A telephone mooing after midnight could not be good news.

Ace rolled to his side and glared at the lighted cell phone. A name and number flashed with the pulsing moo. Don’s. His AA mentee.

He grabbed for the cell, sliding the locked screen as he fell back against the pillows. “Hello.”

Background noise garbled the voice. Or else someone on the other end was having a hard time forming words. Maybe both.

Ace heard fumbling sounds, a curse, and then what sounded like ice rattling against glass.

“Don? Is that you?”

The noise stopped. The caller sighed. “Yeah. It’s me.”

The words were slurred.

Ace sat up, the low sinking in his belly almost painful. “What’s going on, pal?”

“I messed up.”

“Where are you?”

“Not sure. Somewhere. Hey, man,” he called to someone else. “What iz zis place?”

Voices Ace couldn’t quite decipher answered. Don rattled off the name of Richard’s Bar. Ace couldn’t recall it, a mercy considering all the bars he’d frequented after the accident.

“In Clay City?”

“I think. Yeah, that’s right. Clay City.” The sentence ended on a drunken sob. “I messed up. I messed up. Joanie hates me.”

“Stay put, Don. I’m on my way.”

Leaving the call open, Ace dressed in record time, shoved his feet into his boots, grabbed his keys and headed for his truck.

Don had been doing so well. What had happened?

Marisa heard a car motor rumble to life and folded the book she’d been reading against her chest. Who was coming or going on the ranch at this hour? And why?

She closed the book and put it on the nightstand. If not for this page-turner romance novel, she’d have been asleep hours ago.

The vehicle rumbled louder. Curious, she threw the sheet back and padded to the window. Ace’s black truck, visible beneath the security light, slid past the guest house and disappeared down the long driveway.

Where was he going at this time of night?

The incident at the gas pumps returned in full-blown living color. Suspicion sprouted like weeds. Had Kristin called him? Was he meeting her somewhere for a secret, late-night tryst?

Marisa remained at the window for a long time, fighting the knot in her stomach, wanting to believe in him. He’d never lied to her before. Not even in the worst of times. Had he been lying today when he’d said he cared for her? He’d spoken with such tender conviction that she’d believed, really believed, he loved her.

Today had been wonderful. For him, too, she’d thought. Surely, he wouldn’t betray her with another woman.

But what if Kristin had told the truth? What if Ace only wanted to make amends for the accident? He needed absolution. He was determined to clear his conscience. Was the guest house, the trip to the Sanctuary and all the other kindnesses his way of paying a debt?

Was Ace, as Kristin claimed, motivated by pity? For Chance? For her? Or was this another case of her terrible insecurities? Her fear of repeating her mother’s mistakes.

She wrestled the thoughts until her head throbbed and finally gave up and went back to bed.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Behind her eyes, a sixteen-millimeter film of beautiful, confident Kristin juxtaposed with images from the Sanctuary, the care center, the park, and the wonderful dinners at the Caldwell table.

Which Ace was the real one?

Annoyed at herself for thinking the worst, she sat up, turned on the lamp and took out her Bible. She flipped to a random page, her eyes falling on John 14:27.

She’d not been as faithful with her Bible reading or prayer as she’d once been. She’d been so busy, and somehow God had gotten pushed to the corner.

Finger to the page, she murmured the comforting words of Jesus. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

She needed that kind of peace tonight. A Jesus peace.

Eyes drifting closed, she prayed. For herself to have more faith. For Ace to be safe and sober. Anything else was his business, not hers, including any relationship he might or might not have with Kristin, though it hurt her to think so.

It occurred to her then that there were plenty of other reasons Ace could have left the ranch tonight. Maybe he’d gone to check on a pregnant cow. Maybe a friend or neighbor was sick. Perhaps Nate or Emily or one of their family members needed him. She should pray that all was well, not believe the worst of the man she claimed to love.

“Thank you for the reminder, Lord.”

When the prayer ended, she lay back on the pillow and meditated on the Scripture, seeking God’s peace.

She didn’t know how much time passed but eventually, she heard the rumble of Ace’s truck and went to the door.

She wouldn’t sleep the rest of the night unless she knew all was well with him and with his family.

And if she was still a little suspicious, she couldn’t help it.

He parked outside the garage and killed the engine. His automatic lights remained on, and the dome light flashed as he opened the door. Wearily, he stepped from the cab and, head down, started toward the back door of the main house.

Though barefoot and in her pajamas, Marisa walked across the moist grass toward him. He must have sensed her presence because he glanced back and saw her. He looked exhausted. And sad.

She crossed the graveled access road, the rocks stabbing her tender soles. “Is everything all right?”

He waved her off. “Fine. Go back to bed.”

