For the ninth evening in a row, Ace slipped into Chance’s room and began to talk. His family at the ranch understood his need to be at Sunset Manor and gave him the grace to miss dinner, though Connie fretted that he’d turn to skin and bones. He worked the ranch all day, but as soon as the chores were finished, he headed for Clay City. The paperwork and books could wait until he returned. Late nights hadn’t affected him during the drinking days. They sure wouldn’t now that he didn’t wake with a pounding hangover.

Some days when he arrived at the center, Chance was in his wheelchair. On bad days, he remained in bed. No matter his location, he’d turned his back every time Ace entered the room.

Undeterred, Ace continued to talk about anything and everything. He filled the younger man in on ranch activities, new colts and calves, Connie’s flower beds, Gilbert’s battle with his blood sugar, the nieces, nephew, brothers and sister. Yesterday, he’d shared about AA, something he hadn’t planned to do, but the kid deserved to know that the tragedy had affected him enough to take action.

When he ran out of words, he sat in silence or turned on the TV and offered commentary on the programming, most of it snarky and intended to make Chance laugh. So far, he was batting zero.

His throat was wearing out from all the one-sided conversation and he must have sucked on a thousand cinnamon disks. If he was frustrated by the lack of response, he couldn’t imagine what Marisa had endured over the last year and a half.

Ace ended each visit by reading the Bible and saying a prayer. He wasn’t too good at praying yet, but God didn’t care about fancy. Anyway, Ace hoped He didn’t.

Though Marisa had vowed never to step inside the room when he was there, she couldn’t stay away. Not because she wanted to be friendly, but because she was a control freak making sure he did nothing to harm her brother. Making sure Chance was cool enough or warm enough and that his space was tidy, his sheets straight, his feet braced at the appropriate angle.

It killed him the way she wore herself out trying to fix the unfixable.

Maybe he was doing the same thing.

Every time she walked into the room, “I told you so” seemed to pour from her eyes. Not sympathy. Resignation.

But he wouldn’t give up. He had Connie and the whole family praying, and when Connie prayed, God listened. The little Mexican woman could pray the house down. He credited her prayers with the fact that God had kept him alive throughout his wild escapades.

“Hey, bud, I brought my cards.” He tapped the new deck on the bedside table and shuffled it with a loud prrrrr. “What’ll it be? Texas Hold’em? Seven Card Stud? Pick your poison.”

When Chance didn’t reply, Ace began to deal. “Texas Hold’em, you say? Better have plenty of toothpicks, because you are in the presence of a master.”

As if Chance was participating, Ace rattled all the nonsense men say to each other on a challenge. Whether shooting baskets or casting a rod and reel, he and Chance had thrived on good-spirited competition. Tonight, however, his friend ignored his challenge. So, Ace played for them both.

After a couple of rounds, Marisa appeared at the door, glanced at the two hands of cards spread on the table and stepped inside. “Who’s winning?”

“He is,” Ace said. “But he’s cheating.”

For an instant, he thought he heard a grunt from the bed. Marisa heard it too and stepped closer to her brother. “Chance? You want to play for real?”

Her brother didn’t budge. Marisa turned back to the table, lifted Chance’s hole cards and pushed two toothpicks toward the middle. “And raise you two more.”

“It’s getting serious now.” Ace gnawed at his lip as if this were a life-or-death match. To his pleasure, Marisa snickered. He wouldn’t mind if she warmed up a little more often. Not that he blamed her for loathing the very air he breathed, but the constant cold shoulder was giving him pneumonia.

He dealt the remaining cards, and to his happy surprise, Marisa beat the socks off him. Twice.

He pretended despair. “She’s killing me, Chance. Kicking my tail. At this rate, she’ll own every toothpick in Oklahoma. I’ll have to sell the ranch.”

“Better believe it, cowboy. Slick-fingered Marisa is my name. Toothpicks are my game.”

