Ace slept late the next morning, comfortably aware that Nate, Gilbert and the ranch hands could run the ranch for a few hours without him. He awoke, unhurried and relaxed, remaining in bed to pray and recommit himself to one more day of sobriety, to being the man God had always intended him to be.

Marisa didn’t have the luxury of dawdling.

“What am I supposed to do about her, Lord?”

He was doing everything she’d let him, but it wasn’t enough. Dealing with Marisa and Chance was like beating his head against a brick wall. All he got was a headache.

One of the catch phrases from AA ran through his head. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results.

He’d done the same thing for weeks. So what could he do differently?

“The million-dollar question,” he mumbled as he tossed back the sheet and padded to the shower.

At nine-thirty, showered, shaved and refreshed, he eased into the kitchen for coffee and a talk with the woman who’d raised him. His daddy had hired Consuelo Galindo not long after Ace’s mother had passed away from cancer. Ace had been in kindergarten, and his memories of Cori Caldwell were vague at best. Emily and Wyatt had none. Nate more than them all. Most of Ace’s memories were of the strong, devout Mexican housekeeper who’d loved him and his siblings and devoted her life to them and the Triple C Ranch. She was his mom, for all practical purposes.

Connie poured two cups of black coffee and set one in front of him. From the work gloves and basket of fresh greens on the counter, she’d already weeded the gardens and picked a batch of baby spinach. The kitchen shone with cleanliness, though the fragrance of bacon still lingered in the air.

“You were out late.”

That was Connie. Toss out the question without asking and then sit and wait for the answer. So he explained, leaving out the struggle that forced him to call in the reinforcements.

“You did right. That girl needs you, though she is wounded and stubborn.”

“I hurt them both a lot, Connie. There’s no repaying that much damage.”

“No. But God can heal hearts and give you insight. He will show you what to do.”

“I wish he’d hurry.”

She wrapped both hands around the white mug, her dark gaze resting on him, compassionate, loving, and so wise. “Chance still won’t talk?”

“No.”

“Did you read him the scripture I gave you?”

“I did. Read it two nights in a row.”

“Read it again today. Go early. Surprise him. Take something he can’t get in that care center. He liked my tamales, yes?”

“Could eat a dozen.”

Her white teeth flashed. “Take two dozen. Marisa, she likes them too.”

Tamales wouldn’t undo the damage, but Ace was desperate enough to try anything.

Marisa was thankful for the tank of gas. Really, she was, but she also felt guilty. After her shift at the daycare, she headed home to the duplex, stopping at the corner to pick up her mail from the neighborhood box unit. Mr. Sanchez waved at her from his front porch.

“Need anything from town?” she called. “I have to stop for a few things after work.”

“Nothing today.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” With a wave, she took the stack of mail and went home.

She only had an hour between jobs, but she kicked off her shoes for a few minutes, grabbed a glass of water and a banana, and plopped on the beige microfiber couch.

She sorted through the mail, tossing advertisements to one side and placing legitimate mail on her lap. The keeper stack was bigger than the junk mail.

Running a finger beneath the flap, she opened each envelope. Except for her bank statement, every piece of mail held a bill of some kind.

The bills came as no surprise but the sheer volume still depressed her. Resolute, she compared her bank statement to her checkbook and began going through her routine, writing out checks for five or ten dollars to each account as if this would somehow whittle down the amounts to zero.

As she opened the final invoice, her heart tumbled. Another medical bill, an astronomical number. This one from months ago. How could she not have known about it?

She slapped the paper against her thigh and tilted her head back onto the couch, eyes closed. The harder she worked, the more behind she became.

“Lord, what am I going to do?” As it had been for months, heaven was silent.

Ace’s offer of financial help floated through her thoughts. She rejected it. She’d been on her own all her life. She’d figure this out. Somehow.

Toting a plastic container and feeling jaunty, Ace tapped in the security code, jerked at the heavy glass door, caught it with his boot, and slipped inside Sunset Manor. He’d been here so often, he’d gotten to know names and called them out or paused for a hello as he traversed the hallway, past walkers and wheelchairs and busy staff members. The smell of fresh hot tamales wafted up like perfume from the plastic container, blotting out the care center odors.

“Watcha got there, cowboy?” Mrs. Reynolds, a sweet lady with a sharp mind whose extreme arthritis confined her to a wheelchair, rolled toward him. So badly twisted and deformed were her joints that she must have been in constant pain, but her pleasant attitude never wavered. A man could take a lesson from this lady.

“Homemade tamales. Want some?” He lofted the box. Connie had sent several dozen.

“No, no. You share them with that sweet Marisa. She could use some meat on those hardworking bones.”

So could Mrs. Reynolds, but he kept that thought to himself. “Be glad to if she’ll slow down long enough.”

