish this particular miracle all by herself?

Dahlia knew how hard it was to let Field be a normal little boy, to protect him without controlling his every move, to love him without smothering him—but Stone wasn’t even trying.

He was so wrapped up in grief and guilt over Brooke’s death, and fear over losing Field, that he wasn’t listening to anyone.

She straightened her shoulders. She wanted so much to be a good angel, to live up to the trust that Basil had placed in her. But Stone—he wasn’t the same man she’d married. He’d always wanted more, craved more, fought for more than anyone she’d ever met. But the fight had gone out of him.

And so had all the love.

Dahlia could still feel the warmth of his fingers around hers, even though he was no longer holding her hand. But his touch lingered in her mind far longer than she cared to admit.

Memories tapped at her heart.

The gentleness that had an unexpected way of peeking through Stone’s oh-so-tough outdoorsy personality. The startling chemistry that had sprung to life upon meeting face-to-face the first time. And the way the sexual attraction had grown and deepened through the years.

Stone was more than her husband. He was her best friend.

Which made his...his almost studied emotional distance doubly hard to take. Stone had preferred to live in an emotional vacuum since Brooke’s death, to become isolated from pain—but he was forcing the rest of them to live that way, as well.

Dahlia’s gaze repeatedly strayed toward Stone’s side of the car. It was hard to believe that the man who had once made her nerve endings sing with joy could cause her heart to ache so much. But when Brooke died, he’d closed off the part of his life that had to do with being happy. He’d also, by all appearances, closed and locked the part of his heart that had to do with love. And he had no desire to open either one.

Her sigh was soft, and with an effort she pulled herself out of her thoughts. She had work to do, and she was going to do it. But where was she to start?

“I remember the morning we brought Brooke home from the hospital,” she said brightly. She desperately wanted to gain back some of the closeness that had vanished when Stone had retreated behind one of his moods. “She was wearing that little denim dress embroidered with little red hearts on the collar...”

“And you tied a red ribbon around her little bald head.”

Dahlia was surprised at the way he joined in. She wasn’t used to talking about Brooke and having him respond. Usually he tried to change the subject.

“She wasn’t bald,” Dahlia protested, laughing. “She had hair in the back almost long enough to put into a ponytail.”

Stone hesitated and then his words came out sort of gruff and tender. “She was the prettiest little thing I’d ever seen in my life.”

Tears backed up in her throat. Especially when Stone reached out and took her hand in his again. “Was she as pretty as Field?”

“Guys aren’t pretty.” But he sent her a fleeting grin. “Field was a rugged little guy even on his first day of life.” Then his grin broadened. “All six pounds of him.”

Dahlia saw the light in his gray eyes just seconds before he turned his attention back to the road ahead. But he squeezed her hand in his, and she squeezed back. And then she had a thought.

“Why don’t you have any pictures of Field during his first year?”

“What do you mean?” Stone sped up to pass a car.

“You only have four or five pictures of him—”

“We’ve got dozens of albums, crammed full of pictures of both kids.” Stone was back in his own lane now and flashed her a puzzled, questioning look.

“But all those were taken after we met. After we were married,” Dahlia explained. “I meant pictures of Field coming home from the hospital. Do you realize there are no pictures of your son with his mother?”

He looked at her. “You’re his mother.”

She smiled gently at him, touched by the statement. For Stone, his first wife and the mother of his child just... no longer existed. Not in his mind. And certainly not in his heart. “But why didn’t you take more?” she asked him. “Field was your firstborn son. I would have thought you’d have taken tons of pictures.”

Stone shrugged and turned his attention back to the road. But he didn’t evade the question. “I don’t have a reason. I guess I was just too busy taking care of him to bother with taking pictures.”

And too hurt.

Dahlia suddenly cringed inside at the thought of what her completing her mission would mean for Stone. He’d already been abandoned by one woman, and he’d never understood her reason.

And now, if things worked out, Dahlia would also abandon him. Would he understand? Would he understand she just had to be with Brooke? No matter what the cost?