They’d kept up the banter all through the game, hoping for a response from Chance, both of them especially attuned to the silent man on the bed. This was the Marisa he’d known and loved. Competitive, fun-loving, smart. Hardship had stolen her smile. But her occasional laugh and the sparkle in her eyes told him the woman he remembered was still in there.

Her pager buzzed, and she tossed her cards on the table. “You’re on your own, Chance. Duty calls. If I were you, I’d keep an eye on Ace’s left shirt sleeve.”

She patted her brother’s back, kissed his ear and started toward the door.

“Hey.” Ace stopped her. He wanted her to stay.

She glanced back over one shoulder, smirking. “Ready to admit I’m the best at poker? Go ahead. I’m listening.”

She looked so tired, but for once, she was smiling at him. Ace shuffled the cards, feeling a little tug behind his ribcage. “I wanted to say thanks.”

Her jaunty expression faltered. “I do this for Chance. No thanks wanted.”

Following that cold shot to the lungs, she left him alone.

Marisa was surrounded. In a good way.

She sat Indian-style on the brightly colored alphabet rug inside Kids’ Care Playschool, reading Llama, Llama Red Pajama to her charges. This morning she was so tired, sitting for a few minutes felt great.

Tabitha, a freckled darling with big blue eyes, hopped to her feet and began a familiar dance. “Potty.”

Marisa hopped up, too, and swept the child under one arm like a football player making a run for the goal line. Teaching the two-and three-year-old class meant potty training, which meant staying on her toes.

When she and Tabitha returned, her co-worker, Clare, was finishing up the much-loved story.

As soon as the book closed, the children scattered, their attention span at its limit.

With a tender smile, Marissa watched the children scramble around the brightly colored, kid-friendly room. She loved working here among the little ones. At nearly thirty-three and with Chance to care for, Marissa had faced the fact that she might never have kids of her own, but these babies filled her need to mother and gave her more to think about than her problems.

Kids’ Care was, indeed, the perfect job to coordinate with her shifts at Sunset Manor. Located in a residential neighborhood of Clay City a few blocks off Main Street, the older home had been converted into a daycare some years ago.

She turned her attention to her coworker. “Thanks, Clare.”

The other woman slid the completed board book onto the shelf. It wouldn’t stay there long. The kids would have it and others spread over the rug when the notion struck. Picking up was an endless task.

“You look tired today.” Clare stepped closer, eyebrows drawn together. “You look tired every day, but today more than usual. Is everything okay with Chance?”

Though she’d worked at Kids’ Care only three months, Marisa had become friendly with Clare Farley, a twenty-something redhead who could talk the bark off a tree. Though Marisa hadn’t shared everything, Clare knew about her brother’s paraplegia.

“Chance is okay.” A big fat lie. Her brother would never be okay. “I didn’t sleep well.” Again. “That’s all.”

Thank you, Ace Caldwell, for another restless night. She didn’t know why the man didn’t give up and leave them alone, but he kept hanging around like a bad cough. Chance ignored him, and she tried her best to freeze him out. The trouble was, she couldn’t. His persistence touched her a little bit. And he brought back memories, some good and some bad, but the good ones kept sneaking in. Especially after lunch at Carla’s Country Café.

Ace Caldwell had everything a man could want. Money, looks, personality, and a big, loving family. He’d made his apologies, for whatever good they were. Why did he bother with her and Chance?

She still wasn’t sure she bought his story about AA and making amends. The Ace she’d known would rather choke than admit he was at fault or that he needed help.

“I don’t know how you juggle two jobs.” Clare bent to wipe Bryce’s drippy nose with a tissue. The two-year-old jerked his head to one side. Clare caught him and tried again, succeeding this time. “With Ted and the babies, I can barely handle one. I’m lucky to be able to bring Cassidy and Katie with me to work.”

“The perks of working in a daycare.” A perk Marisa would never get to enjoy.