The white-haired lady leaned forward in her chair as if to share a confidence. “Are you taking those down to her brother’s room?”

“I am.”

“Is he talking to you yet?”

Ace wasn’t surprised that she knew about Chance’s silence. The entire facility must know by now about the fool cowboy who spent several hours a day talking to a man’s back and playing cards or chess by himself.

“Not yet.”

“So, the tamales are a bribe?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pumped his eyebrows. “Think they’ll work?”

Her pleasant smile smoothed a dozen wrinkles. “You’re doing a good thing, son. Don’t let him discourage you. Either of them. He needs a friend. A real one that won’t back off. So does Marisa.”

“She doesn’t think so.” Understatement of the year. He shifted the hot tamale container to his other arm, wondering why he was telling her this.

“Marisa’s a good girl, very dedicated to her brother, her job and everyone else except herself. But she doesn’t always know what she needs.”

“Right now that would include less work and more time to eat and relax.” Along with ownership of the Denver Mint.

“Exactly.” The old woman’s hands came together in an almost clap. “See why you’re good for her?”

He wouldn’t go that far. “Convince her of that.”

“I’m working on it.” She winked. “Go on, now. Do God’s good work.”

God’s good work. He was here to pay penance, but if God could use him in the process, he was on board.

His step a little lighter, as it always seemed to be after a conversation with Mrs. Reynolds, Ace progressed to Chance’s room. The door was open. He paused at the entrance and hefted the container. “Connie sent tamales.”

Chance sat in his wheelchair facing him. This time, to Ace’s amazement, he didn’t turn his back. Chance’s shifted to the container and then to Ace. “Why are you doing this?”

At last, they were eye to eye, face to face. Never mind that Chance’s expression was as flat as his voice. This was progress.

Even though Chance was too thin, he was still a good looking cuss. Sandy hair, a square jaw and navy blue eyes. Only now, the eyes were dark pools of sadness. Lines bracketed a pinched mouth. Lines of suffering. The once high-energy athlete had lost his sparkle, his verve.

Your fault, the imp in Ace’s head whispered.

Yeah, so what else is new?

“Why do you think I’m here?” He kept his tone easy and light, worried the slightest misstep would send Chance retreating into silence.

“My question.” The other man’s throat convulsed, drawing attention to the pink tracheotomy scar below his Adam’s apple. Another reason for Ace to feel responsible. “I saw you last night.”

Ace moved deeper into the room, closing the gap but not so close as to look down on his friend. He slid the tamales onto the bedside table. “When?”

“At Marisa’s car. Doing what I should have been doing.”

Ah, so that was it. Part of it anyway. Chance needed to be the rescuer. He needed to take care of the sister who had always taken care of him. Yet, he couldn’t execute the simple task of walking outside to help Marisa get her car back on the road.

Ace swallowed, aching for the other man. “Glad I was around to lend a hand.”

Chance’s face twisted. “Do you know how it makes me feel not to be able to do anything for her? To be stuck in this room, this chair”— he banged both fists on the wheelchair arms—“helpless?”

“You’re not helpless.”

“I was last night.”

Ace wouldn’t argue about what he couldn’t possibly understand. But he felt Chance’s despair all the way to his soul.

Heavy with pity he refused to show, Ace grabbed a nearby chair, spun it close and sat. “She ran out of gas. I happened to be in the parking lot. No big deal.”

“I know. I saw Nate arrive with the gas can.”

Ace glanced toward the window. The double-wide glass looked out over the parking areas adjacent to the street. He’d never seen the blinds closed. “You don’t miss much out that window, do you?”

“Not when it comes to my sister. Watching over her is all I have.”

Ace didn’t believe that for a second, but this wasn’t the time to push.

“We got her fixed up and back on the road.”

“Great.” Chance turned his head away and stared at the silent TV. “You’ve done your good deed. You can disappear again.”

The accusation jabbed. Ace had disappeared. But even though Chance knew about AA, he didn’t need to know about the mindless months after the accident when the co-owner of the Triple C Ranch had lived in a stupor.

That was then. This was now.

“Not happening.”

“Why? You can’t fix my spine. No one can.” Chance’s words were hard, his glare cold.

Ace had had this conversation with Marisa too many times. It was the insanity thing. Round and round with no new results. The damage to Chance’s body might be irreparable, but other paraplegics enjoyed life. Why couldn’t Chance?

Ace didn’t say that, though he wanted to. He couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

But he would find a way to make a difference in his friend’s life. Somehow. Right now, he was grateful to hear Chance’s voice.

He took the lid off the tamale box.

“I can bring an old pal the best tamales in the southwest. Smell that, pal.” Ace sucked in a deep, intentionally noisy breath. “Good stuff. Admit it. They smell amazing.”