By now, she’d reached the grassy back yard. Her feet thanked her for the cool softness.

“You look upset.”

“I’m okay. Tired. See you tomorrow.” He turned to leave.

Suspicions sprang up. He was being evasive, eager to get rid of her. “Ace. Wait.”

He paused, shoulders slumped. A heavy emotion emanated from him. She couldn’t place it, but she could feel it.

Marisa slid a caring hand up his back. As she did, her nose picked up a familiar scent. Her hand froze, then dropped away in shock.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“No!” He spun around. The smell intensified.

Marisa recoiled. A child of alcoholics knew that stink. Gin. Vodka. One of those. Drunks thought they were odorless, but they were wrong. Ace reeked of alcohol, and beneath the security light, his eyes were glazed and red.

She knew for certain then. Her suspicions were confirmed.

“You’re drunk.” She backed away, devastated.

He reached for her. “A friend called.”

And she knew who. “Kristin?”

He scowled. “Who? Kristin? No.”

Why should she believe him? It was probably another lie. Her voice choked. “You promised.”

“And I’ve kept that promise, Marisa. I was with an AA pal. He was having a rough time and…” He reached toward her.

Marisa slapped his hands away. A fire stirred in her, a fire of disappointment and disgust and anger.

After their beautiful day together, when she’d finally had hope again, Ace had betrayed her. He’d been drinking with another drunk.

“Get away from me.” Her voice rose, louder now that the fire burned from her belly and escaped her mouth. “You smell like a bar.”

He tried again to touch her. “That’s because—”

She shoved him back. He stumbled. Probably because he was too drunk to stay upright.

“Don’t touch me. You’re drunk!”

“I am not drunk!” He took a step. Reached out. “Let me explain.”

Tears pushed at the back of her eyes. Furious tears. She backed away. Her feet found the gravel. The sharp pain added fuel to her fire.

“You lied to me. You lied!” She was shouting now. And she was shaking, her knees wobbly and her voice out of control. The anger she’d held against her parents for years gushed out, drowning Ace. “Liar, user, drunk. I can’t believe I let you do this to me again!”

“I didn’t. An AA pal was having a bad time—”

Enough. She didn’t want to hear this. She spun away.

“Marisa. Stop. Listen.”

But she was past listening. She’d been the fool Kristin said she was. She’d trusted Ace, and he’d betrayed her.

Again.

Ace watched Marisa storm back to the cottage. He could march right over there, pound on the door and insist she listen to the truth, or he could call it a bad night and try again tomorrow.

Tomorrow had to be better. He’d come home from the bar dog tired, frustrated and heart-sick. And badly in need of a shower. Now, he was also discouraged and hurt.

Marisa thought the worst of him. And she’d not cared enough to stop and listen.

He was worn slick from trying to prove himself. Either she believed in him or she didn’t.

“Apparently, she doesn’t.” Maybe he should give up, forget about her, move on.

With one last annoyed, wounded huff, he dragged himself into the house, taking care not to wake Connie. He’d been a master at sneaking in during his boozing days and had no problem now.

At least, that was his thinking until the next morning at breakfast.

He wandered into the kitchen at six, blurry-eyed but with a work agenda as long as his arm. No shirking today.

He poured himself a cup of Connie’s excellent coffee and sipped, burning his tongue. The boss-lady of the house was nowhere to be seen, so he pulled pancake fixings from the cabinets and started the batter.

Connie sailed into the room, her black hair slicked back into a tail, and bumped him out of the way. “Sit. This is my job.”

“I can make pancakes.”

“Sit.” From the fridge, she gathered the fixings for breakfast as she did every morning. The bunkhouse hands would arrive soon, along with Gilbert and any Caldwell who woke up in time.

Ace pulled a chair from the bar and sat, observing her staccato movements, her unusual silence. “Something wrong?”

She shot him a quick glance. “I should ask you.”

“Nothing wrong with me. A little tired.” He took a long whiff of his coffee cup. Just smelling the caffeine cleared out some of the fog.

“You and Marisa had a big fight last night.”

His head popped up. “You heard us?”

“Sí. Oh, yes.” Connie beat the pancake batter with particular vehemence. “The two of you shout loud enough to wake the neighbors.”

Ace sipped at his coffee and, feeling ornery, said, “We don’t have neighbors.”

“Exactamente.” Connie angled toward him, spatula aloft. “Marisa said you are drunk.”

“You gonna whack me with that spatula?”

“If you were drinking? Sí. Maybe with a pan, too.”

“I wasn’t.” He explained the situation. “I’m a mentor, Connie, a sponsor, we call it in AA. I have a responsibility to Don. He called. I went to the bar and carted his drunk carcass to his apartment, hid his keys, and left. End of story.”

