Marisa kept her distance from Ace, but she was acutely aware of him. He fished from the bank fifty yards away near a willow tree weeping into the murky water. Chance fished where he’d parked the wheelchair, casting the reel with expert ease while she hovered in a folding lawn chair next to him, thinking too much.

She’d let Ace kiss her, and she’d liked it. If not for Chance, she’d probably still be behind that van or in it, kissing the cowboy who’d caused all her problems. Or at least, the most recent ones.

What in the world was the matter with her? Was she genetically predisposed toward men who were bad for her?

Yet, Ace hadn’t seemed so bad since he’d come back into their lives.

Frustrated by the confusion, she grabbed a can of bug spray and spritzed Chance’s ankles.

“You already did that.”

“Oh.” She spritzed her own ankles, aware she’d done that too.

Chance rotated the handle of the reel. The Browning, Ace’s favorite, made a whirring noise as the line wiggled its way back to shore. “Why aren’t you fishing?”

“I’d rather watch you.”

“Watching someone fish is boring. Grab a rod. Ace brought extras.”

“What if I catch the big one?”

“Ha! Fat chance.”

“Okay, little brother, now you’re on.” She grabbed one of the rods and attached a lure, aware that the only other times in her life that she’d been fishing had been with Ace. He’d taught her which lures to use.

Chance spread both elbows out to the side as if to push her away. “Move down the bank a little. You’re in my spot.”

She gave his shoulder a friendly shove. “Picky, picky.”

“And stop talking. You’ll scare the fish.” His scowl teased, but she knew how serious a fisherman could be.

She made a face and, in search of a shady spot, moved into the space between him and Ace. Her brother was almost his old self today, joking, giving her and Ace a hard time. She loved that.

Ace had done this. The cowboy had seen what she hadn’t and had acted on it in spite of her protests. He’d always had trouble with the word no. For Chance’s sake, at least for today, she was glad.

Someone had mowed around the pond recently, and she credited Ace for that, too. She shouldn’t have been so hard on him about the ramp, or the lack thereof. Chance’s disability was new ground for him, too.

The admission felt right. Maybe the forgiveness she’d worked on for over a year was starting to take effect.

Or was she making excuses because she had trouble resisting a certain cowboy?

The unanswerable question. But forgiveness couldn’t be a bad thing. She’d settle for that and leave the other alone. For now.

With a flick of her wrist, she cast her line, heard the plunk, and watched the lure sink. The sun was hot today, and she was glad for the dappled shade of a mulberry tree and the blessing of sunscreen. Had she remembered to put some on Chance? It wouldn’t do for his hospital-pale skin to get sunburned. She bit her lip and quickly reeled in the line, propped the rod beside the scrubby tree and jogged to the van.

Chance shot her a questioning glance and then turned his attention back to the water.

She hauled her tote bag from the van to his chair. “I forgot the sunscreen.”

Chance rolled his head back and shook it at the white, puffy clouds. “I’m not going to melt, Marisa.”

She ignored his protests and smoothed the cream over his arms. “A burn is the last thing you need.”

He gripped her hand, stopping her ministrations. “I need to fish. Come on, sis, lighten up. Just for today. Please.”

Stung, she spun away, dropped the tube of sunscreen into her bag and wiped the remainder from her fingers to her arms. She was trying to take care of him. Didn’t he understand?

“I could use a Mountain Dew.” His tone was conciliatory. Sweet Chance, ever the peacemaker.

Mollified, she got the drink, took a bottled water for herself, and went back to her fishing spot. As she once more cast the line, she also cast a glance at the movement upstream. Ace held up a fish.

“Nice one,” she called. “What kind is it?”

“Bass. Maybe a three pounder.”

“Want a picture?”

“Sure. Proof is good, especially with competition from your brother. He plays hardball.”

She trotted to him, swatting gnats that seemed to love her bug spray. Grasshoppers whirred past like tiny, green jets.

Taking Ace’s phone—one of those fancy, expensive ones—she snapped a photo of the grinning cowboy and his catch. Suddenly, Chance whooped, and they both looked his way. His line bent, he rapidly whirled the reel, lifting the pole every few turns.

“He’s got a good one.” Ace’s voice came close to her ear. He’d released his own catch and moved up next to her, close enough that she felt his body heat. Her own body heated up. Maybe it was the June sun, but she feared it was Ace Caldwell.

“Good for him,” Ace said. The words were soft and proud, as if Ace wanted her brother to win their fierce fishing competition.

She watched him watching her brother. Ace’s eyes glittered with the excitement of Chance’s battle with the big one. Aligned with his strong jaw, Marisa’s gaze was naturally drawn to his mouth. That half-smiling, sensuous mouth that had kissed her with such expertise and exquisite care.

“I got him. I got him!” Chance’s exuberant voice carried across the water. “Woo-hoo!”

This was Chance’s moment. Marisa tore her attention from the dangerous cowboy.

Holding the fish by the mouth, her brother lofted his catch. “Beat that, Ace of spades.”