“What you need is a break and some fun.”

A tiny blonde cutie grabbed Clare’s legs in a hug. Clare gave the little back a pat and kept right on talking. “Ted and I are having a few people over Saturday to grill brats and hang out. Would you like to come?”

Marisa was already shaking her head. “I wish I could.”

“Working, I guess.” Clare lifted her eyebrows. “Or is there a mysterious man in the picture you haven’t told me about?”

The picture of a tall, rangy cowboy flashed through Marisa’s head. She forced a laugh. “One could only wish. My knight in shining armor is probably rusted by now.”

Clare laughed, then sobered. “I can introduce you to some guys. Ted has a couple of single friends.”

“All younger than me, I’m sure.”

“You’re not that old.”

She felt a hundred most days. “Getting there fast. But thank you for the invitation. I have work at Sunset Manor.”

Church was about the only activity she had time for, and she couldn’t always attend. The idea of going out and enjoying herself with friends was almost foreign. But a longing rose to do exactly that.

“What about Bryce’s dad, Brent Murray? He’s pretty cute and around your age.”

She’d noticed the big, quiet man who dropped his son off every morning at seven. He had a nice smile and clearly loved his baby boy. “Wouldn’t Bryce’s mom object to that?”

“Oh, I keep forgetting you don’t know everyone the way I do. Brent’s divorced and has custody of Bryce. His wife left right after Bryce was born.”

“Wow, that’s sad.”

“Mmm-hmm. Real sad. You should cheer him up.”

Marisa made a rude noise. “What are you, the daycare matchmaker?”

“Hey! I like that idea. I’ll get right on it. A couple of the other teachers are single, and I’m sure we have other single dads.”

Marisa waved a hand in the air, effectively erasing the offer. “Leave me out. No time.” And no heart for romance. She was still picking up the pieces from the last time.

“Okay, okay, but let me know when you’re ready. I’ll hook you up.” Clare glanced at the big clock on the wall. “Oops. We gotta move. It’s outside time. I’ll fill sippy cups if you’ll get the stroller.”

Shaking her head at Clare’s youthful enthusiasm, Marisa commandeered the kid cart, a six-seat stroller, and began loading children. Clare took the hands of the remaining two and led them outside onto the playground.

Big trees shaded the small fenced area of climbing toys, crawl tubes, and a little play house with a tot-sized table. Marisa grabbed a bottle of water from the cart and joined Clare at the picnic table to watch the little ones play. The early June sun played hide and seek with the tree limbs, and a breeze rustled the leaves.

“We have several absent today.” Marisa gazed around the playground. “I wonder if there’s a virus going around.”

Clare shook her head, caught a lock of blowing hair, and hooked it behind one ear. “Didn’t you hear about the new day care over by the elementary school?”

“I heard Janey say something about it. Why?” A sliver of worry teased the back of her neck. “Are we losing people?”

Without kids, she had no job.

Clare grimaced. “The two Baker children and one of the infants in the baby room.”

“That’s not good.”

“We may lose more. Sherry Jackson mentioned something about moving her three kids.”

“Why? Are we doing something wrong?” The thought terrified her. Without any training other than her nurse aide certification, where else would she find an extra job so perfectly suited to her needs and interests? She didn’t mind the work at Sunset Manor, but she loved this one. Once upon a lost dream, she’d hoped for college and a teaching degree. That would never happen now.

“The new place is offering a discount for the first six months, and they’re open seven days a week.” Clare shot up from her seat, separated a pair of toddlers arguing over a plastic truck, and returned to the table. “Day care is expensive, especially when you have several kids, and if the new place is cheaper and available more, we could be in trouble.”

Kids’ Care was closed on weekends, a problem for some working families.

“Does Janey know?” Janey was their boss and owner of Kids’ Care.

“She knows. And she’s worried.”

“Couldn’t she offer a discount, too?”

“If she does, she’ll have to cut back in other areas.”