And Field...oh, that poor, poor child. Dahlia’s heart wrenched with guilt at just the thought of leaving him. He’d already been abandoned by one mother. What would her leaving do to his ability to trust?

That was why she had to get Stone and Field’s relationship on solid ground. Before it was time for her to leave.

“I’m sorry now that I didn’t take more pictures of Field his first year,” Stone was saying, and she struggled to pay attention. “Kids grow up so fast and then they’re...gone,” he ended quietly.

Dahlia watched as he struggled with some painful memory. She said gently, “Field’s growing every day. It’s hard to believe he’s already ten years old.”

“Yeah.”

“Soon he’ll be in high school and dating some cute little cheerleader.”

Stone cleared his throat. “More than likely some little cowgirl in a rodeo.”

“All he talks about is entering rodeo roughstock events when he’s old enough.” Dahlia saw the life drain from his eyes and added softly, “He wants so very much to be like you when he grows up.”

“I know.” Profound weariness settled over his lean features.

“It’s natural for a son to want to be like his dad,” she continued.

“Then I wish I’d been a lawyer or something like that,” Stone snapped, his pain and frustration close to the surface.

Dahlia drew in a fast, agonized breath and said nothing. What was the use? Everything she said to him came out wrong. Everything she did only made him feel worse.

“Dahlia...honey, I’m sorry.” He turned to her and tried to smile. “I didn’t mean to take your head off. I just wish I hadn’t told Field all those wild and wonderful stories about my rodeo days. It put ideas in his head.”

She laughed soft and low. “It’ll be years before he’s old enough to compete. Field’s exploring his options, that’s all. He’ll go through weeks of wanting to be a rodeo champion and then a concert pianist or a great painter—”

Stone hooted with laughter. “A concert pianist? Field? A rock musician, maybe, but give me a break. Field’s about as likely to play classical music as I am to sprout wings and fly.”

Dahlia grinned happily. Somehow she’d gotten him to laugh and that was a good feeling. And a good start.

She glanced out the window at the passing countryside, with its bluestem and buffalo grass. They were in the hill country now, driving along the Medina River, so they were almost at the ranch.

Stone turned onto a dirt road, lined with mountain cedar trees, and she breathed in the characteristic fragrance of the hill country. Stone took the bridge across the river and moments later they drove under the large sign, proclaiming: Tyler Ranch. Established 1900.

Field was the fourth generation of Tylers to live on the 750-acre spread. Dahlia knew it would break his heart not to grow up here like his father and uncles.

And it would break Stone’s heart, too, even if he was too stubborn to admit it.

She propped her elbow in the open window, her chin in her hand, and gazed out at the miles of whitewashed fencing crisscrossing the range. She stared longingly out at the herds of sheep grazing in the foothills, the young lambs frolicking after their mothers. She sighed heavily.

A big, white three-story Victorian house, nestled in a grove of very old oak and pecan trees, came into view. An enormous red barn stood behind it, off to one side. As always, she felt a flash of pride when she saw the place where she had come to live as a bride of twenty-one.

That had been nine years ago, she thought, as Stone parked in the circular driveway.

A lifetime ago.

The car door on her side was yanked open. Stone’s youngest brother, Rocky, escorted her gently across the driveway and up the porch steps. “We’re glad you’re home,” he said with a grin. “Gives us an excuse to throw you a welcome-home barbecue tonight.”

Dahlia smiled up at him, wondering where Field was hiding. “You Texas boys certainly do love to eat, don’t you?” she teased back.

“How did you ever guess that?” Rocky’s grin widened as he settled her on the porch swing. Rocky had a huge appetite for barbecued ribs and hot Texas chili, but he was cowboy-lean, and had women chasing him from three counties. “Field made you a pitcher of lemonade, all by himself,” her brother-in-law said, his voice low for her ears alone. “So pretend you like it.”

Rocky never changed, Dahlia thought gratefully, her gaze following Stone as he came up the front steps, carrying her suitcase. Just then the screen door flew open and Dahlia’s ten-year-old stepson rushed out onto the porch, carrying a glass of lemonade. He headed straight for the porch swing and thrust it toward Dahlia. “I made it myself. All by myself,” he added with a sidelong look at his father.

