Family. Wyatt listened to the chatter and clatter of a Caldwell family gathering. His siblings, their wives and kids, Gilbert and Connie, and Connie’s foster daughter, Daisy. They were all here tonight because Wyatt was.

“Feels good to be home,” he admitted to Emily, though talking to his sister reminded him of what she didn’t know. Of what none of them even suspected.

“For us, too. We miss you.” Emily slid a lock of black hair behind one ear, a gesture as familiar and endearing to Wyatt as this house. “When are you going to give up trying to save the world and come home for good?”

He grinned down at her. She was shorter, darker, and prettier than he was, the image of their mother. Anyway, of the photos he’d seen. “I’ve not lived at home for over ten years. How can you miss me?”

“I have no idea.” She laughed. “But I do, and I want you to come home.”

“Must be getting married that does that to you. Nate said the same thing.”

“You have nieces and a nephew now. You barely know them. And Gilbert’s getting older.”

True. The Seminole Indian who’d been his father’s closest friend had been a part of the family as long as any of the Caldwell kids had been alive. Longer. Gilbert was like an uncle or a second dad. The fact that diabetes plagued him worried them all. “How’s he doing?”

Emily glanced across the room toward the older man. Gilbert sat on the couch next to Nate, his bronzed, weathered face alight at the antics of the twins. One handed him a play phone, and he pretended to speak into it.

“He’s getting neuropathy in his feet,” Emily said. “Did you know that?”

He wasn’t even sure what neuropathy was. “Is it treatable?”

Emily lowered her voice. “Connie tries to control his diet, but you know how he is.”

Wyatt knew all too well. Gilbert regularly cooked his own fry bread, plus he had a powerful sweet tooth. Many was the time Wyatt had shared in Gilbert’s ever-present pack of Rolos.

“He’s trying harder since the neuropathy started, especially after he fell trying to mount Frisco.”

“He fell?” Sure-footed Gilbert who could ride, rope, and ranch better than any of them?

Wyatt squinted across the room. Gilbert had turned his attention to Connie as she played peek-a-boo with Emily’s two-year-old. Wyatt figured Gilbert had silently loved Connie for years. Connie pretended not to notice.

“He wasn’t hurt, just stunned and embarrassed. His legs give way sometimes. Scared all of us. Ace drove him straight into Calypso to see Doc Martin. Doc said it was damaged reflexes in the ankles caused by the neuropathy and the diabetes.”

“Man, I hate that.” Hated that the man he’d admired and emulated as a boy was growing older while Wyatt was away.

She pecked a finger on his chest. “You think about that the next time Uncle Sam asks you to re-up.”

Maybe he would.

But maybe not. If he left the army, who would take his place? Training for his highly skilled job took years and more brains than most were fortunate to have. God had blessed Wyatt with unusual intellect. Shouldn’t he use it to benefit the most people possible?

“Keep me posted on him, okay?”

“Sure.” With a shoulder pat, Emily left him beside the fireplace and went to sit next to her husband, Levi Donley. Levi saw her coming and grinned, the look of a man completely in love.

Wyatt was glad for his little sister. She’d waited a long time for her rambling cowboy to come to his senses and realize what she’d always known. They were made for each other.

Through the mishmash of conversations going on around the cozy room, Wyatt could discern the twin’s tiny voices as they jabbered on their phones and to each other. Sorting through chatter of all kinds was his specialty. But this was nicer, more relaxing than his daily grind of trolling the dark web.

Connie, baby Mason on one hip, came toward him, her Latina beauty as deeply ingrained as her love for all things Caldwell. He couldn’t imagine his life without Connie. With a jolt, he saw that she too was growing older while he patrolled the world.

“Now that you are home, I feel the Christmas spirit. Tomorrow we put on the lights. Sí?”

Connie loved all things Christmas. Once she got started, there was no end until after Epiphany and Dia de los Reyas, when she finished her interesting blend of American and Mexican celebrations. Her way of celebrating didn’t seem odd to him. Tamales and posadas were part of the Caldwell tradition.

“I’m at your disposal.”

“Bueno.” She rattled off a half-dozen other chores he was happy to do. Anything to keep his thoughts off things better left unsaid. Such was his way. The family talked. He listened. No one minded, especially him.

Wyatt spread his hands toward the fireplace, soaking in the warmth and hickory scent. The fire conjured thoughts of his unexpected campers.

He’d been instantly charmed by Braden. The mother hadn’t been too bad either. He hoped they’d made it safely to relatives in OKC.