Other areas. As in employees.

If enough children moved to the new daycare center, Marisa’s job could be in jeopardy.

One of the little ones stumbled and fell. Marisa rose and started toward him as he began to cry. She wanted to cry, too.

What if she lost this job? How would she pay for Chance’s care and still whittle down the mountain of medical bills that never stopped appearing in her mailbox?

As she crouched on the grass to dust the little boy’s hands and dry his tears, one thought kept echoing in her head.

Last one hired, first one fired. And hers was the last head on the chopping block.

For the next three weeks, Marisa held her breath as a few more parents moved their children to the new child care facility. Though she and Clare remarked on the losses, nothing was said about cutting staff. Finally, she began to relax again. She had enough to worry about with Chance and the lean cowboy who refused to go away.

She’d grown accustomed to seeing Ace in the care center. The trouble was, she couldn’t seem to keep her distance and was thankful that her job kept her from hanging out too long in one spot.

Ace had made not one bit of progress with her brother, but still he came. Seeing him there and listening outside the door to his endless chatter got to her, touched her. He’d always had the ability to break down her walls, and she had to keep reminding herself of what he’d done the last time she’d let him in. Ace’s magnetism was like a black hole, mysterious and dangerous, with no way to get out.

Not once had he shown up smelling of alcohol, but she figured it was only a matter of time. In the past, he could go days without a drink, but then he’d binge. Like he had on Chance’s birthday.

He couldn’t hide the real Ace forever. This time, she’d be ready.

Peeking into her brother’s room, she saw the back of Chance’s dark head and the sheet he’d tugged up to his ears. Ace sat in the only chair, long legs stretched out in front, reading from the Bible.

Marisa wasn’t sure if she appreciated the effort or hated it. This side of Ace gave her problems, and she didn’t want to think of him as a good guy. Smoke and mirrors, she’d decided, a façade to assuage his guilt.

Hurrying away before he saw her and coerced her inside the room, she helped her co-workers ready the residents for sleep and prepare for the oncoming night shift.

Two nurses had developed a mad crush on the long-legged cowboy, and the other staff considered him a hottie and poked their heads into Chance’s room every time they went past. The male workers teased her about having a new man. And Sandy, the LPN, had started wearing makeup again, something she hadn’t done since her divorce. The hoopla over Ace was becoming ridiculous.

They didn’t know what she did.

She clicked off the light in her final room and pulled the door closed. Mrs. Reynolds was a sweetheart, and except for Chance, Marisa saved her room for last so they could pray together.

Lately, her prayers felt flat, as if the pipeline between her and God were stopped up with debris. But she was too busy and tired from caring for her brother to figure out the problem.

Tonight had been particularly hectic, and her legs ached. She wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a cozy bed.

She paused outside Chance’s room, listening for Ace’s quiet baritone. When she heard nothing, she went in. Ace was still in the chair, the Bible open on his lap.

“Time to go home, Ace. Chance needs his rest.”

He quirked an eyebrow, and Marisa read the expression as clearly as if he’d spoken. Chance rests all the time. Look where that’s got him.

She thought the same thing, but she wouldn’t tell Ace.

He closed the book and stood, his tall body filling up the space. Marisa passed in front of him, more aware of his closeness than she wanted to be, and went around to the opposite side of the bed to face her brother.

“My shift is over, Chance. Do you want me to bring you anything tomorrow?”

Her brother’s navy eyes opened. “No.”

She glanced up to see the pain on Ace’s face. Chance had spoken to her but not to him. She didn’t want to feel sorry for the cowboy, but the tug was there.

“I love you.”

“You, too.” The barely audible words ended on an exhausted sigh.

She kissed his cheek and, with a heart full of sorrow for her once vibrant young brother, exited the room. She didn’t dare glance back at Ace.

