Mason sipped his morning coffee and stared at the urn on the windowsill. It was expensive and tasteful just like his mom, which made sense given since she had picked it out. She’d planned her entire funeral long before the cancer had spread through her body. All Mason had to do was show up in Houston and half listen as a never-ending line of his stepfathers stepped up to the pulpit and talked about the woman they’d all loved. It was sad that their love had never been reciprocated.

Men had been disposable to Victoria Granger. If one husband didn’t work out, it was easy to get rid of him and find another. As a child, Mason had found this behavior terrifying. He had worked hard to make sure his mother never got tired of him. He catered to her every whim, praised her beauty, and entertained her with stories and jokes.

In college, he reenacted the same needy behavior with the women he dated. But he soon learned that being needy didn’t keep women from leaving him. In fact, it only hastened the process. After being hurt more than a few times, he had embraced a dominant nature and embarked on a series of no-strings relationships, with the limits and rules negotiated in advance.

The only woman he couldn’t remain detached from was his mother. He thought he’d moved on with his life and put his past insecurities behind him. But now that she was gone, he realized that wasn’t true. Her death hurt more than he thought possible, and he was struggling to move on. His work no longer satisfied him. Nor did his sexual partners. He felt adrift, like an empty bottle with no shore to wash onto.

When he’d gone to clean out her house, he’d stumbled upon the worn Tender Heart novels she used to read to him. Something about the novels had struck a chord. Maybe because the only time he had ever felt secure in her love was when he’d been cuddled against her while she read. As a kid, he’d believed in the stories of heroes who didn’t shirk their responsibilities. Of heroines who were loving and loyal. And in love that lasted longer than the time it took the ink to dry on a marriage certificate.

Maybe that’s why he’d come to Bliss. He was looking for Tender Heart. Not just for his mother, but for himself. He needed to know that somewhere there existed people like the characters in the books. People who loved for a lifetime.

An image of Becky popped into his mind, and he didn’t know why. Judging by what he’d read in her diary, she certainly wasn’t loyal. He shouldn’t have lost his temper and played his dominance game with her, but she’d certainly had no business submitting when she was in love with another man. And she had submitted. There was little doubt that he could’ve taken her right there against the bathroom wall if he’d wanted to. And he had wanted to. Badly. Honey Bee kept him from it. He didn’t play with women who were involved in other relationships—even if they had hungry lips that could drive a man insane.

Pushing the thought away, he got up and took his coffee cup to the sink. Once it was rinsed out, he splashed some cold water on his face. It was still hotter than hell in the house. He’d asked the clerk at the grocery store for names of repair shops, but she’d informed him that there weren’t any in Bliss. And the one he’d called in Austin couldn’t fit him into their schedule for weeks due to the heat wave. He couldn’t take weeks of the heat. The days were bearable, but trying to sleep in a sweltering hot room was impossible. He should head back to Austin and the refrigerated air of his apartment, but he wasn’t ready to leave yet.

He dried his face with a paper towel, then retrieved the diary from under his pillow and headed out to the front porch. After last night’s kisses, he should probably put the diary back in the floor and forget about it. The steamy sex scenes were probably responsible for what happened in Becky’s bathroom. There was no other explanation. He didn’t lose control with women. That was his number one rule. Yet he’d lost it with Becky. And if she had given him one more “please,” he had little doubt that he would’ve given her what she asked for.

He stepped out on the porch and stumbled over the gray cat. In his attempt to not step on the mangy animal, he dropped the diary. It slid across the porch and bounced down the steps, landing at a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. Mason looked up from the boots into a smiling face.

“Hey, there.” The man picked up the diary, then climbed the steps and held out his hand. “Dirk Hadley. I heard you were having trouble with your air conditioning and I thought I’d stop by and see if I could help.”

Mason ignored the hand. “Let me guess. Becky sent you. And not to fix my air conditioner, but to make sure it never works again.”

Dirk chuckled. “Obviously you know Becky pretty well.” He shook his head. “She’s quite the pistol, that one.”

“Pistol isn’t the word I would use,” Mason said dryly. “And thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll wait for someone who isn’t friends with Becky.” He held out his hand. “Book?”

Dirk hesitated before he handed back the diary. “Just for the record, Becky didn’t send me. My part in her plan was to make sure you got the worst food in Texas when you came into the diner. I can see burning a man’s burger, but I can’t see letting him die of this heat. And when Susie at the grocery store told me about your broken air conditioner, I figured I’d come out and offer a hand.” He took off his hat and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. “Damn, it’s hot. You think I could get a glass of water? I hitched a ride with Daryl Freeman to the turnoff, but I walked the rest of the way.” He nodded to the cat, who had yet to move. “I bet your pussycat could use some water too.”

“He’s not mine. He’s a stray.” Still, he headed inside to get water for both Dirk and the furball. He was in the process of filling a bowl when Dirk walked into the kitchen followed by the cat. “What the hell?” Mason said. “Don’t bring that mangy animal in here.”

“I didn’t bring him. He came on his own.”

He thought about booting the cat out. But since it was already there, he set the bowl of water on the floor. The feline immediately started drinking, which made him feel guilty as hell, and he went to the refrigerator to get some deli turkey. When he turned, he found Dirk staring at the urn on the windowsill.

“Close relative?”

“My mom.”

Dirk nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off the urn. “My mama was buried. I was only eight at the time and cried like a baby when I saw her in her casket. My granny hugged me close and told me that she’d be with me forever. As I got older, I realized she was talking spiritually. But back then, I couldn’t figure out how I’d fit that big casket into my small bedroom in granny’s house.”