Dahlia took a sip, announced it was perfect and drank up as the little boy she’d raised almost from birth watched with anticipation. He was slender and dark like his dad, with Stone’s gunmetal gray eyes.

“Don’t I get a hug?” she asked the child she loved with all that was left of her heart.

Field hesitated. “Uncle Rocky said to be careful and let you hug me.”

Dahlia smiled and reached out with one hand to draw the little boy closer. “Thank you for being so thoughtful, sweetie,” she said, kissing his cheek. “And thank you for the lemonade. It’s delicious.”

Rocky returned to the porch, carrying a tray with the pitcher of lemonade and three glasses. There were also three different kinds of cookies. “Field went with me to the store this morning,” Rocky said with a wink.

“Don’t you like your lemonade, Dad?” Field asked, staring up at his father. Stone leaned against the porch railing, absently rubbing his fingertip along the rim of the glass he held. “I made it,” the little boy announced, a slight trace of defiance in his voice. “All by myself.”

“It’s good,” Stone said after taking a hasty sip. “Excellent.”

“I cut the lemons in half with a knife.” Field was eyeing Stone carefully. “And, boy, was it sharp!”

Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat. She saw Stone dart a swift glance in his brother’s direction.

“I was in there watching him,” Rocky said hurriedly, shifting uneasily on the porch railing where he was perched.

“But even if he wasn’t,” Field chimed in, “I could’ve done it. Because I’m not a baby.” That last statement came out as if he dared someone, anyone—especially Stone—to disagree with him.

Stone must have realized it, too, because he stated quietly, “No, you’re not a baby. And knives aren’t dangerous as long as you know how to use them.”

“I know how. Uncle Rocky taught me,” Field added helpfully, his gray eyes brightening.

Nearby, Dahlia heard Rocky’s low, rueful groan. Her gaze darted to her husband. Stone had practically raised his youngest brother, and now he fixed him with a long, level look of reproach.

“Uncle Rocky said you gave him a knife when he was my age,” Field piped up, making matters worse.

Dahlia saw the startled look in Stone’s gray eyes. He slowly set his glass of lemonade down on the porch railing. “Did Uncle Rocky give you a knife?” he asked gently.

Field hesitated, then darted a sudden sheepish look at Rocky. The little boy looked back at his father and slowly nodded. Pulling a small leather pouch out of the back pocket of his jeans, Field said, “He gave me the one that you gave to him.”

Instead of taking the knife away from his son, Stone merely asked, “And Rocky taught you how to use it?”

Field nodded. “This morning while we waited for the lemonade to get done.”

“After you finish drinking your lemonade, why don’t you ask your uncle Rocky to give you some more lessons?” Stone surprised everyone by saying.

Dahlia’s heart surged with hope as she saw the look of pure joy enter Field’s eyes.

Field and Rocky finished their cookies and lemonade in record time, and headed toward the barn. If she turned around, Dahlia would be able to see them. And she could certainly hear them as Rocky patiently taught the little boy how to handle the pearl-handled knife. She smiled at the laughter that drifted up to the porch.

“That was a wonderful thing you did, letting Field keep the knife,” Dahlia said, smiling cheerfully.

Stone shrugged. “A boy needs to learn how to handle himself. That includes weapons.”

“It means more than learning how to handle himself, Stone,” she said earnestly. “Letting him have the knife means you trust him.”

Stone drained the last of his lemonade and set the glass down on the tray. “It means I think he’s old enough to go away to school.” His voice was carefully low and even. “He’s right. He isn’t a baby. And he’ll do just fine at boarding school.”

“But, Stone—”

His gray eyes leveled on her. “He leaves two weeks from today.” Then he scooped up her suitcase and headed for the screen door. “I’ll put this in your room.”

Stone entered the house and shut the screen door behind him. It was more gentle than a slam, but much harder than merely closing the door, Dahlia noticed wryly.

Two weeks. In two weeks Field would be sent away.