After clocking out, she grabbed her purse from the locker, called a soft good-night to her coworkers, and headed to her car. The night air had cooled, and the smell of rain hung on the barely breeze. Wispy clouds scudded across the moon. April was fickle, hot one day, cool the next, with plenty of rain and the occasional storm tossed in to keep things interesting.

She sucked in the clean, fresh air and willed her shoulders to relax as she unlocked her car and slid inside.

Clay City was a safe town. She’d never been threatened, but the shadowy parking lot spooked her at night. Usually, she waited for another staff member to walk her out, but tonight she’d been in a hurry to avoid Ace.

She clicked her locks and then cranked the engine. The starter churned and churned, but the motor refused to kick in.

She tried again. Same result.

“Please, please, God, not now.” She turned the key again. Nothing.

With a frustrated groan, Marisa dropped her head back against the headrest. What now? No mechanic was available at eleven o’clock at night, and even if one walked up to her car right this minute, she couldn’t afford car repairs.

She was too tired for this.

Frustrated, she glanced around the parking lot but knew full well that not one of her coworkers could help. Maybe one of them would drive her home.

That wouldn’t work. She had to be at the daycare by six. How could she get there if her car was here?

Ace. He hadn’t left yet. His truck was still parked in the lot.

No way. She would not ask him.

Her eyes strayed to the big black pickup. Out of the shadows, Ace appeared, and the truck lights flashed as he unlocked with his key fob. Before he got inside, he peered in her direction. Why had he done that?

Then he climbed inside his vehicle and backed out.

There went her best hope, thanks to her stubborn pride.

But he didn’t leave. To her surprise and relief, he pulled the truck behind her car and got out. She opened her door.

“Trouble?” He moved into her space, leaning down as if he could see the problem in the front seat.

“It won’t start.”

“Try it again.”

With an aggravated sigh, she did. The result was the same. Nothing.

Ace hitched a thumb toward his truck. “Get in. I’ll take you home.”

Marisa gripped the steering wheel as if he’d threatened to drag her out and kidnap her. Being alone with Ace was not a good idea.

“Can’t. I have to have my car. I work in the morning at six.”

“I’ll come back after I drop you off and see if I can discover the problem. Get in the truck. You need sleep. You look half dead.”

If she’d had the energy, she would have argued more, but she didn’t, because he was right. She was half dead.

She climbed into his truck, the leather soft and fragrant. For a working rancher, he kept a very clean vehicle. “What if you can’t figure out the problem?”

Ace shifted the gears and drove onto the street, the big engine purring like a massive kitten while Marisa’s car was as silent as road kill. “I’m pretty handy. Let me worry about your car.”

“I can’t. Surely, you understand that.”

“I do understand. I just don’t like it.” He shot her a quick glance, huffed noisily. “Can’t you see I’m trying?”

“All the trying in the world won’t bring Chance’s legs back to life.” It was that. It was always that.

In the dash lights, she saw his eyes close briefly. She’d been intentionally cruel, needing to hurt him, needing a reason to remember what he’d done, but this time, she felt no victory, only shame.

Why should she be the one who felt guilty? He was at fault.

The argument didn’t seem as strong as it once had.

The rest of the ride was silent until Ace slowed, clicked on his turn signal, and pulled the truck into her driveway.

She should say something nice. After all, he’d driven her home, but words wouldn’t come. He confused her, reminding her of both the good and the bad and stirring old feelings like embers in a campfire. She couldn’t allow those embers to burst into flame.

Shifting into park, his handsome face aglow in the dash lights, Ace swiveled his upper body. His eyes settled on her, somber. “Good night, Marisa. Get some sleep.”

“My key fob. You’ll need it.”

Ace extended a hand. Their fingers brushed in the transfer. An unwanted tingle shimmied up Marisa’s arm. She dropped the key in his palms and jerked away to shove a shoulder against the heavy door. Quickly, she slid to the ground before he could do the southern boy thing and walk her to the porch. She couldn’t take that. Not tonight when she was feeling vulnerable and guilty. Not when she was remembering the sweet things about Ace Caldwell.

