Getting into the Sunset Manor Care Center wasn’t nearly as complicated as Ace had expected. A couple of phone calls, a donation to the right department, and he sailed right through the front door with the security code in hand.

The odor hit him first. Nothing like a hospital, the care center slapped him with a mix of cooked foods, none of which smelled anything like Connie’s kitchen at the Triple C, and the more disturbing body smells. How did anyone eat in here?

Slowly, he looked around at the lobby area where several wheelchair-parked elderly and infirm talked or stared into space. One man slept, his head at a painful angle against his chest.

An overwhelming sense of despair washed over Ace. Chance lived here. The strong, athletic young man was doomed to live his life here. Because of Ace Caldwell.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Ace tried to shake off the melancholy. This care center was no different than hundreds of others. Not bad. Not great. But it served a purpose. And the fact that Marisa worked here told him that Chance and every other resident would get the best care possible in a residential facility. Which only made Ace feel worse. How could this kind of life be ideal for anyone?

A nurse’s aide passed by wheeling a sprightly man with a Bible in his lap. He caught Ace’s stare and winked. “Off to see my girlfriends in the rec room.”

His attitude lifted the corners of Ace’s lips. He tapped his forehead in a salute. “Enjoy.”

As the man was wheeled away, Ace noticed his feet. He had none.

Lights over the doorways pinged, and more nurses hurried inside the rooms. They were trying. But how did anyone beat back the infirmities of age?

And why had he never been inside a nursing home before? The thought shamed him. He’d spent so much time in selfish pursuits that he hadn’t noticed the hardships of others.

Another item for his list.

Was this God’s way of opening his eyes?

After a stop at the nurse’s station, where he was warned that Chance was “in a mood” today and refused to do anything, Ace found his way down a tiled hall, past opened doors that should have been closed, and entered room sixteen.

Fortunately, Marisa was not yet on duty for her evening shift, another piece of information he’d gotten from the facility’s administrator. He also knew she worked at a daycare before coming here.

Chance’s room was identical to the others Ace had seen as he’d come down the hall—a nightstand, a rolling dinner tray, a chair, a TV, a bed, and a wheelchair. Someone—Marisa, he supposed—had hung some colorful framed pictures on the wall. A scripture stencil above the bed and a bouquet of blue plastic flowers on the nightstand rounded out the décor. Not much, but something to dispel the gloom.

Chance lay in the bed staring up at the ceiling. When he saw Ace, he turned away. It wasn’t an easy task. First, he rotated his upper body, and then his hands disappeared beneath the sheet to drag his legs until his back was to the door. The action seared into Ace.

Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure what to do. He stood awkwardly, arms dangling at his sides. He shifted his weight, his boots scraping the tile floor.

“Look, Chance. I know you don’t want me around. I get that. You probably despise the thought of me. I get that, too, and I deserve it.”

His former friend didn’t respond.

“An apology seems pretty lame at this point, but that’s all I’ve got. If I could go back, erase that night, I would. If I could change places with you, I would. Nobody wants to be where you are, but I’d do it.”

His chest started to ache. Regret was a hot iron pressing inside, burning and branding him.

“Do you need anything I can get for you? Is there anything I can do? Let me somehow make this up to you.” As soon as the words escaped, he wanted them back. He dropped his head back, stared at the ceiling. “That was stupid. Nothing can ever make up for what you’ve lost. I’m sorry. God knows I mean that.”

He waited, praying for a response and getting none.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—rage maybe—but not this cold silence.

He’d searched for Marisa and Chance because of his need for absolution, but a light had dawned in his sober brain as he’d traversed the halls of Chance’s new dwelling. God had sent him to this place for a reason beyond his own selfish needs. This wasn’t about him. It was about finding a way to help Chance.

Marisa thought the top of her head would explode. She stood facing the nurse’s desk, trembling with fury.

“I left explicit instructions that no one was to go into that room without my permission!”