Dahlia turned around in the swing, fixing her gaze on Field, out by the barn. Basil said if she didn’t return within three weeks, then she couldn’t return. One week had already passed. In the hospital.

So she had two weeks left.

She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. If she could only stop Stone from sending Field to that boarding school in San Antonio, if she could convince him that living on the ranch would not put Field in danger—then maybe he’d regain his faith that he could protect his son.

She sighed, watching Stone’s little boy practice throwing his knife at the barn door, over and over and over again, determined to make his mark on the paper target. And Dahlia knew that keeping Field on the ranch wouldn’t alone solve the problem.

It was a start, but she now clearly understood the mission Basil had entrusted to her. She had to restore Stone’s faith in himself, and in his ability to take care of his family—even if it meant letting go herself.


Chapter Two

The Tyler family and the ranch hands mingled freely at the barbecue later that night. Three picnic tables had been placed end to end on the brick terrace, laden with bowls of barbecued chicken, potato salad, baked beans and barbecued ribs. A separate picnic table held the desserts.

Stone stood to one side, a bottle of beer in his hand that he didn’t really want, and watched the camaraderie of the others. Music played softly in the background, a mix of jazz and classical. Rocky had confiscated some of Dahlia’s favorite CDs from her collection.

Stone had a sudden, intense memory of dancing in the rose garden with Dahlia on summer nights. Dancing in the moonlight, with only the stars for company and a CD player for the soft music she loved.

And when she’d touched him, the world had spun and split and lightning had flashed.

He sighed heavily, his thoughts stumbling reluctantly back to the present. Stone knew Dahlia couldn’t help what she felt—or what she believed. One of the doctors thought it could be a combination of her head injury and the trauma of Brooke’s death. That believing she was an angel was Dahlia’s own way of dealing with her grief.

And it was about time she did deal with it, Stone knew. For the past year, Dahlia had been in a major state of denial, behaving as though nothing had changed. When everything had.

Brooke was gone and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

Stone continued to stand there on the terrace, the relentless music stirring his blood and making him think about days, and nights, that weren’t all that long ago. And he had the urgent need to escape from all this family fun and togetherness.

Before he forgot this wasn’t real life.

Real life was hard work.

And if Stone hung around having fun and feeling relaxed and mellow, he would want more—and he’d want it to last.

And that wasn’t going to happen.

Because what was life without Brooke in it? What did it mean to live a normal life without his daughter here, too?

Stone’s thoughts strayed back to that August summer night, a year ago. They’d had a barbecue that evening, too. A big one, to celebrate Stone and Dahlia finally building a house of their own.

To celebrate...life.

It had felt so damned good to be alive that night, he remembered painfully. He had felt incredibly lucky. And incredibly blessed.

Blessed with good health and work he enjoyed. With men who were more than ranch hands, they were his friends. And with three brothers he wouldn’t trade a ton of gold for, no matter how irritating and meddlesome they could be.

But most of all he’d felt blessed to have Dahlia in his life—and to have fathered the two children he loved more than anything on this earth.

Field had been the only good thing that had come out of his disastrous first marriage. And Brooke had been the icing on the cake when he’d thought life couldn’t get any better after he’d married Dahlia.

He remembered that night a year ago this month, and how he’d been looking forward to having at least one more child. But that was back when he’d believed his kids would live to grow up.

When he’d believed he could keep his children safe and whole to grow up to live a full life.

Stone took a slow, deliberate swallow of the cold beer.

That next morning, Brooke had taken her horse out alone, without permission, the high-spirited, beautiful little mare he’d given her on her birthday just six weeks earlier. Firelight had been spooked by something—and had thrown Brooke headfirst into the river.

So okay, damn it, maybe he hadn’t been the most spontaneous and open-hearted of fathers this past year. That was still no reason for Dahlia to have accused him of neglecting his own child.

He didn’t want his little boy hurt. Did that make him hard? Or controlling?

Not in his mind, it didn’t.

He was a father trying to protect his son the best way he knew how.

Stone took another deep swallow of his beer. He didn’t have it in him to act as though nothing had happened to his little girl. He couldn’t go on living as though Brooke hadn’t died. He couldn’t pretend everything was just like before, that life could, and should, go on without her.

