They moved in on a Thursday, Marisa’s day off from Sunset Manor. Chance was so ramped-up he was like a Jack Russell Terrier on speed.

Marisa unpacked boxes in the newly refurbished kitchen as Ace and his hands, as he called the half dozen handsome cowboys who worked for him, hauled cartons inside the guest house. The men jostled and joked and sweated, delivering all her worldly goods much faster than she’d been able to pack them. In feeble exchange for their thoughtfulness and considerable muscle, she dispensed large, icy glasses of lemonade. Definitely worth the effort. Watching cowboys gulp it down could put a song in any girl’s heart. Especially when Ace was one of those cowboys.

The men traipsed out again, leaving behind the empty glasses. She watched them go, thankful. Part of her was still scared of making a mistake, but, in this case, her choices had been too limited to fight the move. Another part of her recognized God’s hand in the invitation. Her Heavenly Father had come to her rescue, and if He’d chosen to use Ace Caldwell to do it, who was she to argue? It was this she tried to cling to, though her fear of leaning on anyone kept poking its head up like an annoying gopher.

She poured herself a glass of the remaining lemonade and sipped, the tart sweetness a remedy to today’s heat.

The guest house was small but adequate. In spite of her misgivings, she loved it, loved the clean freshness of everything, the tidiness.

She didn’t even mind the odor of paint and plumbing glue that lingered in the rooms though the air conditioning ran full blast, thanks to all the open doors. What she did mind was being obligated, but when her brother sailed through the front door, alight with barely suppressed joy and a box balanced on his lap, she put her anxiety aside. She was doing this for Chance. He was worth it.

By day three of life on the Triple C, Marisa had begun to relax and enjoy the quiet beauty of country living. The boxes were unpacked, clothes and household goods were put away, and at the moment, Whitney was helping hang curtains and pictures.

In Nate’s bride, Marisa had discovered a surprising kindred spirit. Though Whitney had never been in foster care, she’d been on her own since she was a seventeen-year-old runaway. She’d known hard times. She also understood Marisa’s powerful need for independence that conflicted with an equally powerful fear of being all alone against a harsh world.

Whitney slid a pocket curtain onto a rod. “How are you adjusting to life in the country? The noises bothered me at first.”

“I’ve been so tired every night, I hardly notice them.” She raised a hammer and pounded a curtain hook into the wall. “But it’s a good tired. I sleep better knowing my brother is in the next room.”

“He seems to be doing great, Marisa.”

True, he was.

Chance had acclimated far faster and better than she’d expected. Last night, he’d insisted on showering and transferring from chair to bed and back without assistance. She’d been scared silly, but he’d relegated her to the hall, promising to holler if he needed help. He hadn’t. And for two weeks now, ever since they’d begun coming to the ranch to work on the house, he’d been out of bed from morning until night, a vast change from the depressed, lethargic, bed-bound man he’d been in the care center. His thrill of doing things for himself made Marisa ashamed of the many times she’d taken her physical independence for granted.

She bit her bottom lip. “Sometimes I think I’ve been holding him back.”

“You’ve done what you thought was best.” Whitney squeezed her arm. “But isn’t it nice to have other people on your team to help out now?”

“I worry he’ll push too hard or too far and get hurt again.”

“Not with the Caldwell machine surrounding him.”

“It’s the Caldwell machine that worries me. I’ve never had to lean on anyone before. I don’t like the feeling.” And her feelings for Ace were worrisome, too.

“That’s because you’re scared they’ll let you down.” Whitney handed over the curtain.

“They will. People always do. Chance and I have depended on no one except each other all our lives. We don’t like it.”

“Does Chance feel that way? Or is it just you?”

Marisa opened her mouth and closed it again. Was Whitney right? Was she the problem?

She turned toward the window and raised the rod to the wall. Whitney stepped up beside her.

“Let me hold one end and you take the other.”

Together, the women snapped the curtain onto the newly hung hooks.

When they’d finished and backed up to survey their handiwork, Whitney pressed the subject. “Can I give you a bit of advice from someone who understands, at least a little, about how you feel?”

Warily, Marisa nodded. “I guess. As Ace says, you’re probably going to anyway.”