Chance shifted his gaze back to Ace. “I’m glad you were there for her.”

“Me, too.” He hitched his chin toward the window. “Tell you what. You be the eyes. I’ll be the legs. Tell me what she needs, what you think I should do, and I’m there.”

Chance narrowed his eyes. “Day or night?”

“Anytime.”

Something passed between them, though Ace couldn’t say what it was. Understanding maybe. They were two men who cared about the same woman, though in different ways and for different reasons.

Chance’s defensive posture eased a smidgen.“I’ll think about it.” He rolled his chair close to the table laden with tamales. “Connie make these?”

The subject of Marisa was closed. For now. They’d made progress. Ace would have to be satisfied with that.

“She always had a soft spot for you and Marisa.”

“Tell her thanks. She makes the best.”

If Ace had known tamales would break the ice, he’d have purchased a tamale cart weeks ago.

“Think your sister could find us some plates and forks?”

“No doubt.” Chance backed the chair to the bed, reached for the call light and pressed the button.

Marisa charged in, eyes wide and worried, a tigress ready to defend the cub. “What’s wrong?” She froze when she saw Ace. “Why are you here so early?”

Ace’s heart jumped. He didn’t know why, but it did. He suddenly longed to erase Marisa’s fear and worry. To pull her close and make all kinds of rash promises.

What was that about?

Chance waved away his sister’s questions. “Tamales.”

Her anxiety shifted to bewilderment. She came deeper into the room, eyes drifting from the container to her brother and then to Ace. “Connie’s tamales?”

“The one and only,” Ace said. “Want one?”

“Or two or ten.” She actually smiled.

Ace smiled back, his pulse doing a two-step. He tried to hold down the thrill, considering that any second now, she might slam him against the wall. Metaphorically speaking. She didn’t weigh enough to get physical. But a man could bask in the moment, couldn’t he?

“We need plates and forks. Can you hook us up?”

“Now?” She glanced at her watch. “It’s not yet dinner time.”

Chance made a rude noise. “Lunch wasn’t all that inspiring. Tamales are.”

Marisa shrugged and left the room. In minutes, she returned with three plates and forks. “Save mine, okay?”

Ace reached for her arm but caught himself before they touched. He let his hand drop. “Stay. Eat with us.”

He wasn’t ready for her to leave. He wanted more smiles and civil conversation. With her.

“Can’t. I just came on duty.” She started out, but turned back as if to say something. The words died on her lips when she saw her brother eagerly dishing up a hefty stack of tamales.

For a nano-second, Ace saw the anxiety replaced by loving relief. She mouthed, “Thank you.”

Heat expanded in Ace’s chest, and it didn’t have a thing to do with hot tamales. He didn’t need her thanks, but he hoped a wall had crumbled. First, the car, and now, the tamales. Such small things.

A scripture floated through his head, payoff from months of Bible reading. Something about being faithful in little things to prove you can be trusted with bigger ones.

Maybe this was a test.

He sure hoped he passed.

Ace Caldwell scared her to death.

Marisa worked through her shift in a daze, changing beds, assisting residents, and maintaining a friendly demeanor while her mind whirled with one thing. Or rather, one person. Ace Caldwell. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t deny the tug of attraction that simply would not go away.

She’d loved him. Desperately. And desperate was never a good thing in a relationship. Her mother had been the same with her father, falling into the alcohol with her dad until both parents had ended up on skid row while their kids grew up in foster care. That was not the life for Marisa.

Yet, the cowboy who’d broken her heart seemed to have changed. He’d always been charming and thoughtful, but not like this. In the past, his charm and thoughtfulness had come with an agenda. This Ace Caldwell seemed so different. Humble, broken, and determined to set things right.

The Lord could change people. She knew that, had seen it in others, including herself all those years ago when she’d been a foster teen with a massive chip on her shoulder.

But what if she was wrong about him? She’d been fooled before. What if Ace hadn’t changed? She’d once trusted him with her brother, and it had cost them both too much. She couldn’t bear for Chance to suffer any more.

Yet, hadn’t Jesus said something about forgiving seven times seventy if the guilty party repented of his sins?

Ace had repented. He’d apologized. He’d taken the blame.

A nagging voice tried to interrupt, to make her recall the facts about the accident. She didn’t want to think about that night. Ever. Regardless of who had been behind the wheel of that truck, Ace was responsible for Chance’s accident.

She had forgiven him. But she didn’t trust him. Or herself. How could she?

A battle raged in her head and, more than once during her shift, she forgot what she was doing. When the charge nurse asked for the third time if she was sick and offered a fifteen-minute break, Marisa gratefully accepted.