She dropped the spatula back in the bowl and crossed the room to touch his hair. A faded memory came, shimmering and gossamer, but as real and sweet as the woman who’d raised him. When he was small, crying for his mama, she’d stroke his hair and sing to him in Spanish.

“Marisa does not believe this?”

“Do you?”

“Sí.”

An ease settled over Ace. He hadn’t realized how much he needed someone to take him at his word.

“Apparently, Marisa doesn’t. She smelled the liquor and started yelling. Wouldn’t give me an opportunity to tell her about the drink Don spilled on me.”

“Then, you must go and talk to her right away. Explain.”

“I tried.” He shook his head. “No matter what I do, she doesn’t trust me. And for good reason. After what happened before, with her and with Chance—”

“In the past. Water over the bridge.” Over the bridge, under the bridge. Connie sometimes twisted expressions.

She patted the top of his head and returned to her batter, stopping to click on the griddle.

“Not to Marisa. She brings it up over and over again.” He clunked the mug on the bar with unnecessary force. “I’m done trying. I thought after yesterday when I took her to the Sanctuary…”

“Ahhh.” Connie leveled him with a quiet look. “This is more than making up for past mistakes. You are in love with her.”

He twitched a shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Si. You love her. A Caldwell does not take his woman, or man, to the Sanctuary otherwise. It is not done.”

What she said was true. He knew it. Had known it when he’d asked Marisa to go with him. The Sanctuary was sacred ground to a Caldwell. Only family was invited. Did he want Marisa to be his family?

Connie lay slices of bacon on a huge baking sheet and slid it into the oven.

Ace pushed up from the bar and ambled toward her, thankful for this sensible woman who loved him, even at his worst. “Need some help with breakfast?”

She flapped a dismissing hand at him and cracked an egg against a ceramic bowl. “What I want is for my heart-son not to be so hard skulled. You love this girl. And I think she loves you too much. That is her problem. She is afraid, and so she looks for reasons to run away.”

“Afraid of me?” He poked a finger at his chest.

“No, hio mio. She is afraid of herself, of letting anyone get close enough to hurt her the way her parents did. But you“—she pointed an egg at him—“you are already too close. And Marisa does not know what to do.”

Ace considered Connie’s theory as he rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his chin. His whiskers scraped. He needed a shave. His face felt as rough as the rest of him, especially his gnawed-up insides.

“I would never intentionally hurt her.”

“I know. I know. Behind that orneriness, you have a big, good heart. But Marisa, she is a wounded bird. She needs a strong, loving man to believe in.”

“I don’t know if I can be that guy. If I’ll ever be that to her. I’ve failed her in a lot of ways, Connie. Especially the boozing and the accident.”

“You are drinking no more. Time will erase her worry.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to talk to her this morning. I don’t smell like vodka, and hopefully, she’s had a chance to calm down.”

The minute he’d gotten to his room last night, he’d hit the shower, eager to erase the smell. The scent had almost gagged him. A new and welcome turn of events.

Connie flapped a hand toward the back door. “Go now. Vamoose. I will save your breakfast.”

She was right. He wasn’t a quitter. And Marisa was worth the effort.

Ace refilled his cup, added another for Marisa, and let himself out the back way.

At the cottage door, he tapped lightly with the side of his boot. Inside, he heard movement.

“Marisa.” He kept his voice low in case Chance still slept.

“Leave me alone, Ace. We’re through.”

He sighed. “Your coffee’s getting cold, and I won’t go away until we talk.”

Silence was his answer, so he tapped the door with his boot again. “I’m a patient man. Can wait all day. Sure is good coffee.”

She yanked the door open. Ace’s belly tumbled. Her eyes were red and glassy. Had she been crying? Or was she tired after last night’s…whatever it was.

“Peace offering.” He held out the coffee. “Connie made it.”

She took the cup, but turned around and went back inside, leaving him on the porch with the door open.

He followed her in. “Can we talk?”

She stood at the short kitchen counter, dumping creamer into her cup.

“Nothing to talk about.” But she started talking anyway. “When I saw your truck pull away last night, I knew something was wrong. But I never dreamed it was that.”

The disgusted emphasis on that gave him a major clue.

“It wasn’t.”

“So you say.”

He set his coffee on the small bar that divided the living room from the kitchen. Searching for the right words, he said, “Will you let me explain what really happened? Or do you want to believe the worst because you’re afraid of being in love with me?”

She spun so fast, she jostled her cup and splashed coffee onto the counter. She opened her mouth to argue, but no words came.

Encouraging, in a funny kind of way.