“He’s right. So here it is.” Whitney picked up another curtain and began threading it onto the rod. “If you’re anything like me, and I think you are, you’ve got a wall up around your heart as high as Mount Everest. You’ll never heal or have the one thing you want most in your life until you let down that guard.”

What did she want most in life? Love. Family. Home. A man she could trust.

She rifled through a box of curtain hangers, hunting for the perfect nail.

“Ace is an alcoholic.” Where had that come from?

“I wondered when we’d talk about that.”

Marisa lifted her gaze from the box. “You knew?”

“All of us do. The Caldwell clan, I mean. We don’t discuss it outside the family. Caldwells are private that way, but we’re part of his recovery. I think you are too.”

“I am. But not in the way you mean.”

“No? I think you’re wrong. I think you care about him, too, but he let you down. He hurt you. I get that.”

“He hurt my brother.”

“Did he?”

“Yes.” Or had he? Chance, as he’d reminded her more than once, was a grown man. He’d made his choices.

Whitney blew out an annoyed breath and removed the curtain from the rod. She’d put it on backwards.

“Ace is the real deal, Marisa. He’s working hard to be a better man and to prove to you and everyone else, maybe even to himself, that he’s changed. I didn’t know him before, but Nate talks to me. Ace never embraced his faith before. He’s always struggled with spiritual questions, particularly about his mother’s death. And he’s such a strong, smart, capable man. He figured he could handle everything by himself. Why bother with God?”

“But the alcohol was stronger.”

“For a while, I suppose. The accident shook him up. As horrible as it is to think, the Bible says God can bring good out of bad if we let Him.”

“What good can possibly come from my brother being paralyzed?” The thought was still a bitter taste on her tongue.

“I’m not saying God caused the accident. We make our own choices. But God, in His mercy and love, will always redeem a situation if we’re willing to let Him. He did for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I made a lot of dumb, rebellious choices as a teenager. I chose to abandon a good home and good parents. I chose to run away and live with guys who mistreated me. God didn’t choose my lifestyle. I did. Mostly, I chose to ignore God until my babies’ lives were at stake.”

“Seriously? Your twins?”

“It’s hard to even think about now, but my ex didn’t want kids, and told me to take care of the problem. I stumbled into a Christian clinic and found Jesus, instead. And then, He led me here.”

“Thank God.”

“I do. Every day. But I had a choice. That’s what I’m saying to you. Choices. We all have them.”

“Why did it have to be Chance? He was always a good kid.”

“I don’t have all the answers, Marisa. No one does. Sometimes bad stuff happens to good people. It’s just part of this crazy world. We don’t always understand the unfairness of life.” She put her palms together, prayer-like. “All I know is this: I once was lost and now I’m found. I have peace with God that no circumstance can take away. Even in terrible situations, Christ followers can find joy in Him. It’s not easy, and we have to fight for it, but fighting for peace and joy is so much better than living with anxiety and fear.”

Emotion welled in Marisa. She agreed with everything Whitney was saying. “I don’t know how to do that. I wish I did.”

“Then start with one thing at a time. Choose to be happy here. Choose to be at peace with this big, loving family who wants to embrace you and Chance.”

Marisa breathed in, settling something deep inside. “I think I can do that.”

Whitney toted the rethreaded curtain to the window. “Ace may not fully know why he invited you here. But the rest of us can see that it’s more than helping out a friend or completing a Twelve-Step program.”

“I’ve wondered.” More than wondered. She’d felt the vibes. Because she had them, too.

“If you have any feelings for him at all, find a way to trust him again, and then decide what you want or don’t want. Don’t let fear control your choices. Believe me, the Caldwell men are worth it.”

The sun had yet to break the horizon when Marisa awoke. Months of getting up at five o’clock had ingrained the habit. She rose and dressed while coffee brewed, then took a cup out on the railed porch to watch the ranch come to life.

In such a short time, it had become a new habit, this quiet time alone while Chance slept on, resting better than he had since before the accident. Ace said it was because he spent the day in activity. Truly, one Caldwell or the other always seemed to desire her brother’s help or his company. At first, she’d been anxious, but taking Whitney’s advice, she’d forced her guard to lower, perhaps not all the way, but enough to let Chance out of her sight. The what-ifs stuck in the back of her mind like a parasite.