Shit. It looked like Mason now had two pathetic strays to deal with. He tossed Furball the turkey before he turned to Dirk. “You want a beer?”

They drank their beers out on the porch. Mason sat in the rocker with Furball sleeping at his feet, and Dirk sat on the steps with his cowboy hat hooked over one knee. They didn’t discuss death. They talked about the drought, Texas baseball, and the best fishing holes around. When their beers were empty, Mason showed Dirk the air conditioner.

The guy was a handyman. It didn’t take him long to figure out what the problem was. Or problems.

“The motor and compressor are shot.” Dirk grabbed the hose to wash the grease from his hands. “Rather than fix them, you’d be better off buying a new one. You can order one from Austin, but it will take a few weeks. Or I’m pretty sure Sully Tucker has a used one out at his junkyard. I can have him deliver it here tomorrow and I’ll come back tomorrow night after I close the diner and help you install it.” He flashed a grin. “Unless you still don’t trust me.”

Mason shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to take my chances.”

He gave Dirk a ride back into town, and they stopped by the junkyard on the way and made the arrangements with Sully to deliver a used air conditioning unit the following day. Then he dropped Dirk at the diner. Before he got out, Dirk turned to Mason.

“As the baby girl of her family, Becky can be a bit of a brat. But her desire for the Reed place isn’t a spoiled child’s whim. She wants it more for her cousin Gracie than for herself.”

“What does her cousin have to do with it?”

“I guess Becky and Gracie used to dream about ranching the Reed property together. Now that it looks like Gracie won’t walk again, Becky wants to make sure she gets her dream.”

Mason had heard about Gracie from Zane. A young woman being thrown from her horse and becoming paralyzed was a tragic accident. It was admirable to want to help her. But he had to wonder if Becky wasn’t just using her cousin to get her hands on his ranch.

“The house isn’t exactly set up for someone in a wheelchair,” he said.

“If Gracie wants to live there, I’d be willing to do the work to make sure she can get around it. Of course, that’s neither here nor there, since you own the house and the ranch it sits on.” He tapped the bottom edge of the open window. “Thanks for the ride, Mace.”

After leaving Dirk at the diner, Mason headed back to the house. But it was too damned hot to stay inside. So he loaded up a cooler with beer, left Furball snoozing on the porch, and headed to one of the fishing holes Dirk had told him about. He didn’t realize that the fishing hole was on Zane and Becky’s land until he was waved over by a guy in a truck with Earhart Ranch stenciled on the side.

Once the man rolled down his window, Mason recognized him as the ranch hand who had come out to help when they brought back the wounded calf. The man seemed almost hostile until he recognized Mason.

“You’re Becky’s friend that helped with the calf.” Mason wouldn’t go as far as to call them friends, but he nodded. The man reached a hand out the window. “I’m Jess Owens, the foreman of the Earhart Ranch.”

Mason took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Mason Granger. How is the calf doing?”

“Good. Although we had to call out the vet and have him stitch up the deeper cuts that weren’t caused by the barbed wire.”

Mason was confused. “What were they caused by?”

Jess pushed up his hat and used a bandana to wipe the sweat off his face. “The vet seems to think that they were knife wounds. And after taking a closer look, I have to agree. Barbed wire pokes and tears the skin in a jagged line. But these cuts were clean and straight. And it was weird how they formed a perfect X over the Earhart brand.”

That was weird. Too weird to be a coincidence. He had to wonder if Ms. Marble’s concerns about Becky’s stalker were entirely unfounded.

“Where’s Becky?” he asked.

“That’s who I was looking for when I ran into you. After seeing those cuts, I told her to stay close to the house. But that girl has never listened well. Especially now that Zane’s gone. She’s been running herself ragged trying to prove she can handle the ranch on her own.”

Mason shouldn’t get involved. Becky wasn’t his concern. But with Zane out of town, he couldn’t help feeling responsible. “Where have you looked? If we split the rest of the ranch up between us, we’ll find her quicker.”

It still took a good hour to find Becky’s truck. It was parked by a cluster of trees not too far from the ranch house. He called Jess to let him know, then headed along the path that lead through the trees. When he stepped into the clearing, he froze in stunned awe.

He’d visited some of the most beautiful cathedrals in the world during his travels, but not one had made him feel as emotional as the little white chapel did. It looked exactly like it had been described in the Tender Heart books. Its white siding contrasted sharply with the vibrant green trees that surrounded it and the deep-blue sky. On the sides of the church were three multi-colored stained-glass windows, each depicting a different Texas flower. A tall spire stretched up to the heavens, its metal bell reflecting the hot afternoon sun like a godly wink.

Mason stood there for a moment absorbing the beauty of the church before he walked down the cobblestone path to the sturdy oak doors. Once inside, he was surprised by how cool it felt . . . and reverently holy. He took off his cowboy hat and looked around for Becky. He checked the back rooms, then made his way to the altar. He found her stretched out in the third pew with her boots crossed and her head resting on a bible. Her cowboy hat covered her face, and he could hear her snores through the holes in the straw.

He shook his head, but couldn’t help the smile that tipped his lips. The woman had a style all her own. He thought about tapping her boot to wake her up. But then he remembered what Jess had said and decided to let her sleep. Dirk had also mentioned that Becky wanted to prove herself to her father and Zane. Mason had never met her father, but he did know Zane. He got along with his friend, but he recognized a control freak when he saw one. He didn’t doubt for a second that Zane ran the ranch his way and wouldn’t put too much value on his sister’s opinions. Especially when she was such a hothead.

A hothead who might have a dangerous stalker.