“Thank you.”

The dome light illuminated him. He looked tired too, but fatigue didn’t dim his good looks or his cowboy masculinity. “No problem.”

He was a problem. A big one.

She slammed the door and hurried to the porch. The neighbor’s schnauzer barked, as he did every night when she arrived home. Ace’s truck lights remained steady while Marisa shoved her key in the lock and slipped inside the house. She switched on the lamp and saw the sweep of headlights across the window as he drove away.

She brushed back the curtain and watched until he turned the corner and disappeared.

What was she going to do about Ace Caldwell?

Ace tried to focus on taking care of Marisa’s car, but the demon in his brain kept flashing neon signs.

He’d thought he was stronger than this, but Marisa and Chance had chipped away at his progress with their animosity. He didn’t want anyone to hate him, certainly not them. Not her.

Between Marisa and her brother, he felt about as low as the bottom of his boot, and the desire to numb the hurt threatened to snare him.

He could get her car repaired, but how did a man fix a situation like this one?

He’d passed a liquor store on the return to Sunset Manor. He’d been there plenty of times, knew right where the tequila was shelved. He could stop there on his way out and then head home and to bed. No would be the wiser.

Not a good plan, Ace.

The car first. He’d promised. Then two shots. That would be his limit.

He’d been sober for seventeen months and counting. He could handle a couple of drinks.

Couldn’t he?

The night air was cool, but sweat broke out on his upper lip. Sliding into the Toyota seat, too short for his long legs, he tried the starter again, listening to the grind. His fingers were unsteady against the key fob. Anticipation. Not good.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small bronze coin and held it to the dash lights. The token, given to him by his AA brothers, represented one full year without a drink. One year and counting.

He flipped the coin to the back and read the Serenity Prayer, though he’d long ago memorized it. Slowly, the pressure eased. Ace closed his hand, squeezed, and then replaced the coin in his pocket.

As soon as he was done here, he’d head home. Hit the sack. Forget the temptation. That’s all it was, a temptation. AA warned about those as well as these moments of vulnerability. A man had to be prepared at all times to wrestle the demon.

He popped the hood to have a look beneath, but before exiting Marisa’s vehicle, Ace studied the instrument panel and realized the problem. He gave a satisfied grunt. This, he could fix for her.

Even with the key turned on, the gas gauge registered in the red. Empty. No fuel.

Was she that broke? Or that busy?

Probably both. And still she refused his money. Blood money, she’d called it. A flaming arrow to the chest.

You can pick up those shots on your way to the gas station.“Sounds like a plan.” The spoken words jarred him. He was talking to the booze. Was he crazy? Did he want to go down that road again?

Not in a million years.

He ripped the cell phone from his pocket and tapped his brother’s ugly mug. On the fifth ring, Nate’s groggy voice spoke in his ear. “This better be important.”

“It is. I’m in Clay City. Sober. But I could use a brother.”

The pause on the other end said Nate was with him. He always had been. “Where are you?”

Ace explained. It was the first time in months he’d been this close to the edge. Would the addiction ever stop sneaking up on him this way?

“I’ll be there in twenty. Stay put. Pray. Put on some praise music. Or take a nap. Don’t even think about the other.”

“Right. Got it.” He was ashamed of calling in reinforcements but glad he had, which proved how messed up he was. Still, being proactive gave him more control. He’d make it now. He’d be okay.

Five minutes later, his cell phone mooed. It was Nate. Worry wart of the world, Nate. Everybody’s best friend. Especially his.

Nate, the brother who used words sparingly, started a long, chatty conversation as he drove the fifteen miles. He discussed the twins, his wife’s miniature animal farm and spring calf prices until his maroon pickup pulled alongside Ace’s black one.