Because it couldn’t.

Because to go on without her was to leave Brooke behind.

“Hey—” his older brother, Blade, slapped a hand on his shoulder “—why so anti-social tonight?”

Stone glanced at him. And he felt raw suddenly, twelve months’ worth of healing ripped away to expose the fragility of what lay within. It was always like this as soon as he started to remember. As if Brooke had been killed only yesterday.

“You okay?” Concern was plainly written on Blade’s thin, angular face.

Stone shrugged, his gaze wandering across the terrace until he located Dahlia. She was wearing a stone-washed denim dress and red sandals, and she looked fantastic. Her blond hair was hanging loose, just brushing her shoulders, the moonlight and lantern light playing with the different shades of gold and wheat and tan.

A sharp blast of old-fashioned desire heated his thoughts. She was gently beautiful, and that beauty captivated him.

“You’d never know she just got out of the hospital this morning,” Blade quietly remarked, following his gaze.

Stone nodded absently, hearing the music of Vivaldi pulsate through the summer night—and him. Stirring memories of making love with Dahlia and holding on and being there for each other, no matter what.

Stirring memories of all the things they’d lost.

They had separate bedrooms now, and they’d had them for quite some time. Because Stone hadn’t known how to go about getting his wife back into their room. He flashed on waking up with her in a tumble of pastel cotton sheets, her silky blond hair and sleep-warm flesh resting gently against his body. Snuggling and talking with her early in the morning, before the ranch was awake and the workday kicked into high gear, had been some of the best times in their marriage.

Because he could always talk to Dahlia. There was nothing he couldn’t say to her without knowing she’d understand.

Until Brooke was killed.

Then, to talk about it made it seem too real to him.

Blade spoke quietly beside him. “Brooke...was like Dahlia in a lot of ways. Impulsive.”

Stone was startled at the way his older brother stumbled over Brooke’s name, as though Blade didn’t know whether or not to say his niece’s name out loud. Is this what grief did to people? Stone wondered. Robbed them of the freedom to speak their minds? Or had he done this to his family by dismissing them whenever they dared to speak his daughter’s name?

But Stone already knew the answer.

Stone and his three brothers had been raised by their father after their mother died. The one thing they all had in common was saying what was on their minds. No matter what.

So Stone found this careful, almost gentle treatment from his older brother to be nearly too much for him to handle.

Impulsive? Stone thought bitterly. Is that what his daughter had been? To get on a horse alone, without permission—something she’d been told a dozen times not to do?

Did that make him any less responsible for her death?

He’d given her the horse.

Blade continued as though Stone was taking part in the conversation. “Dahlia’s also sensitive and emotional,” he said slowly. “And I have to admit I didn’t think she’d make it as a rancher’s wife. But she’s a tough one when the chips are down. That is one determined lady when she thinks she’s right.”

“What are you getting at?” Stone didn’t have a clue. His three brothers had been keeping their collective mouths shut lately, for some unfathomable reason.

Blade’s voice became very quiet. “I think Dahlia’s right about Field staying here on the ranch.”

Ah, Stone was beginning to see the light. He looked curiously at the man who had been left in charge of the family—and the ranch—when their father had died when Stone was twenty.

“Raising a child alone is not easy,” Blade said. “And you know that better than anyone.”

Stone grew still. He’d never forget the shock of his first wife running off in the middle of the night shortly after Field was born. The endless diapers and round-the-clock feeding schedule had kept him hopping those first few months of his son’s life.

Hastily shaking off the memory, he said, “But I’m not raising—”

“Dahlia said she was leaving if you sent Field away to school, didn’t she?” Blade was obviously losing patience with him. “You might just find yourself living without her if you don’t watch your step.”

Stone was surprised into silence. There was little privacy on the ranch, with Blade and Rocky both living in the same house with them. And Stone didn’t like the fact that what went on between him and his wife was being constantly observed by the rest of his family.

Especially since Brooke had died.

“Field is the firstborn male heir to the Tyler ranch,” Blade stated flatly. “You’re taking his birthright away from him.” Then he walked away without another word.

