The Sunday dinner table at the Triple C Ranch was not only a tradition, it was a mandate. Every available Caldwell must attend, along with any guests they wanted to bring. And there were almost always guests.

Lively conversation filled the big dining room. Dishes clinked and chairs scraped. One of Nate and Whitney’s twins, Olivia, chattered nonstop from her booster chair next to Connie. She only hushed when Connie handed her a pickle.

Ace passed one of two massive roast beef platters to his left. Grass-fed Triple C beef, of course.

Today’s table included the usual suspects: Nate, Whitney and the into-everything twins. Emily and Levi with nine-month-old Mason napping in the crib upstairs. And of course, Connie and Gilbert.

What made today special was the addition of the youngest brother, Wyatt, home on leave from the military. Even out of uniform, he looked like a soldier, posture perfect, muscles curved and firm beneath a white T-shirt and a short military haircut.

“Where do you go next, Wyatt?” Emily took a helping of salad and passed the bowl to her husband.

Of the siblings, Ace and Emily looked the most like their mother with black hair and green eyes. Nate was brawnier with Dad’s lighter hair and brown eyes. Wyatt looked like no one else, and he’d taken plenty of ribbing because of it.

The blue eyed, sandy-haired soldier forked a roasted potato and studied it as if searching for a concealed listening device. “No orders yet. For now, back to the base.”

He jammed the potato into his mouth and chewed. The update was all they’d learn about his military work. As a specialist in cyber intelligence, Wyatt was involved in security operations he wouldn’t or couldn’t discuss.

Ace thought his baby brother seemed a little more intense than usual but blew off the concern. Scary smart and a perfectionist, Wyatt had been born intense.

A cry sounded from upstairs, and Emily bolted, nearly knocking over her tea glass. Levi caught the glass and followed her up from the table. “I’ll get him, Em. Finish your dinner.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should eat.” Emily left the dining room.

Levi wagged his head and followed, muttering, “Stubborn woman.”

Ace understood the sentiment. Marisa was the same.

He wished she’d agreed to come today. He’d asked. More than once.

Before Ace knew exactly what he wanted to say, he spoke. “I need some advice.”

Asking for help was one of the lessons he was learning in AA. He’d never been good at that.

Except for the twins, the table quieted. All heads turned in his direction.

“Are you okay?” This from Connie whose black eyes had grown wide and worried. “You’ve been gone a lot lately.”

“To see Marisa and Chance. That’s all, Connie. I’m good.”

He knew what concerned her. She worried he was drinking again. It hurt to know his family, even loyal, loving Connie who’d fight a bear for him, still feared he’d fall back into the abyss.

“He’s handling it, Connie. Stop worrying.” Nate met Ace’s gaze across an ocean of home-cooked food. The memory of that late night phone call hung between them, private and secure.

The whole family kept a close eye on him, though to their credit, they were subtle about it. After they’d dragged him kicking and screaming out of his stupor, he couldn’t blame them.

“Chance is stuck in that wheelchair and Marisa is scared to let him do anything.” He explained the situation, right down to his offer of a day at the ranch.

Emily and Levi reentered the dining room. Against one shoulder, Levi toted a sleepy-eyed Mason, the baby they’d adopted when Levi’s brother and sister-in-law had died in a flash flood. Emily walked close to her husband, her hand at his back, eyes sparkling with love.

Ace was happy for his sister’s newfound joy, but he was envious too.

“Why wouldn’t she agree?” Emily took a seat and pulled the baby from her husband onto her lap, looping both hands around Mason’s waist. “She likes us. We like her.”

“Other than the fact that she blames me for the accident?”

“Blame does no one any good. You are praying, si?”

“So much I think God’s getting an earache.”

Whitney, quiet until now, lifted a wiggling Sophia from the booster chair to the floor. “I suspect she’s afraid, Ace. Afraid of making the wrong decisions and causing her brother more harm. Afraid of trusting you or anyone, because no one has ever been there for her. That’s a scary thing.”