Two residents turned to stare and three nurses came out of nearby rooms. Aware she was on the verge of yelling, Marisa modulated her voice. She swallowed, tried to calm down. And failed.

“Who let him in there?”

Sandy, the rotund nurse on duty, lifted both hands in surrender. “I don’t know. Wasn’t me.”

“Never mind. I’ll take care of this.” Spinning on her tennis shoes, Marisa stormed down the hallway to Chance’s room and marched inside, ready to blast the sorry excuse for a cowboy and protect her baby brother.

Ace stood close to the bed, hat dangling at his side. He pivoted, boots scraping, when she entered. One look at his expression, and Marisa’s anger dissipated. He appeared wounded, lost, defeated.

When had Ace Caldwell ever been defeated?

She glanced toward her brother. He lay with his back to them, a common ploy he used when he didn’t want to talk, didn’t want company. She’d seen that move many times.

“I warned you not to come here again.”

Green eyes that had once haunted her dreams fell shut. After a second, he moved closer to the bed and bowed his head.

Was he praying?

A minute later, he drew a deep breath and left the room. No argument. No conversation. He just walked out the door.

Remorse, and maybe pity, shuddered through Marisa. Before she could think better of the action, she followed Ace down the hall and caught up with him.

“Ace.”

He stopped, broad shoulders slumped. “Go ahead and say I told you so or ban me again, but you won’t stop me.”

She stepped around in front of him. “Why? Why can’t you leave us in peace?”

“You call that peace?” He gestured toward Chance’s room. “Now that I’ve seen him, there’s no way I can leave him like this.”

Marisa bristled. “You think I’m not trying?”

“I think you’re killing yourself trying.” His voice was soft and kind, and the concern nearly broke her.

Marisa rubbed at the ever-present tension in her neck. “And he won’t try at all. He’s depressed and bitter and angry.”

“Isn’t that normal? Wouldn’t you be?”

“The doctors say he should have snapped out of it by now. We’ve had counselors and pastors, even medication. He refuses to take the drugs, and he won’t talk to anyone. He ignores the doctors the same way he ignored you.”

She didn’t say the rest. She’d run out of money to pay counselors and doctors. Since they’d long ago stopped helping Chance, they were one expense she could avoid. Disability paid for his room but did not pay for the rehab extras he needed, and any insurance money he’d received was long gone on medical bills.

“What about his old friends and his students? Would he talk to them?”

“He doesn’t want them to see him like this.”

“There has to be something we can do.”

“If there is, I’m at a loss.”

“Will you let me try?”

“I don’t understand why you’d want to.”

“I owe him.”

She agreed, but his quiet sincerity also affected her, and his gentle concern for Chance seemed real.

She didn’t want to be soft around him. Ace was dangerous. To her. To Chance. But he wasn’t drinking, and a sober Ace had always gotten through her defenses.

“I have to get to work,” she said.

“Your shift doesn’t start until three.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew her hours. After all, he’d hired a private investigator. “I’m covering a few hours for another nursing assistant.”

“I see.” He fiddled with his hat, eyes on the gray felt. “Meet me for coffee when you get off at eleven.”

“Coffee?” She scoffed. “What about a beer? Or a couple of tequila shots?”

She was feeling mean and angry, but her words had an odd effect.

He glanced up, his gaze as cool as green glass. “Coffee’s fine.”

His reaction puzzled her. No jaunty grin or joke. Just that long, solemn stare.

“I can’t.” Wouldn’t.

“Carla’s. Eleven o’clock.”

“Still have trouble with the no word, don’t you, cowboy?”

“This is too important. Chance is too important.”

He had her there. Chance was the single most important person in her life, and he would be from now on.

“I don’t know what you can do that a dozen doctors haven’t tried.” The mighty Caldwells thought they could do anything.

“I don’t either, but we can’t give up, Marisa. He’s only twenty-five years old.”

He had her there.