True to his word, Ace had worked out a schedule so that Chance was seldom alone even though he insisted he could manage. This was a new side of her brother, a side she hadn’t seen since before the accident. Hopeful. Brighter. Almost eager for life.

Each time she drove to Clay City to work, she breathed a little easier. Everything was going well. Almost too well. She hoped she wasn’t in for another ugly surprise.

Cupping her hands around the warm mug, Marisa leaned against the white wood railing. In front of her, across perhaps fifty yards, was the back and side of the main house. Already, the ant-like activity had begun to stir. Men would arrive, some would share in the Caldwell breakfast, and all would receive their work assignments from the big boss, Ace Caldwell.

Watching him in action impressed her. She’d never understood how hard he worked. To her, he’d been the rich cowboy without a serious thought. She’d been wrong. He ran a small empire with smooth expertise and still carved out time for her and Chance, church and friends, helping neighbors, and many other things. Did he ever sleep?

Two pickup trucks pulled in, doors slammed, and voices broke the morning quiet. Nate went inside.

Beck, one of the permanent ranch employees, saw her as he exited his truck and lifted a hand. She saluted him with her cup. As Beck disappeared inside the house, to the office, she assumed, another cowboy came out.

Her heart executed a dandy little jitterbug. Hatless, his black hair a tad unruly, Ace crossed the backyard and the service road that divided them, coming to stand in front of her.

“Good morning. Why are you up so early?”

“Habit. But I love this time of day.”

“Yeah. Me too. Some people dread getting up with the sun.” He pivoted so his profile was towards her as he dipped his chin toward the horizon. “To me, the sunrise means a fresh, clean start, a brand new twenty-four hours. It’s as if God rubs his hand across the world and gives us another chance to get it right.”

Marisa listened, the cup warm in her hands, touched by the depth of his words. Another chance. Was that what he was asking of her? And if God gave second chances, shouldn’t she be willing to do the same?

“That’s lovely, Ace. Almost poetic.”

He turned back to face her, abashed. “Yeah, well, mornings do that to me. Especially in the presence of a beautiful woman. Which brings me to my reason for being here.”

He stepped up on the porch, close enough that his fresh-shaved scent mingled pleasantly with her coffee.

His eyes, made greener by an olive shirt, were serious and searching. “Take a ride with me. I want to show you something.”

“Now?”

“The best time of the day.”

“What about your ranch hands?”

“Taken care of.”

“Chance is still asleep.”

“Not a problem. Nate and Whitney have something going for him this morning.”

“Oh, that’s right. He wanted to see Whitney’s miniatures.”

“And Whitney needs him to do some painting.”

“Seriously?” Okay, that sounded doable, safe. Chance enjoyed being productive, and miniature animals couldn’t knock him over. “His arms are starting to look like they used to when he was coaching.”

“I noticed. The exercise is good for him.”

It was. She couldn’t deny it. “He’s thriving, Ace. I owe you that.”

He took her coffee cup and sipped. “Then take a ride with me.”

“I need my coffee first.”

His teeth flashed. He returned the cup. “I’ll grab a couple of travel mugs from the house and meet you at the truck.”

“Okay.” His truck was parked in the garage at the back of the house, directly in line with her porch. Rather, the guest-house porch. The word guest was a good reminder than her presence here was temporary.

But Whitney’s advice was never far from her thoughts. Ace had been nothing but good to her and her brother this time around. Maybe he deserved a second chance.

Ace pointed his truck down the driveway and onto the adjoining roadway, though every inch of property for miles on both sides of the gravel road belonged to the Caldwell family.

At his side where he wanted her to be, Marisa sat in the passenger seat sipping coffee from a stainless-steel Yeti tumbler.

“May I ask where we’re going?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“You’re being mysterious.” She shot him a grin. “Should I be scared?”

No, but he was. “Some things are better shown than told.”

They rode a few miles in quiet companionship, and that felt right too. When he spotted three deer in one of the fields, peacefully grazing on his alfalfa, he pointed. She gasped with pleasure, her pretty face bright, and emitted a low, sweet, “Oh.”

It was all he could do not to stop the truck and kiss her.

A man could get used to seeing Marisa’s face every morning.