Nate put an arm around his wife, his gaze tender. “You’re not alone anymore, babe.”

She patted his big hand and snuggled closer. “Thanks to you. But Marisa is.”

Whitney had been worse than alone. She’d been homeless and struggling to raise her babies. If anyone could relate to Marisa, she could.

Ace mulled the conversation, grateful for their encouragement. He had the best family in the world. Marisa had no one.

“Maybe she’s worried about accessibility.” Nate glanced around the room, spacious, but crowded with people and furniture. “The ranch isn’t exactly set up for a wheelchair. Even the front steps would be a problem.”

“We could fix it.” Gilbert, the Seminole Indian who was more uncle than ranch hand, reached for another hot roll. “You and me, we’ve built ramps before.”

“Our doorways are plenty wide,” Connie added.

“We can make it happen.” Nate spooned more gravy over his roast. “I have some time next week. You, Gilbert?”

“I can squeeze in a few hours.”

Love filled Ace’s chest. Every person at this table had his back.

Connie waved a fork filled with roasted carrot. “A ramp would be good to have for the future. I will get old soon and need it.”

The four siblings glared at Connie. Ace pointed a finger and spoke for all of them. “No. You won’t. It’s not allowed. But we can still build the ramp.”

Connie laughed and clapped her hands. “Bueno. When it is built, I will talk to Marisa. She will come.”

Marisa didn’t know whether to be angry or scared to death. Maybe both. She put a hand to her jittery belly. A little part of her was excited too. Other than the afternoon in the park, she hadn’t been anywhere or done anything for pleasure since the accident. She’d been too consumed with Chance’s care.

She was in her brother’s room, preparing for a day at the Triple C Ranch. Fidgety, uncertain, and worried she’d forget something important, she removed every item from her tote bag.

“That’s the third time, sis.” Chance’s voice was gentle and slightly amused. “Stop fretting. Everything will be okay.”

“I don’t know how I let myself get talked into this.” But she did know. Ace Caldwell did not play fair. He’d sicced Connie on her.

“Connie has super powers. Gotta love her.”

Connie, in her gentle, frank manner, had proved relentless. When she’d pulled the, “where is your faith, little one? God has not given us the spirit of fear,” Marisa had capitulated.

Now she wasn’t so sure, but Chance had been blatantly clear. He was going fishing with Ace, with or without her, which left her no real choice at all. She had to go. The last time Chance had gone off with Ace had been too disastrous to forget.

Tossing a can of bug spray into the tote, Marisa watched her little brother. Today was the first time he’d wanted to go anywhere since the accident.

Chance rolled his chair to the closet and took out a pair of athletic shoes. “Wonder if these still fit?”

The question pinched Marisa’s heart. She took the shoes and slid them onto his feet, tying them with a cheerful flourish. “Perfect as always.”

Before the accident, he’d been into athletic shoes, buying a pair for every sport he played or coached, and that was several. Since he now wore whatever anyone stuck on his feet—mostly socks or house slippers—he had no use for his closetful of shoes.

The pain of that reminder was a chainsaw through the soul. The gifted athlete would never walk or run again.

For once, the rage against Ace didn’t come. She wanted it to, but the recent memories of his efforts on her behalf, and the way he’d held her at the park, overrode the anger. In truth, anger had become exhausting to sustain.

She’d always been a sucker for Ace Caldwell. Was she doing it again? Was she leading her brother back into the lion’s den? Was she like her mother, after all?

Chance wheeled to the window, the chair whispering against the tile, and gazed out. His fingers tapped restlessly on the padded arm, his body alert and watchful.

“What time will Ace be here?”

She glanced at her watch. “Any minute.”

Chance was excited. For that she was grateful, even though her misgivings wouldn’t go away. A day at the ranch sounded harmless enough, but she knew her brother and she knew Ace. They were athletes, daredevils, eager to push the envelope and try things. Ace had once convinced Chance to ride a steer, and they’d thought the resulting video was the funniest thing in the world. If she didn’t keep a close eye on them, they’d be doing something dangerous.