“I can’t meet you tonight.” After the extra hours today, she’d be a dead woman walking by eleven. Not that she would share that fact with him.

“Tomorrow then. Meet me for lunch.”

A battle ensued in Marisa’s head. Ace only wanted a balm for his guilt. But her little brother needed all the encouragement he could get. Ace was the last man on earth she should be around, and she certainly didn’t want his blood money. But maybe if she talked to him he would go away for good.

“All right, then. Tomorrow at noon at Carla’s.”

Before she could do anything else stupid, she whipped around and headed for the break room to clock in. He might think he’d won, but she would never let down the wall that had taken her nearly two years to build.

She didn’t get to Carla’s Country Cafe until twelve thirty, and she hoped Ace would have given up by then. But as soon as she walked into the café, she saw him seated at a table next to the window, facing the door.

A wave of nostalgia swooshed over her. The two of them at that table, holding hands, smiling into each other’s eyes as if there were no one else in the universe. Making plans that never happened.

She stiffened her spine and stuffed the memories. She would not be that foolish again.

The building was crowded, the square tables filled as they always were at noon, and the smell of freshly cooked food made her belly weep. Eating out was a rare treat. Very rare.

Ace stood as she approached the table, his southern boy manners as much a part of him as his green eyes. Those eyes had been the first thing she’d noticed all those years ago, and she noticed them now.

“Busy morning?”

She settled in the chair he’d pulled out. “Very.”

“How long is your lunch break?”

“An hour.”

“Not long enough.” He smiled. Not the playboy grin of yesteryear but a genuine smile. “We’ll have to do this again.”

“I work two jobs. Time off is nearly impossible.”

“And you pull doubles, work everyone else’s sick days, fill in for any and every one who asks.”

She shrugged, refusing to feel sorry for herself. “That’s life in the real world.”

The waitress arrived and slid a plastic menu in front of each of them. She looked like a college student, young, blond and tanned, with perfect teeth in a perfect smile. Marisa ignored the pinch of envy. Life was what it was. This was her path, and she’d walk it.

“I already know what I want.” Marisa returned the menu with a polite smile.

“Me, too.” And before she could brace for it, he caught her eye and ordered exactly what she had in mind. “Did I get it right?”

Grudgingly, she admitted, “Yes. Thanks. With sweet tea.”

She didn’t want him remembering her favorite foods or treating this like a date. It wasn’t. It was a barely civil meeting that she’d only agreed to in hopes of soothing a conscience that shouldn’t hate anyone but did. She had no hope that the cowboy could do anything for Chance that hadn’t already been tried without success.

The young waitress scribbled the orders and hurried away, stopping at tables along the path to the kitchen. The cacophony of voices in the room was enough to cover any conversation. The problem was, now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say.

Ace made her nervous. She wanted to be angry. He needed to go away and never return. She couldn’t have another drunk in her life. She was too genetically prone to fall for them.

The young waitress returned with the cold drinks. Marisa reached for hers as if it were a lifeline.

Ace ignored his. “Tell me about him.”

She gulped the iced tea, the cold sweetness pleasant. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“He’s paralyzed from the waist down. He’ll never walk again, much less play ball or coach or dance at his own wedding.”

Ace had the grace to wince. If she’d made him uncomfortable, she refused to be sorry. Chance’s disability was his fault.

“I know that much. Tell me about rehab. About the last eighteen months.”

So he’d counted down the months since the accident. Big deal. So had she. Minutes, hours, days of praying that God would make her brother whole again.

“There’s a spinal cord rehabilitation hospital in Houston. We went there when he was stable enough to travel.” She’d found a job and a tiny apartment nearby, alternating between work and the hospital. “It’s a top-ten facility, so I had hopes...”

Hopes that never materialized.

“And when the money ran out, you brought him back home.”

She rubbed her fingers up and down the moist tea glass. “My finances are none of your business, Ace.”

Instead of the argument she’d expected, he said, “I’m glad you’re home.”