“Morning is the best time to see wild game. Especially where we’re going.”

She turned a soft smile in his direction. “I get the feeling this is somewhere special.”

Ace had missed this side of Marisa. Behind her anger and sorrow, she’d hidden the gentle woman he’d been in love with. This morning, her guard was down, and he hoped she’d stay this way.

Marisa had been the one woman who’d really gotten him. She’d once told him his drinking was a Band-Aid, and under the Band-Aid was a tender, loving man he wanted to hide. Ace didn’t want to hide anymore. Especially from her.

He made the turns, his wheels stirring late June dust, and after ten minutes, the open pastures and grain fields gave way to thick woods. This was his destination, a nearly sacred piece of Caldwell land. He’d never shared it with another soul.

He parked, jumped out, and using his key, unlocked the wide iron gate emblazoned with the Triple C. He pushed it open and smiled when Marisa slid into the driver’s seat and drove through.

After relocking the gate, he reached for the door handle, but she pulled a few feet ahead, grinning at him through the closed glass. Each time, he tried to open the door, she moved the truck. Laughing, he jogged alongside the slowly moving vehicle until she took pity and let him in.

“You’ll pay for that.” But his threat only brought more laughter.

“Remember when you did that to me?”

“Did I?” He pretended innocence.

Marisa widened her eyes. They sparkled with ornery pleasure. “Like, maybe a dozen times.”

“Payback is tough.”

“Remember that, mister, or I’ll have you jogging all over Calypso County.”

“Two can play at that game. This is my truck.”

“The gauntlet has been thrown. The battle is on.”

They continued the banter, a light, joyous feeling permeating the truck cab. She was happy this morning, and that made him happy. He wanted to keep her that way.

Ace drove forward a few hundred yards, taking it easy down a rugged, grassy path, and parked the truck in a clearing inside a stand of sweetgum and oak. Tall, narrow trees stretched toward the sky, their leafy heads filled with the twitters of birdsong. Willow Creek babbled to their right, a watering hole for all sorts of critters. The grass, littered with twigs and leaves, sparkled with the morning dew.

They got out and Marisa gazed around, interested the way he’d hoped.

“What is this place?”

He took her hand. Soft, warm, accepting. “Five hundred acres of untamed wilderness. It’s ours, but we don’t cultivate or graze here.”

“A refuge?”

“For man as well as animals. I come here when I want to be alone to think or pray. All the family does. We call it the Sanctuary.”

“I can understand why.” She turned to face him. “It’s so…peaceful and beautiful, as if God is here.”

A cold place inside him that never seemed warm enough heated. She’d voiced exactly the way he felt. “This is where I met Him.”

“God?”

“Yeah.” He glanced aside, uncomfortable, but needing her to know the whole, ugly-to-beautiful truth. “When I hit rock bottom and knew I had to make a change, I came here. Spent two nights and days, mostly sitting right over there by the creek.”

Her gaze followed his nod to a boulder beneath a weeping willow. She moved in that direction, pulling him along until they stood in the very spot where he’d surrendered his soul, his life, the alcohol and all the ugliness buried deep inside him.

He watched as she stood beside the clear creek and gazed at the sun rays beginning to slice between the tree trunks. Would she understand why this place was so important?

The answer was crucial for reasons he couldn’t articulate.

They stood so quietly, lost in thoughts, that half a dozen wild turkeys waddled down the opposite bank to drink and flutter their wings. Squirrels chattered from the trees or darted through the leaves, their tails swept up in twitching question marks.

Barely moving his head, Ace exchanged a secret smile with Marisa. No words were needed. This was, indeed, a sanctuary.

After a peaceful while, he said, “Let’s walk.”

“All five hundred acres?”

He tilted his head with a smile. “Why not?”

She fell in step with him, picking over fallen tree limbs. “What made your family decide to set aside so much land for nature?”

“My mother.”

“You don’t talk much about her.”

“I don’t remember her very well. Bits and pieces of vague memory are all I have, but Dad was devoted to her until the day he died. He preserved this for Mom, at her request.” He stooped, picked up a blue feather and handed it to Marisa. “After she was diagnosed with cancer, she came here a lot.”

“I can see why. With all she was going through, she must have felt some measure of comfort here.”