Even if they didn’t, dangers abounded at a ranch.

Connie promised that no alcohol was allowed anywhere on the Triple C and that Ace was clean and sober and had been for over a year. It was hard to believe, but Marisa clung to that promise.

“There he is.” The jubilation in her brother’s voice was almost unbearable.

Marisa’s chest tightened with emotion. She wanted Chance to enjoy life again, but she wanted him to be safe too.

Chance whirled the chair and rolled toward the doorway to watch for Ace. When had her brother last been this eager and happy? He’d been the one who refused to see old friends. He’d refused outings to his former team’s ballgames and made her promise not to tell a soul he was in town. And she’d let him huddle away in this lonely room, depressed and hopeless in the name of safety.

Then Ace had stormed the gates with the sheer force of his personality and refused to take no for an answer.

Guilt suffused her. Was she, as Ace accused, holding her brother back?

She finished repacking the tote as the lean cowboy appeared in the doorway. He towered over Chance and looked cowboy-sexy in faded old jeans and a gray plaid button-down opened over a black T-shirt.

“Ready?”

His grin matched her brother’s. She wished she could be as confident that all would be well.

“Stoked,” Chance answered. “Let’s do this.”

He and Chance exchanged fist bumps.

Stoked? How about petrified?

Ace caught her expression, and his grin softened to a smile. Her stomach fluttered. In spite of her reservations, she smiled back.

“Hey.” He stepped around her brother’s chair and approached her. In a quiet baritone, he said, “Get the worry out of your eyes. This is supposed to be fun. We’ll fish the upper pond near the house and maybe take the boat out on the lake if he wants to. Afterward, the gang’s coming over for dinner. Nothing crazy or dangerous. They’re eager to see you and show off their new families.”

“We can’t stay that long.” She hoisted the tote bag.

Ace took it from her. “Sure you can. Relax. That’s what a day off is for.”

They started down the hall. One of the other nurse aides stepped out of a resident’s room and patted a hand over her heart. Another joined her fingers together in a heart shape.

Marisa’s lips quivered. They had started to tease her about the hot cowboy, and regardless of how many times she’d explained that there was nothing between them, the silliness continued.

She was acutely aware of the effect Ace had on the rest of the staff and a good many of the older ladies in the home.

Chance shot ahead, beating them to the door in his eagerness.

Ace held the door for her brother and then touched her back as she walked through. It was only a polite gesture, but an unwanted thrill shimmied across her nerve endings.

Ace pointed a key fob at a white van parked beside the curb. Locks clicked and the side door slid open. He clicked again and a lift ramp descended.

Marisa stared in surprise. “Where did you get this?”

“Borrowed from a friend. We could manage in a regular vehicle, but I thought this would be easier for today.”

“Won’t your friend need it?”

“The van is for his wife, and she’s is in the hospital, so he’s driving my truck. Fair trade.”

Ace didn’t have to do this. He could be anywhere he wanted to be instead of here with a paralyzed man and his reluctant, ungrateful sister. But he’d gone to all this trouble to make things easier for Chance and to save him the indignity of being lifted like a child.

A man like that could do funny things to a woman’s resistance.

Ace moved close to her brother, supportive and watchful, as Chance drove up on the ramp. In seconds, the chair and man were safely inside the van. Ace shut the door with a metallic click. Chance grinned at them through the window.

The ice around her heart melted a little more.

She walked to the passenger door, fighting emotion. She was grateful. Really she was. But a spiffy, handicap-accessible van didn’t erase her misgivings.

Still, Ace had done this with no motive except to give Chance an outing.

She was having a hard time with that.

Ace reached around and grabbed the handle before she could open her door. She turned, placed a hand on his upper arm. It was rock hard with muscle. A lesser woman would swoon a little. Or at least, salivate. And maybe she was a lesser woman.

“Thank you. The van is very thoughtful.”