So was she. “The doctors thought being back in his home town, around the familiar, would elevate Chance’s spirits.”

“But it hasn’t.”

“If anything, his mood is worse here. It’s as if he’s given up.”

“He’s in a nursing home, Marisa, and he’s a young man. It would be hard not to give up.”

The remark infuriated her, but it defeated her too. “What choice do I have? I can’t take care of him at home and hold a job, too. Sunset Manor was the best solution. At least there, I can be with him eight hours a day.”

He tilted his head, expression wry. “Or more.”

On days off from the daycare, whenever possible, she worked extra at the nursing home, and vice versa. It was the only way she could manage, another fact she didn’t share with Ace.

Their food arrived, two identical plates of barbecue brisket with all the fixings and a basket of fragrant, buttery yeast rolls.

Her stomach reminded her of the meals she’d skipped yesterday. “I’d forgotten how amazing this smells.”

“Tastes even better, but let’s pray first.”

Surprise jolted her, but Marisa bowed her head while he murmured a simple blessing. When he prayed for Chance and ended with, “Thank you, Father, for sobriety, and grant me the grace for one more day,” Marisa opened her eyes to stare at him.

Was he for real? Or was this a sneaky way of getting back on her good side? He’d pushed aside her faith during their dating days and had displayed none of his own. His family were Christians. And he’d been brought up to believe. But he hadn’t.

After the amen, he reached for his fork and stabbed a bite of brisket.

Disconcerted, Marisa adjusted her napkin. “What was that all about?”

The fork paused at his mouth. She remembered those lips and didn’t want to.

“What?”

“Sobriety?”

“I joined AA, got sober for good. It was about time.”

She wasn’t sure if she believed him. Remembering all the times he’d scoffed at the idea that he’d become a problem drinker, all the times he’d claimed he could quit any time he wanted to. He just hadn’t wanted to.

“Your family must be delighted.”

Something moved through his expression. “They’ve been supportive. But let’s talk about Chance and you.”

Only Chance. Not her. She wasn’t letting him get that close. “What else is there to say? He’s crippled and depressed and the future looks dismal.”

“If things are that bad, what harm is there in my spending time with him?”

Because seeing you hurts too much. You make me remember how it felt to be loved and to love in return, to love and hate all in the same breath, and that’s too dangerous. You’re too dangerous.

“Not a good idea.”

“I’m going to see him, Marisa, with your permission or without it.”

“Then why ask me to meet you? Why bother with this pretend concern and sobriety?”

“I’m not pretending.” He put his fork across the edge of his plate. “I want us to work together. I hoped the two of us together could come up with ideas to motivate Chance and get him dreaming again.”

Guilt. It had to be his guilt. But he was wearing her down. He’d always been able to do that. And she was sucker enough to fall for it.

This time, he was petitioning for Chance.

“I’m afraid I’m all out of ideas.”

“That’s because you’re tired. You’ve carried this for nearly two years. Let me carry it now.”

He was such a smooth talker. The man should be a politician.

“I won’t object if you visit him sometimes. But try not to upset him, and don’t expect me to be around. I’m not interested in rekindling the very ugly past.”

He winced and lowered his eyes. Her words had hit their mark.

As she was strangling on the needed apology, a man walked up to the table.

“Ace. I thought that was you. How’s it going?”

“Hanging in there. You?”

“The same.”

The two men talked for a few minutes, and she noticed that Ace hadn’t bothered to introduce her. He was usually more polite than that, and she started to wonder. Was the man someone he didn’t want her know? One of his drinking buddies, perhaps?

After the man left, Ace deftly moved the conversation to the ranch, the recent weddings of his brother and sister, and the three new children that had been added to his family.

She listened with half-hearted interest, her mind churning with suspicion. Had he really turned over a new leaf?

As she finished her meal, the facts settled with the barbecue. Her entire life, and Chance’s, had been damaged by alcoholics. They’d both endured too much loss, grief and disaster to ever take another chance.