Stone watched him join Rocky and several of the ranch hands, and he suppressed the urge to strangle his brother. Blade, of all people, should understand that he only wanted the best for his son.

He tipped the bottle of beer to his mouth and took another long swallow. It looked as though this day was never going to end.

Dahlia watched Blade walk away from Stone, and she wondered what they had been talking about so intently. Blade was not an easy man to know, but from the beginning he’d always been kind to her and made an effort to make her feel part of the family.

Had they been arguing? About what?

Oh no, over her? Usually when Stone and Blade disagreed, they did so in private. Never within earshot of the men who worked for them. And never at a party.

The two men were close in age, and it was natural for them to be at odds on a regular basis. Stone had dropped out of college after two years because their father had died, and he believed Blade had needed him at home.

Stone handled the business end of the ranch, all the accounting, which included taxes, contracts, loans and payroll, leaving Blade free to run the ranch. But, even though Blade had been appointed Flint and Rocky’s legal guardian after their dad was killed, Stone had always been actively involved in every decision concerning his two younger brothers as well as the ranch.

So conflict had always been part of Stone’s relationship with Blade.

But Dahlia didn’t want them arguing over her.

She stole another look at the man who was her husband, and took a deep, hard breath. Stone hadn’t changed much over the years. His straight, dark hair still brushed the collar of his denim shirt. He still had the same lean face and prominent cheekbones, his gray eyes wary and watchful when he was troubled.

It had been love at first sight—for both of them—and they’d been married three months later. Dahlia had loved being a sheep rancher’s wife, and mother to his fifteen-month-old son. And thirteen months later Brooke had been born, making their lives complete.

Dahlia was quietly happy as she remembered the birth of her first child. If Stone had felt trapped by the idea of becoming a father again, he had certainly never shown it.

He had absolutely adored Brooke from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. And Dahlia would never forget the joy she’d felt holding Stone’s child in her arms.

Her child.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to find Stone standing next to her chair. “Flint and Shannon are here. Suppose we go and greet them.”

“Of course.”

An assistant professor of English lit at UT in San Antonio, Flint was the only brother who didn’t make his living from ranching. But you’d never know it to look at him, Dahlia thought with a smile as she rushed to hug him. He had the same lean, dark, good looks as his brothers. Dressed in boots and jeans, he could easily pass as a cowboy.

“You didn’t wait dinner on the two of us, did you?” Flint asked, holding her away from him to take a good look. But he seemed satisfied that she was okay.

“We certainly did.” Dahlia smiled back at him, then knelt to say hello to his little girl. “Shannon, how are you?” she asked the tiny six-year-old, with the dark brown ponytail and huge gray-green eyes.

Dahlia felt the pain, swift and sharp, as she gazed upon the little girl who looked so much like Brooke. The same dark hair, heart-shaped face and sweet, crooked little smile.

“I’m fine. How are you?” Shannon asked her shyly.

Dahlia hid a grin. “Did your daddy tell you not to hug me?” When Shannon nodded, she said, “I sure could use a hug.”

Shannon tumbled into her arms almost before the words left Dahlia’s mouth, holding Dahlia tightly around the neck, a short little sob escaping from somewhere deep inside the little girl.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Dahlia whispered, loving the solid feel of her. And she felt a sense of shame, deep within, for neglecting one of her most favorite people in the world.

She hadn’t spent much time with Shannon since Brooke had died. Tightly wrapped up in her own pain and grief, she hadn’t been able to be around the child who reminded her so much of all that she’d lost.

How was Shannon handling life without Brooke to share everything with? Dahlia wondered uncertainly. The two little girls had been very close. More like sisters than cousins.

More to the point—how was Shannon handling Dahlia’s apparent rejection of her all these months? Flint’s wife had died when Shannon was a baby, and Dahlia was the closest thing to a mother the child had ever known.

This was another situation she had to correct as quickly as possible. She’d been told that Flint and Shannon were spending the weekend at the ranch, so she hugged the little girl again and suggested, “What do you say to a picnic tomorrow—just you, me and Field?”