They were mere inches apart, her back against the sun-warmed vehicle, his arm almost around her as he held to the handle. She smelled his aftershave, a woodsy, outdoor blend that suited him well. His shirt sleeve grazed her ear, tickling.

How easy it would be to step closer and be in his arms. She didn’t, of course. They were both here for Chance, not for each other. And that’s the way she wanted it to stay. The lesson she’d learned had been too hard and painful to take the risk.

The cowboy studied her for several seconds, solemn and thoughtful while her insides tumbled.

“My pleasure.”

And she believed him.

Then he winked, popped the door open and waited politely while she climbed inside.

Chance was jabbering something, but the roar in her head drowned him out.

She still had feelings for Ace Caldwell, and that could not be a good thing.

Ace left Marisa and Chance in the living room at the Triple C with Connie and two glasses of fresh iced tea and excused himself. He trotted upstairs to his bedroom, far from his company, to make the phone call.

He hadn’t talked to his sponsor in four months. He was a sponsor himself these days. He shouldn’t need this. He could have talked to Nate, but his brother couldn’t understand the way another alcoholic could.

It had taken him too long to think of himself in those terms. An alcoholic, a man with a real problem that required outside assistance to overcome. Chance, who wasn’t to blame for his problems, deserved help. Ace wasn’t so sure he deserved anything, but neither of them could get free by himself. The truth hurt, but it would also, as the Bible reminded him, set him free.

Once inside his bedroom, he closed the door and took a seat on the end of the chaise lounge. The leather gave with his weight, and the deep gray color reminded him of Marisa’s eyes.

She was scared. Of him. Of today. Of what other disaster he’d bring upon her and her brother.

Another painful truth.

“God, let today be the start of something better for Marisa and Chance. Show me how to do my part.”

He continued praying, though now in his head, as he tapped in the numbers and spoke to Chet, an AA pal who’d been sober for thirteen years. Ace looked forward to the day he could make that claim.

“I’m going fishing,” he said.

“Should be fun. What’s the problem?”

Ace emitted a sigh. “The cooler of beer I want to take along.”

“I hear you. What are you going to do?”

“Well.” He laughed softly. “I’m not taking that cooler.”

“Good plan.” Chet’s gravelly voice told of too many cigarettes and late nights singing in smoky honky-tonks. The man could pick a mean guitar. “So what else is bothering you?”

Marisa. The woman I used to love. “There’s this girl along, with her brother. The one I told you about.”

“The girl you’re in love with.”

“Was. And the brother who was injured in the wreck.”

“Ah, the guilt. Wishing you could drown the accusing voices.”

“Something like that.”

“Why are you with them? Wallowing? Or making amends?”

Ace leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, and stared at the geometric pattern in the blue-and-gray carpet, seeing nothing except the faces of Marisa and Chance.

“Step nine, but I care about them, too. I want to make their lives easier, but Marisa is afraid of me and what I represent.”

“The accident?”

“Yeah.” He scratched an itchy spot behind his ear, more frustration than actual itch. “I want them in my life, and if I can help Chance find some balance in his, I’m going to do it.”

“All well and good as long as you don’t let the bad memories drag you backwards.”

“I won’t. Ever.” Then he admitted his biggest worry. “But sometimes ever sounds too long.”

“Been there. This isn’t new ground for any alcoholic, but it’s something you have to work through and conquer.”

Ace’s fingers tightened on the phone. “Have you conquered it?”

“I have, but I’m always mindful that it can sneak up on me again.” Chet took a breath. “You know what’s behind you, Ace. Grief, remorse, damaged relationships. Do you want any of that again? Is the booze worth it?”

“Not even close.” Ace’s grip eased and he leaned back, the anxiety leaching from his neck and shoulders. “God’s carried me this far, and I’m still hanging on to Him. Today I just needed to talk to someone I could hear audibly.”

Chet chuckled softly. “I understand.”

“I know you do. That’s why I called.”