Ace raised both hands out to the side. “Is that the best you got? A minnow?”

Both men hooted.

She bumped the cowboy with her elbow. “He will definitely want a picture of that one.”

“To my great despair.” Ace emitted a fake groan and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go weigh that monster. He caught a good one, but don’t tell him I said so.”

She snickered. “You’ll never hear the end of it unless you catch one bigger.”

“Don’t I know it?” But his grin said he was delighted for her brother, and the light feeling moved over her again.

After the fish was weighed, measured, the obligatory photo taken and the fish tossed back into the water she said, “Anybody ready for a snack yet?”

“You bet. Let’s see what Connie packed. I’ll grab the basket.” To Marisa, Ace said, “Help me carry the drinks?”

“Sure.”

“You two kids go ahead.” Chance waved them away, energy and pleasure coming off him in waves. “Another big one is calling my name.”

Marisa looked at Ace and lifted her shoulders in an amused shrug. “I think he’s having fun.”

“What about you?” Ace’s expression was serious, searching, as if her opinion mattered.

She pondered for a moment. Pondered him, the question, her tangled feelings. “I am. Thanks to you.”

That simple admission brought a light to Ace’s green eyes. He offered a palm, questioning. She joined her hand to his. Why not? Holding hands wasn’t a commitment, and the ground between the pond and the van was uneven.

Admit it, Marisa, you want to be close to him, and the rocky terrain has nothing to do with it.

His skin was rough with calluses she found masculine and alluring, and his grip was firm and strong, a reminder that he was a man and she was a woman. She’d always appreciated the differences, especially with Ace.

She recalled earlier when he’d cupped her face with those cowboy-tough hands, recalled the thrill his tender touch had sent through her body like shock-waves.

She wasn’t over him. The question was, what was she going to do about it? For months, her focus on Chance’s health and her anger had blocked all other thought and emotion. Being with Ace again was like thawing cold feet—it hurt, but it felt good too.

Hand in hand, they returned to the van, the questions lingering in her thoughts right next to the kiss. Was she crazy to want it to happen again?

Marisa slid a glance toward Ace. He caught her looking and smiled. Not a cocky grin. A gentle smile that sent her mind reeling and her blood rushing.

Neither of them spoke, but the air became super charged, like the moment before a lighting strike.

It was there. It was always going to be there. Time and tragedy hadn’t erased the love she felt for this man.

They stepped to the back of the opened van, the doors blocking them from sight. She was intensely aware of that fact. Chance couldn’t see them. If Ace kissed her again, or if she kissed him, Chance wouldn’t know and tease her. Or ask questions she couldn’t answer.

“Marisa.” Ace broke the silence, but then he looked lost, as if, like her, he didn’t know where to go from this point. He raised her hand to his chest and merely stood there, holding her with his eyes. She read the questions and the hurt. Strange to realize he’d been hurt in all this too.

“I’m not mad at you anymore.” She wanted to be, but she couldn’t muster the strength. Not with him six inches away. Not after today when he’d given her back her brother, at least in part. Especially since she’d fought against making the trip. And she’d been wrong.

His chest rose, and he exhaled, long and slow. “I’m glad. It kills me to know I hurt you.”

He reeled her in and held her, quiet and easy. She settled against his body, where she’d always fit so perfectly, sliding her arms around his neck, head tilted back to look into his handsome face. Their eyes met and held, the electric pull between them undeniable.

Marisa tiptoed up to meet him, lips parted, wanting to kiss him more than anything she could think of at the moment.

Ace was never one to resist such an invitation. When his lips touched hers, Marisa sighed into him.

Nobody had ever kissed her the way Ace could, as if she were the most treasured woman on the planet. As if he meant it.

Grass tickled her ankles and a grasshopper landed in her hair, but the fog in her brain was too pleasant to do more than notice.

When they finally stopped kissing—a tragedy, she thought—Ace continued to hold her and rocked from side to side. She put her ear against his chest, heard the thunder, and preened a little to know she’d caused the galloping heartbeat.

After a bit, he murmured against her hair. By now, the grasshopper had given up and moved on. “What were we supposed to be doing back here?”

Marisa snickered. “Snacks and drink, maybe? I’m not sure.”

“I hope Chance isn’t starving.”

The mention of her brother jolted Marisa. She jerked away. Ace’s arms fell to his sides, and she wanted to be back in them, held close as if the world was right.

“I totally forgot.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. How could she forget about her brother, the most important person in her life?

Stupid, stupid. Like before.

Ace reached for her again. “Marisa. Wait.”

She turned aside, frantically searching for balance in a world gone crazy.

Before she could grab the picnic basket and head back to the pond, she heard the rattle of wheelchair against wood.

Her heart stopped. He couldn’t be. Not that.

Chance called out. “Whatever you two are doing, stop now. I’m heading your way.”

“No!” Marisa flung a wild look at Ace and bolted from behind the doors. “Chance, no.”

But she was too late. Chance wheeled toward her, across the bumpy pallets with no support on either side to keep the wheels aligned.