Connie’s voice broke through his thoughts. Something about toys and a Christmas display at Emily’s party for foster families. He nodded. Details would come later.

Against his hip, his mobile phone vibrated. Connie stopped talking as Wyatt extracted the device.

He glanced at the number, squinted, remembered. With a lift on one shoulder, he answered. “Hello.”

“Mr. Caldwell?”

“Wyatt.”

“This is—”

“Marley.” His eyes met Connie’s curious ones. She nodded and moved away, leaving him alone with his conversation.

“Yes.” Marley’s voice sounded small and anxious. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

She wouldn’t call unless there was a problem. “What’s wrong?”

She sucked in a quivery breath. “I’m stuck.”

His eyebrows puckered. “Stuck?”

“Well, you see, I backed into a ravine of some sort.”

“On the Sanctuary?”

“Where?”

That’s right. She had no way of knowing the family called the area where she’d camped the Sanctuary. “Where are you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Are you still in the same place?”

“No. But not far from there. I think.”

“Then you’re likely still on Caldwell land. Describe the area.”

She gave him a rundown while he envisioned the Sanctuary and the pastures and woodlands nearby. When she described a windmill, he oriented.

She’d driven in a circle. Around the Sanctuary.

“This ravine, is it narrow and long, a short way off the road, down a cow trail?”

“I think so.”

Willow Creek? If she’d backed into that, she’d be in real trouble.

He didn’t bother to ask what she was doing there. He had a pretty good idea. “Anyone hurt? Are you safe?”

“We’re not hurt.” But he heard the anxiety in her voice. The woods were a scary place for strangers.

“Sit tight. I’ll find you. Keep your lights on.” He ended the call, followed Connie into the kitchen and gave a brief explanation, then grabbed the keys to one of the ranch trucks and headed into the darkness.

Marley Johnson had some explaining to do.

After he made sure she was okay.

---

Marley did as Wyatt asked and turned on her headlights. What if they weren’t visible from down in this ravine? What if he couldn’t find her? Could she and Braden walk out of here and find the house with the windmill again?

Probably not. Certainly not tonight.

With Braden wrapped in a blanket from head to foot, they walked to the road to listen and look for oncoming traffic. An interminable length of time passed while her face chilled and her heart thudded at every coyote yip and owl hoot.

Marley turned on her flashlight app, shining it toward the roadway. If he didn’t arrive soon, her phone battery would die and plunge her into darkness. Maybe her car battery would die too. She could run the engine, but between the exhaust and loss of gas, she opted not to. At least, not now.

“Mommy, is the soldier man coming?” Braden stood beside her like a brave little boy, bundled to the ears.

“Are you cold?”

“No.” He shivered when he answered, and Marley’s heart melted like candle wax. Precious child, trying to be brave.

She snuggled him closer to her side. “You want to get back in the car?”

Before Braden could react, a truck motor rumbled somewhere to their right. She pointed the flashlight in that direction, silently praying the sound belonged to Wyatt.

Her phone dinged. The text read, “I see your lights. I’m in a ranch truck. Triple C.”

At the moment, she didn’t care if he had questions she couldn’t answer. His text was a huge relief.

She jostled Braden’s hand. “That’s him.”

In seconds, the rumbling vehicle pulled alongside her, the Triple C logo clearly illuminated. The passenger door opened outward, and Wyatt leaned across the seat.

Figuring a good offense was the best defense, Marley leaned in. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to text and drive?”

“Good rule. Follow it.” His lean face was cast in shadows, but Marley didn’t need to see him to be glad he was there. Or to be aware of his undeniable appeal. Macho soldier. Rescuer. She wasn’t accustomed to being rescued, and he’d come through for her twice. It felt…uncomfortable.

She lifted Braden inside the high cab and climbed in, pointing toward the barely-there trail. “My car’s a little ways off the road.”

Wyatt didn’t say more as he drove through the woods and parked in the center, avoiding the opening she’d mistaken for a trail.

“You know this land?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s yours, too?”

“My family’s.” He didn’t go into any more detail. Nor did he question or berate her for being here. He simply parked and got out of the truck.

His reticence made her nervous. Was he angry? Had he heard something on the news? Was he about to turn her in?

She was being paranoid. And she had to stop, or he’d be more suspicious than he already was.

Marley opened the door and jumped to the ground and followed his long, sure strides with her much shorter, much less confident ones. He produced a flashlight from somewhere and leaned over her car’s back fender.

“Get back in the truck.” When she didn’t budge, he glanced up. “It’s cold.”

Marley didn’t know whether to be offended by his tone or grateful for the thoughtfulness. “What do you think about the car?”