The conversation continued while Ace spilled his guts in honest revelation and Chet offered encouragement and advice. His sponsor said the same things Ace would say to Don or anyone else fighting the demon, and the words calmed him.

Finally, the conversation lagged, and Ace said, “I’m good now, Chet. Sorry to keep you this long.”

“No apology needed. You know that. I’m here, day or night.”

“Right. And I appreciate it. My family is great—”

“But they don’t get it.”

“Exactly.” He was the fly in the otherwise delicious Caldwell soup.

“Text me a picture of the big one you catch.”

“Will do.” Ace breathed easy, confident now of one more good day. “Thanks, Chet.”

After they hung up, Ace slid the phone into his hip pocket and strode to his nightstand. Inside was a bottle of aspirin, courtesy of his boozing days, a Bible, the first sobriety coin he’d received at AA, and a bag of cinnamon disks. He ripped open the bag and popped a candy into this mouth.

Cinnamon was his addiction of choice these days.

He pocketed the one-month token, his reminder that he’d come a very long way.

He bounded down the staircase, energized and positive. As he rounded into the living room, Marisa turned her head. His chest got a funny hitch, and for a second, he couldn’t breathe. She was so pretty, her dark hair lying straight against her shoulders beneath the pink cap. Her T-shirt was pink too, as were the strings in her athletic shoes. He’d forgotten how much she loved the color because all he’d seen her wear at the care center were regulation scrubs.

Pretty in pink and full of anxiety. He felt her tension clear across the room.

He rubbed his hands together as he rounded the couch and faced Chance. “Ready?”

“You bet.” Eager energy flowed from the other man. This was the Chance of old. He unlocked his chair and maneuvered around the furniture to the entryway.

Marisa’s movement was less enthusiastic, but she accepted the snack basket Connie carried from the kitchen. Ace grabbed the small cooler, remembering his conversation with his sponsor. From now on, a cooler meant soda and water, ice tea and lemonade, refreshment without the bitter aftertaste.

He’d parked the van below the tidy new ramp built by the men of the Triple C in one easy day. In minutes they were loaded up and headed toward the nearest pond.

Marisa sat in the passenger seat next to him, silent, her hands twisted in her lap. She’d said exactly nothing since he’d come down the stairs.

As he pulled off the beaten service road and bumped down the grassy slope to the pond, Chance leaned forward. “I caught a six-pounder here last time.”

Ace’s neck tensed. He cast a glance at Marisa. She stared straight ahead, her face pale. He knew what she was thinking. The last time they’d been fishing together. When Chance could walk down this slope on his own two legs.

Ace tossed a reply over one shoulder. “You remember that?”

“Sure, I do. A man catches a bass that big and you make him toss it back?” Chance gave a pretend groan and slapped his chest. “Painful.”

“Hey, I snapped a picture. You have evidence.”

“True, and let me tell you, I showed it to all my players. They were impressed.”

His players, the high school boys he used to coach in baseball and football. This was the first time Chance had mentioned anything about his life before the accident. Maybe he was making progress. Now, if they could convince Marisa of that, this might be a good day.

“Maybe you’ll catch him again. Only now, he’ll weigh seven or eight.”

“That’s the plan.” Chance put a hand on Marisa’s shoulder. She jumped. “What did I do with that picture? Do you remember?”

“I have it somewhere. I can look.”

“No need. I’m going for bigger and better today. Get the camera ready.”

Ace braked to a stop thirty yards from the pond bank, suddenly aware that he’d failed again. He leaned his arms on the steering wheel and stared at the rough terrain with no dock and no ramp. Why hadn’t he thought of this?

Ten acres of gleaming water stretched before them, and Chance couldn’t get down to the edge.

Marisa leaned toward the windshield, her mouth set in a tight line. “We can’t get the wheelchair over that.”

“Sure we can.” Chance was not to be deterred. “It might be bumpy, but I’ll manage.”

Marisa whipped around to face her brother. “You can’t.”

Chance’s words tightened. “Are you ever going to let me do anything?”