“Connie says I’m in love with you, too.” There. It hadn’t killed him to admit it. Sort of.

He wanted her to rush into his arms and proclaim her undying devotion. She didn’t. Instead, she rolled her eyes with such annoyance, her pupils disappeared. “Oh, that’s rich. Like I believe that.”

He shouldn’t have bragged about his patience. She was testing it out big time.

With an exasperated sigh, Ace tugged a chair up to the bar close to where she stood, and pointed. “Please? Sit, sip your coffee, and listen?”

When she glanced at the chair and hesitated, he held up a hand. “One conversation. Five minutes. Then, if you want to boot me out, I’ll go. I’ll hate it, but I’ll go and never bother you again. What do you have to lose?”

With a backward glance at the spilled coffee, she did as he asked, except she scooted the chair a good three feet away from him.

Back to the cold shoulder. Frost from those chilly gray eyes could send a man to the ER. He could feel the breeze from here.

She crossed her arms and glared at him.

She was acting tough. Protecting herself. Connie’s words ran through his head. Marisa was scared.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not that guy.”

“Then why did you stink like the inside of a bottle?”

“I’m a sponsor for another guy in AA who’s not as far down the road as I am. He called me from a bar, in bad shape. He fell off the wagon last night.” More like, he fell under it and got run over. Twice.

Marisa’s eyes remained suspicious, but she was listening. “You went to a bar?”

Slowly, Ace nodded. “I won’t lie to you. I did. But not to drink. Fact is, I was nervous that I might be tempted.”

“Then why did you go?”

“Because that’s what we do. My sponsor was there for me when I was struggling. He never had to haul me out of a bar drunk, but he could have. Alcoholics help each other stay sober.”

“But your friend wasn’t sober.”

“No. He wasn’t. His soon to be ex-wife had dinner with another guy. He saw them together, and it was more than he could handle.” Ace squeezed a hand over his face. “As much as I wish he’d called me first, he didn’t.”

“But he was already drunk. Why bother to call? Did he want a drinking buddy?”

“That’s not the way it works. He knew I wouldn’t. That’s why he called. All I did was take him home and make sure he was safe.” This morning’s hangover would be a killer, the regrets even worse. “He’ll hate himself when he wakes up.”

Marisa uncrossed her arms. A good sign. “I don’t understand why you smelled so strong of vodka. Or whatever the booze du jour.”

She had a good nose for strong drink, a shame, but not a surprise considering her background.

“He was so drunk by the time I got there, he resisted my help. Didn’t want to leave the bar. We…tussled a bit.” Actually, Ace dumped the guy over his shoulder and carted him to the truck.

“He spilled the drink on you?”

“That’s the size of it. Cussed me out, too. Threatened to kick my…” He stopped. “You get the picture.”

Marisa dipped her head and stared at her hands. She was calm now, really listening.

Ace’s heart thudded painfully against his ribs. He was scared too. Scared she wouldn’t believe him. Scared of losing her. Scared of failing her and Chance and himself all over again.

“That’s all I got, Marisa.” He found her eyes, pleaded with his own. “I need you to believe in me.”

She stared for a few long seconds, her expression anguished, before her gaze slid away. Hands in her lap, she twisted her fingers, breathed out a long sigh.

Ace felt it then, the change in the air, the resignation that spelled doom. He tried to brace against the inevitable.

Her voice, when it came, was a whisper. “I want to, but I don’t know if I can.”

The words stabbed deep.

Without trust, they would never work. He knew even if she didn’t. They might as well walk away now while they could do it with grace and affection.

Slowly, wearily, Ace nodded.

Nothing he said or did would make any difference. It was the insanity thing again. He kept doing the same things with Marisa, expecting different results, but nothing had changed except her location.

“I understand. I don’t blame you.” But his heart hurt so badly, he wasn’t sure he could get his next breath. “This is it, I guess. The end of you and me.”

“I need some time.”

She needed time. She needed space. It wasn’t him, it was her. Weren’t those the words women used to let a man down easy? Famous words of breaking up.

He mocked himself. Breaking up? They’d barely gotten started.

Marisa said no more, but her eyes glistened. Ace waited, let two beats pass and then three, hoping against the odds that she’d say something to give him hope, to offer a reason for him to keep trying.

She didn’t.

Trust. Such a simple word and, yet, the most difficult concept for the woman he loved to internalize. Had she ever trusted anyone?

Maybe not. Maybe she never would. Especially him.

Not her fault. He couldn’t even be angry.

He picked up his hat, squeezed the brim between thumb and forefinger. “You’re welcome to use the guest house as long as you need or want.”

And before he made a fool of himself, Ace exited the cottage, closing the door quietly behind him.