A wave of affection and gratitude rose in Ace’s chest as he hopped out of his own vehicle and met Nate at the side of the Toyota.

The brawnier brother toted one of the ranch’s five gallon gasoline cans.

Relief settled the knot in Ace’s neck. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Nate shrugged him off. “Don’t be stupid. Let’s get some gas in this baby and get home. I left a warm woman for you. You might be pretty to the ladies, but you can’t hold a candle to Whitney.”

Ace refused to let him blow off the gratitude. “Seriously, Nate, thank you. I’m sorry.”

“I said, shut up.” His brother tilted the gas can and jammed the nozzle into the tank. “You drive the Toyota to her house. I’ll follow you. Make any stops and I’ll kick your tail to China.”

“I want to fill the tank on the way.”

“All right then. One stop.” Nate’s gruff voice covered the heart of a teddy bear. “I’m right behind you.”

Minutes later, as they stood side by side at the empty, all-night gas station, listening to the pump click, Nate crossed his arms and leaned against the fender.

“You still in love with her?”

The nozzle in Ace’s hand jerked. “What? Marisa? No.”

At least he hoped not.

“Then why are you letting her get under your skin this way?”

“You know why.”

“Making amends is one thing. But if seeing Marisa and Chance pushes you off the wagon, you need to let them go.”

Let them go? Now that he’d found them?

“Maybe.” But he knew he wouldn’t.

Marisa awakened early, her subconscious worrying about the car. What if Ace hadn’t gotten it running and she had no ride to work? What if the car needed major repairs? It wasn’t as if she’d kept up with the maintenance. In fact, she couldn’t remember when she’d had the oil changed. The Toyota had been a dependable friend for years. She’d racked up two hundred thousand miles so far. What if she had to buy a new one? How would she manage that?

The restless nagging pushed her out of the bed into the darkened room. Four-thirty glowed red from the alarm clock. She groaned. Less than five hours of sleep. No wonder she felt like a lead-headed zombie.

To settle the anxiety about the car, she stumbled to the front window and flipped on the porch light.

The Toyota was in the driveway. A white paper gleamed ominously from the windshield. A note. Expecting really bad news, she slipped into her flip flops and went outside.

A chill hung in the air, and she shivered, crossing her arms over her chest. The note was inside the car, propped up against the driver’s side windshield.

She tried the door, found it locked, and glanced around the car. What had Ace done with her keys?

After another moment’s consideration, she trudged back to the porch and fished inside the mailbox. The key fob rested at the bottom.

Had Ace knocked and tried to rouse her?

She hadn’t heard a thing, a chilling concept.

Keys in hand, she unlocked the vehicle, slid inside and peeled the note from the moist glass. It was written on a cattle inventory sheet. Your car was out of gas. All good now.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Marisa couldn’t even remember the last time she’d bought gas. She ran a hand over her sleepy face, relieved and weary of constantly living Murphy’s Law. This time, the problem had been of her own making. “What an idiot.”

She cranked the starter, and the car responded. The gas gauge climbed to full, which could only mean one thing; Ace had filled the tank.

She wanted to maintain her negative attitude toward him, but she was too grateful. At least for this.

On the passenger’s seat was a brown paper sack. She hadn’t left it, so Ace must have. She peeked inside to discover an array of convenience store foods. Banana, apple, trail mix, a bottle of water, powdered donuts, two granola bars, and a packet of pistachios.

She slowly drew out the pistachios. Had he remembered they were her favorite? Or had this been an accident as he’d grabbed any and everything he could jam inside a brown paper bag?

On the side of the brown sack, he’d scribbled another note in his bold scrawl. “Breakfast. I’ll feed you better next time. See you tonight.”

A shiver prickled the skin on her arms. Tonight. As if they had a date.

But it wasn’t, and even if she wanted it to be, which she did not, Ace’s attentions had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Chance.

She traipsed back into her duplex and fell across the bed. The man was messing with her head. Like always.