“I’m worried about you. Haven’t you been hurt enough? I knew this trip was a terrible idea.”

Ace stared at the arguing siblings. This was his fault. He should have thought through the logistics of bringing a wheelchair to a rugged ranch pond. Never mind that he’d remembered to brush hog around the edges. Chance had to get down there first.

“Stop arguing. We’ll fix this.” He slammed the van into gear, backed up the incline to the road and pointed the hood toward the ranch house.

Marisa crossed her arms and chewed on her bottom lip. It sure was a pretty lip, and he could think of better things to do with it than gnaw the skin off. And wasn’t he ridiculous for thinking about kissing her when she’d rather see him tossed in the pond with a rock around his neck?

At the big supply barn, he tapped an app on his phone, and the giant overhead door lifted. He drove in, parked, and said, “Sit tight. Think good thoughts. I’ll be right back.”

In less time than it took to shake off the desire to be somewhere alone with Marisa, they were back at the pond. He tossed several wooden feed pallets on the ground between the van and the pond and set up a pair of thick two-by-six boards to serve as a ramp onto and off the pallets. It would be tricky and require his and Marisa’s help—if she would cooperate.

Marisa got out of the van and adjusted one or two pallets, surprising him when she said, “This was a good idea, Ace.”

“Think it will work?”

She studied it and then looked at Chance’s chair, already parked on the lowered van ramp and ready to roll. “A little bumpy maybe, but it should be fine. What do you think, Chance?”

Chance’s grin said it all. “Let’s get this party started.”

With Ace guiding on one side and Marisa on the other, Chance rumbled over the wooden pallets, onto the smooth grass and down to the edge of the pond. He locked his wheels into place with a happy flourish. “Perfect!”

Over his head, Marisa and Ace exchanged a smile, another surprise. He saw it then. She wasn’t mad at him. She was scared. The truth bruised his heart. He didn’t want her to be scared. He wanted her to be the happy woman she’d been before the accident.

“I’ll get the bait and tackle.”

He’d opened the back of the van when she appeared beside him, standing close enough that he caught a whiff of coconut. He used to tease her about washing her hair in coconut milk.

As he reached for his enormous tackle box, she reached for the rods and reels. Their shoulders bumped. They were leaning halfway inside the rear of the van, side by side. He swiveled to look at her. Her beautiful gray eyes widened, and a smile lifted the lips he’d never forgotten.

“He’s ecstatic.”

Ace touched her cheek. “Don’t be worried. Be happy that he's happy.”

She bit down on her lip and his gaze was drawn there again.

“I barely remember what that feels like.”

Ace bracketed her face with both hands, the tackle box forgotten. “Then let me remind you.”

Something in his chest jittered as he stared into her face and was awash with memories of the woman he’d once loved.

He was probably making a big mistake, but the tug inside him when he was close to Marisa was like the positive and negative poles of a magnet—irresistible.

Slowly, he drew her up until they were standing outside the van, closer than a whisper. A thousand thoughts darted through his head, too fast for him to hold on to except the one that wanted to be with Marisa and erase her worries. He didn’t know why it mattered so desperately, but it did.

When she didn’t slap him or step away, he pressed his mouth to hers, tasting the lemon from her tea and the warmth he’d never found in any other woman’s kiss.

He realized it then. He was as scared as she was, but for different reasons. Taking exquisite care and with all the tenderness rising in his blood, he caressed the sides of her face and deepened the kiss.

A soft sigh emanated from her throat, and Ace thought his knees might give away. She pressed closer, and when he would have taken the kiss up another notch, Chance’s voice jarred him back to reality.

“Hey, you two, are we gonna fish or what?”

Still cupping Marisa’s face, Ace placed one last soft kiss on her lips and whispered, “Or what.”

A laugh gurgled up from her throat. Cheeks pink, she stepped away, gathered the fishing equipment, and headed toward her brother.

Ace removed his hat and scrubbed the top of his head, grinning.

Now, they were getting somewhere.