“When she got too weak to come, Dad carried her out here. He never told me that, but Gilbert did.”

“He loved her very much.”

“So much that he never remarried, though he had plenty of offers over the years. He said Cori was his one and only. That they were like the lone white dove she discovered out here one day.” He plucked a leaf, studied it. “Doves mate for life. Did you know that?”

“If I did, I’ve forgotten.”

“I think Dad regretted the time he hadn’t spent with her.”

Twigs snapped beneath their feet. A redbird flashed between the trees.

“What makes you think so?”

“My father was a driven man. A good, godly man, but a workaholic. When he did something, he did it with everything he had.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“Gilbert says the same thing.” Ace, like his father, was driven, except his father had channeled his passion into building the Triple C. He’d been a workaholic, not an alcoholic. The difference stabbed Ace like a knife. He’d let his dad down, too. “I don’t mind taking after Dad, especially if I can learn to be as generous and wise as he was. Nate’s like Mom, in love with the land and the animals.”

“And what are you in love with?”

You. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he continued walking, his boots crunching leaves underfoot. When they broke into another clearing, he stopped.

Marisa came up beside him. “What is this?”

“Cori’s Chapel. Dad built it for her when she first got sick.”

“No wonder she came here to pray. It’s beautiful.”

Almost reverently, they approached the tiny wooden church. The copse around it was wild and natural, a sprawling tangle of honeysuckle and blackberry vines. Even from a distance, the honeysuckle scented the air with sweet perfume.

The chapel door was unlocked, as it always was, and they went inside. Sunlight beamed through the windows and the skylight onto four wooden pews of polished oak, glossy and beautiful in their simplicity. A matching oak altar stretched across the front. Against the back wall, above all else, hung a rough-hewn wooden cross.

Ace took a seat on the front pew and was gratified when Marisa sat close to him. He loved everything about this chapel. Though he’d run from God most of his life, God had always been here.

“This is the one place I feel as if I know my mother.”

“I’m sorry you never really knew her.” She fiddled with the blue feather while she looked at him.

He took it from her, slid it into her hair behind one ear. Blue looked pretty against her glossy hair. “I have pictures of the two of us together when I was small.” A beautiful young black-haired woman reading to him, rocking him, feeding him. He’d gotten his coloring from her. Green eyes, black hair, dark skin. “I think about those photos when I’m here and imagine I can remember.”

“Maybe you do. Some part of you anyway.” She lifted his hand from the smooth oak and laced their fingers together. “Your mother was a fine woman. She loved you. If she could have stayed and raised you, she would have. Not all mothers want to stay.”

She spoke of herself, and the truth of that fact seared Ace’s heart. He was scarred by the loss of his mother to cancer at such a young age. She and Chance had been deeply scarred by parents who were still alive and yet had chosen their addiction over their children. The pain of that betrayal must cut deeper than anything he could ever understand.

And he had added to her wounds with his own addiction.

Ace shifted on the bench, turning to the woman who touched him like no other. “I’m sorry.”

She had no idea how sorry.

Marisa shook her head. “I’ve dealt with it. Mostly.”

He wasn’t speaking only of her parents. “And done a great job of it, too.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I have. I get so confused, and all the ugly memories come back to me, especially at night when I’m alone. I was always scared. Sometimes I still am. I wanted her to come for me so badly, I ached, but she never did. So many times, I’d stare out the door or the window, waiting, waiting. Today would be the day. Today. For sure.” She heaved a heavy, heartrending sigh. “It’s a horrible feeling, knowing your mother doesn’t love you. At least, not enough to be there.”

“It still hurts you.” Every protective instinct in him wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let anyone hurt her again. Not her mother nor her father nor even himself. Especially himself.

She made a soft sound. “Aren’t we a pair, the two of us?”

“A good pair, I hope.” He covered their joined hands with his other one. His fingers were dark against her much paler skin. He liked the contrast.

She didn’t reply to his comment, and he let it go. This was not the place for romantic overtures. He hadn’t come here for that.

Why had he brought her to the Sanctuary?

But he knew, and he had to leave the rest to God.

“Do you mind if we pray before we walk some more?”

Her beautiful mouth curved, lighting her eyes from within. “I’d like that very much.”