“Really?” The child’s gray-green eyes were shining with happiness. “A real and true picnic with you and Field? Just like we used to?”

Dahlia swallowed slowly and nodded. She managed a smile, but tears filled her eyes as she felt the tug of love coming from her little niece. But she had to stay focused on her mission to restore Stone’s faith—so she could get into heaven.

It was the only way she could ever be with Brooke again.

Even so, she couldn’t help but revel in the fact that she had been the only woman on the ranch for years. Even the cook was a man. And up until a year ago, she’d loved playing mom to her extended family, as well as to her own child.

But without Brooke...

Dahlia felt wrenched in two. She’d forgotten how much she loved everyone here tonight—and how much they loved her.

Except for Stone.

Dahlia couldn’t look up without finding his gaze pinned on her tonight. Sometimes she didn’t even need to look up. She’d always been able to sense his presence. Now, she caught Stone watching her with that cool, expressionless gaze that masked his emotions, and her stomach tightened in anguish.

It tightened even more when he spoke to her.

“Would you like to take a walk in the rose garden?” Stone’s voice was low and for her ears alone. “I know how much you like to look at the roses in the moonlight.”

Surprise couldn’t begin to explain the way she felt inside. How long had it been since he’d asked her to go for a walk with him? And alone in the moonlight?

Not for a year, at least.

Dahlia nodded and they moved around the crowd of family and friends, until they reached the path that led to her garden. The first year she married Stone, Dahlia had planted ten yellow rosebushes. And each year after that she’d planted ten more, until now she had ninety rosebushes of all colors, bordered by neatly trimmed hedgerows—a living testament to the way their marriage had thrived and bloomed over the years.

She stared in silence at the ten rosebushes she’d planted this past spring. The magnificent yellow roses, with their delicate pink shadings at the edge of the petals, reminded her of Brooke.

Stone led her to the bench and she sat down to gaze up at the stars. Music filled the air, and she had a sudden, vivid memory of dancing out here on summer nights. She could almost feel Stone’s arms around her, close and warm, the scent of roses drifting through the air.

The night sky dark and soft.

The million stars slowly appearing one by one.

And the two of them so much in love it hurt even to think of being separated for a night.

They would dance for hours, alone in their own, private little world. A world built on love and trust and sharing more than a bed. They’d shared their lives with each other, both the good and the bad.

Until last year.

Dahlia watched Stone as he seated himself next to her and wondered what he was thinking by dragging her away from the party this way. She didn’t mind, it was something he used to do all the time—but why now? And why tonight?

Her gaze raked curiously over his face, and she found herself thinking his eyes were the soft gray of a well-worn dime as longing ravaged his face.

“The roses are beautiful,” she told him nervously. “Who’s been taking care of them while I was in the hospital?”

“I have.”

Another surprise. Dahlia smiled tentatively at him, and he shrugged. But she noticed a grin was forming.

“I weeded and watered them, sprayed for bugs and deadheaded the blooms that had faded,” he explained.

Dahlia’s smile widened. “You did a great job,” she told him softly. She was so touched by his effort to care for something she loved so much, she could barely speak.

Lately, Stone hadn’t paid much attention to the things she held dear to her heart. And yet, he’d taken care of her rose garden. Why the sudden change? she wondered. And why, oh why, couldn’t he make the same effort with Field?

Stone seemed to hesitate, and then he slid his hand into hers. “I wanted you to come home and find the rose garden had been tended to in your absence.”

“Thank you.” She listened for a moment, listened to the muted laughter of the others, the music in the distance. She tried not to flinch at those long, searching looks of his, which slid along her nerve endings like stroking fingers. But it was so very hard to respond to them, to open her heart to him again.

He’d closed himself off from her after Brooke’s death. Slammed the lid down hard on everything good in their lives. Consumed with guilt, he had trashed their plans for their new house and another baby, and then decided to send his sweet, precious son away from her.

It was as though her wishes were no longer important—or real—to him. As though she no longer mattered.

And sometimes...sometimes when she was able to come out of her own pain and grief, she had to wonder if he even still loved her.