She headed straight for Chance’s room. What she observed there amazed her. He was interacting, talking, listening. The belligerent, hopeless attitude had lessened. She didn’t know what Ace had done to break through the funk—she couldn’t credit the tamales with everything—but she was thankful.

The smell of those tamales tempted her almost as much as Ace did. Or once had.

She swept into the room, her perky expression in place. Chance was never fooled, but she kept up the charade that everything in her world was perfect. The bills were her problem. Her brother had enough to deal with.

Ace’s back was to the door, but Chance saw her and said, “Quick, the tamales. Feed her before she perishes.”

Chance joking? This was a rare event indeed.

She stuck out an arm. “Intravenously.”

Ace twisted in the chair and smiled. Oh, that smile, half crooked-sexy and half orthodontist’s dream. “Rough day so far?”

“Busy. My head’s not in the game for some reason.”

Part of that reason, a lean, green-eyed cowboy, rose and offered his chair. “Sit. You had a rough night last night.”

On principal, she should have refused, but the early morning and busy shift were taking a toll on her energy level. She sat. “Which brings us to my car. I didn’t thank you properly.”

He pushed a plate of tamales toward her. “Eat these and consider your debt paid in full.”

She reached for the fork, waved it. “What a deal. I’ll take it.”

“We can warm those up if they’re too cold.”

“Hot tamales are never too cold.” She took a bite and moaned in approval.

“As good as you remember?” A soft, pleased smile played around the edges of his mouth. Another thing she remembered about him. He was the best kisser.

Nope. Not heading in that direction.

Eyes averted from that memorable mouth, she chewed, appreciated, swallowed. “Better.”

“Chance said the same thing. Connie will be thrilled. You know how she loves to feed people.” He hovered over the tamales, close to her plate, close to her. She could feel his watchful gaze. “Prepare yourself. More food will come. I can’t stop her.”

Marisa almost laughed. Instead, she shoved in another bite.

Ace spooned a second tamale onto her plate and then retreated to the wall. In a room this small, three people was a crowd. “You’re taking the leftovers home with you.”

Chance squawked. “No, she’s not. They’re staying here. I’m eating all of them. Probably tonight.”

It was the first time in months she’d seen this teasing side of her brother. The person who deserved the credit was Ace, whether she liked admitting it or not.

She tugged the still-packed box of tamales to her side of the table. “Sharing is the right thing to do, little brother.”

Chance pulled the box back, his grin wicked with humor. “Then share.”

Marisa was so pleased by her brother’s improved mood, she pretended capitulation. “All right. You win. But don’t eat them all, and we’ll do this again tomorrow.”

“Can’t make any promise, but I’ll try to restrain myself.”

Marisa grinned, pushed the plate aside and glanced at her watch. “Break time goes faster than any other part of the day. Do you need anything before I get back to my job?”

Ace shoved away from the wall. “I think I’ll grab a cup of coffee. How about you, Chance?”

“Coke, maybe?”

“You got it.” Ace followed Marisa out into the hall. “Do you have a minute?”

Marisa paused, warning alarms going off inside. “What?”

“We need to talk. When do you have another day off?”

“I thought your private detective told you everything about us.”

“Not everything.” Her snarky attitude didn’t seem to bother him. “So, when do you have time off this week?”

“Thursday.” She shifted, blew out a breath, and said the meanest thing she could think of. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Ace. I tolerate your visits, but we are not friends.”

Again, he didn’t let her bad attitude get to him. “Chance seemed almost happy tonight, didn’t he?”

Grudgingly, Marisa had to admit he did. “I haven’t seen him like that since we moved back to Clay City.”

“I’m not taking credit for it, but I have ideas, ways to get him interested in the world again. Will you meet me? Hear me out?”

“We did that already.”

“That was a preliminary meeting with each of us dancing around the other like championship boxers. We accomplished exactly nothing and neither has Chance. He needs a boost, and we can give him that.”

The battle fired up, raging again. She didn’t trust this cowboy and didn’t trust herself around him. But he wasn’t asking to be with her. He was asking for her brother’s benefit. Chance had always been her weak spot, her Kryptonite, and Ace knew it.

She glanced at a light over one of the resident’s rooms. It had just come on. A reprieve. “I have to go, lights to answer.”

He caught her upper arm. “Thursday. Okay? You pick the time and place.”

Marisa glanced down at his long fingers wrapped around her much smaller biceps. Holding her tenderly, lightly, the way he used to hold all of her, as if she were fragile. As if he cared. “I’ll think about it.”

Clear, green eyes searched hers, tugged at her, and made her wish for things she shouldn’t. Made her remember the good times, the laughs, the love.

“Fair enough.” He loosened his grip.

Marisa hurried away without looking back. The memory of Ace’s warm touch went with her.