“You’re stuck.”

No kidding. “Can you pull me out?”

“Not tonight.” He reached inside her Chevy to shut off the lights and pop the trunk. “I’m under orders to bring you to the ranch.”

From who? The police? Cold, hard fingers of tension grabbed the back of her neck.

“Orders?” Her voice came out in a squeak.

Wyatt’s solemn face softened. “From Connie, our housekeeper. Basically, our mom. She’s the real boss of the Triple C.”

The grip on her muscles eased. A housekeeper, not the police. “I don’t want to impose.”

He ignored the flimsy protest. He knew as well as she did, few other choices were available, unless she wanted to endanger Braden’s life in a car with a blocked tailpipe.

Hitching his chin toward the Chevy’s trunk, he said, “Grab what you need for the night.”

“I appreciate this. Really, I do. I’ll get my car out first thing tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She did. Big time.

She also worried that she and her son were about to willingly climb into a truck with a total stranger. No one knew where she was. No one except Wyatt Caldwell. He could drive them off in these woods and murder them and no one would ever be the wiser.

She was being paranoid again. This man had come to her rescue. Twice. He was a hero.

With a silent prayer for protection, she grabbed her overnight bag and a handful of Hot Wheels. Wyatt took the bag from her and tossed it into the truck bed. Marley stuffed the toy cars into her coat pocket.

“Anything else?”

A change of clothes, toiletries, and pajamas for both her and Braden were inside the bag. “This should do until morning.”

He opened the passenger door, then hoisted her by the elbow up and inside the high cab. Braden had already buckled himself in the back seat.

Marley tipped her head against the headrest, eyes closed, and let the welcome heat soak into her bones.

The driver’s door opened and slammed. Marley tilted her face toward Wyatt, a mix of emotions swirling like water in a drain.

With an indecipherable glance in her direction, he put the truck in gear and drove to the main road.

No conversation. No radio. Just the awkward tension of strangers in a confined space.

Marley swallowed, the sound loud enough to embarrass her. In the backseat, Braden rustled but didn’t speak. Though the time wasn’t overly late, he was tired. He’d had a strange couple of days.

Stiff as pine needles, Marley focused on the dirt road passing slowly in the headlights. Two eyes gleamed from the ditch. Wyatt slowed the truck.

“What was that?” And why did she sound like a scared little girl?

“’Possum, raccoon maybe.”

“Oh.”

The silence came again, drawing the strings of tension tight enough to pluck.

Marley couldn’t take it any longer. “Thank you again for your help.”

“No problem.”

“Is your ranch far?”

“A few miles.” He flicked a glance her way. “Thought you were headed to family in OKC.”

Now, the questions would begin. “I was, but…”

A muscle moved in his jaw. “Is there a family in OKC?”

“My mother lives there, but I got stuck. Remember?”

“Can’t help wondering why that happened, if you were headed to your mom’s.”

Right. That cow path was not a shortcut to Oklahoma City.

He lifted one hand from the steering wheel. “You weren’t, were you?”

“No.” She owed him an explanation, but she didn’t have one. At least, not one she dared share.

---

Wyatt’s brain computed at lightning speed. Marley had more tells than a bad gambler. She was not a good liar. He hands couldn’t be still. Her eyes, as soft and pretty as they were, wouldn’t connect with his for longer than a second.

Not only was she a bad liar, she didn’t want to be dishonest. So what was the deal?

She was scared of something. No two ways about it. No other reason for her to be hiding out with her little boy in the winter.

An abusive ex? Maybe. Which would account for a lot. But why lie to him about it?

Custody battle? More likely, considering her near hysteria yesterday when she couldn’t find the boy and then, later, some of the odd comments Braden had made.

Marley would fight for her son. And she’d run with him if she lost in court.

The backseat rustled, and Braden leaned forward. “You gots a big truck.”

Wyatt dipped his cheek toward the seat’s open space. “Like it?”

“Uh-huh.” The boy yawned. “Mommy, can we go home?”

“Our car’s stuck, baby.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He sounded so disappointed, Wyatt said, “I’ve got some nieces at my house around your age. Twins.”

“What’s twins?”

Marley, apparently ready to talk now that the subject had changed, shifted on the leather. “Siblings. Sisters or brothers who were born at the same time.”

“I don’t have simlings. Maybe I’ll get some for Christmas.”

Wyatt and Marley exchanged amused glances. She smiled, a genuine, loving expression meant for her son. But it landed on Wyatt.

And even knowing she was a liar on the run, he smiled back.