“Let’s dance,” Stone suggested. He got to his feet, leaving Dahlia to gaze blankly up at him.

He wanted to dance? With her? Out here in the moonlight as they used to do?

Stone pulled her gently to her feet and into his arms. His hands slid easily around her waist, leaving her no choice but to place hers on his shoulders. She tensed as he drew her closer, the months of being alone, of sleeping alone, making the physical contact with him awkward, yet sweetly erotic.

It was as though they were strangers, and Dahlia hadn’t felt this aware of him, in quite this way, since the very early days of their relationship. When she was first beginning to know him. When Stone was still raw and hurting from his ex-wife’s desertion and trying desperately not to fall in love again.

When, as an only child of an Air Force pilot, Dahlia hadn’t had much experience with concepts like roots or security or permanence. She’d lived in eighteen places her first twelve years of life. By the time she was in second grade, she’d learned not to make friends because it hurt too much to say goodbye.

It felt almost like the first time Stone had held her, she kept thinking as they moved slowly to the music. When he’d been scared of losing his heart all over again, and she’d never allowed herself to get close enough to put hers at risk. When the sexual attraction, bursting to life between them, had mingled with their mutual fear and distrust.

Dahlia couldn’t suppress the tremor that slid through her, and Stone asked, “Are you cold?”

She shook her head. She was far from feeling cold. Stone’s hands had always had the tendency to stray and tonight was no different. And neither was the path of fire his hands left wherever they touched.

Stroking her back.

Kneading gently under her shoulder blades.

Drifting slightly below her waist to rub the small of her back.

Dahlia took a deep, slow breath and buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the smell of freshly washed denim and warm male flesh. The classical music stopped for an instant, and then the haunting sound of jazz pulsated toward them, the horns slow and seductive and stirring.

Without thinking, just feeling, she moved against him to the beat of the music. Her arms slid down to hang limply at her sides, while she moved the lower half of her body into the lean, hardening strength of him.

And then she gazed up into deepening, darkening gray eyes.

Stone’s arms tightened convulsively around her waist, bringing her up hard and close to him. Dahlia moved back only slightly, still holding his gaze, moving with the soulstirring beat, away from him—and into him. Keeping time to the music and losing herself in the seductive rhythm of the horn solo on the CD.

It had been so long...too long...since she’d felt this good. This alive. This...happy.

And she let the memories and the look and feel of Stone fill her mind and heart. The familiar scent and feel of him overwhelmed her with a wild sense of being thrown back in time.

Before the distance between them had grown into an impasse.

Before the pain...and the guilt.

Before their lives had been blown all to hell on that terrible August morning a year ago.

She could see the same need in Stone’s eyes that was stumbling to life in her. The strength of that need, that raw lightning bolt of desire, was a live thing, flashing, twisting, spinning between them and drawing both of them closer to the edge.

A fresh trembling, terrifying need raced through her.

Hot...

Hungry.

Her movements slowed. Held against the hot steel of Stone’s body, she stared up at him as one song ended and another began. This, too, was slow. Romantic. And time, instead of thrusting her backward through the years to a better, stronger relationship with him, had now stopped completely.

Leaving them frozen.

Somewhere alone. Without fear. Without history—or a future.

All that mattered was this one shining moment, this tiny slice of time that had everything to do with what was happening now, at this very second. And when Stone kissed her, she knew without a doubt he wanted her. Just as fiercely, just as primitively, as she wanted him. He kissed her hungrily, moving against her with coaxing, then demanding, urgent, restless movements.

And she kissed him back, wanting to savor the moment, wanting it to last, wanting to carry the memory of it into another life.

Stone was stunned to feel himself losing it as her hands rushed over him, pulling him closer. His control was unraveling, the need tearing at him until he was ready to ignore the fact that she’d just been released from the hospital. All he could think of was being buried in the heat and softness of her, over and over and over again until morning.

Hot, driving need made his hands impatient, his mouth hungry and demanding as their hands slowly rediscovered and aroused, under cover of darkness. But in full view of the moon and the stars high above them.





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