Ace passed her, moving in a lope toward her brother. “Chance. Wait.”

The words came too late. The chair’s left wheel slipped off one edge. And then, disaster. As if in slow motion, the wheelchair tilted to the left, and Chance tumbled down, the chair coming to rest on top of him. Rubber wheels spun in the air.

Marisa heard a cry, her own, as she rushed to her brother’s aid. Ace was there first, kneeling on the ground next to an upturned Chance.

“Are you okay?”

Marisa was wild. “No, he’s not okay. He’s hurt. Look.” She pointed at Chance’s cheek. “He’s bleeding.”

In a shaky voice, Chance said, “Only a scratch. I’m all right.”

“You can’t possibly know that. You could have a broken leg!”

Chance’s expression went flat. “Wouldn’t matter much, would it?”

“Let’s get you up.” Ace, muscles flexing, grasped the chair. “Marisa, balance Chance. I’ll take the weight.”

As quickly as he’d tumbled, Chance was upright again. But it didn’t matter. He was hurt. Her fears had proved correct. Ace had gotten him into another disaster. And once again, she’d been complicit.

While Chance had been heading toward disaster, she’d been reveling in Ace’s arms.

What kind of sister would do such a thing?

She flew around like a hummingbird on steroids, dabbing blood from Chance’s cheek, chin, and left elbow, checking and rechecking him for injuries.

Ace quietly made an ice pack and held it against Chance’s scraped and swollen cheek.

“Stupid of me to try that.” Chance sat slumped while they cared for him. The joy had disappeared. Darkness settled over him again.

“It’s my fault. We never should have come. I knew it was too dangerous.” She gazed at Ace, tall and solemn at her brother’s side. She’d been kissing him. Kissing him! While her brother suffered the consequences. “We need to go home.”

Chance’s grip on her wrist stilled her efforts. “No.”

“But you’re hurt.”

“I’ve had worse, and you know it.” His eyes begged her, and she was weak. Hadn’t she proved as much today?

“Let’s get you back to the ranch house,” Ace said. “We can decide there.”

The ride back to the house proved tense. Chance tried to convince his sister he was all right while Marisa looked as though the world had ended.

Ace mulled the incident, trying to decide if he was guilty of anything, though he knew he wasn’t. Chance needed to be a man. Everyone had mishaps. Ace refused to believe today was a mistake, but he regretted the distance now apparent between him and Marisa. They’d made such great progress today. For a while, they’d been back to normal.

He shot a glance her way. She sat hunched in the passenger’s seat, her hands tight in her lap, knuckles white. He hated seeing her upset. If he thought she’d let him, he’d stop the van and hold her until the shakes disappeared and she liked him again. He needed for her to be all right.

When they reached the main house, Chance let Marisa wheel him up the ramp, something he’d refused a couple of hours ago. The fall was a setback, no doubt about it.

Marisa would hate him again, blame him. If it made her feel better, he’d let her.

Inside the house, Connie sized up the incident with her usual expediency and sent Marisa to the kitchen for a round of ice tea.

“But, Chance needs m—”

“Marisa, I’m fine.” Chance blew out a heavy breath. “Stop it.”

Connie patted her arm, gentle but insistent. “You are a good sister, querida, so devoted, but this has been traumatic for you, too. Believe me, I am good at this. Three wild boys I raised, always getting bumps and bruises. I will tell you about them sometime. Go, now. Your brother needs something cold to drink.”

Marisa cast a final, worried look at Chance and headed toward the kitchen.

Ace held back a grin. Connie could command an army if she wanted to. Over Chance’s head, she hitched her chin toward the kitchen, indicating for him to follow Marisa.

Smart and intuitive, Connie was giving him an opportunity to talk to Marisa alone.

“Thanks,” he mouthed.

He found Marisa standing in front of an open cabinet, staring at a row of shiny dishes. She’d stopped shaking, and for that he was grateful.

He walked up beside her, reached over her head and took down four glasses. Without a word, avoiding his questioning gaze, she accepted them one at a time and filled them with ice from the spout in the refrigerator door.

Ace leaned his backside against the counter, watching her, wanting to say the right thing and having no idea what that was.

“Don’t go.” That was a winning conversation starter if he’d ever heard one. He shifted his weight to one hip, wanting to touch her and knowing she didn’t want that now. But she had.

One step forward and another back, like some kind of crazy, futile waltz.

“Chance needs to be checked over by the nurse.” Marisa stood between him and the stainless steel fridge, holding two clear glasses of ice. “Maybe I should take him to the emergency room.”

In the big, rock-tile and birch-wood kitchen, she looked small and needy. Uncertain, too, and scared. Every instinct Ace possessed told him to protect her from the world and all its trouble. The tragedy lay in that he was responsible for so much of it.

“He’s okay,” Ace said. “Embarrassed, but not injured. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll take him into town to the ER.”

She sucked in a long breath and set the glasses on the counter. “He’d be furious.”

“Then stay. Connie’s cooking a feast for dinner. The family will be here. They want to see you, Marisa.” He wanted her here, and if laying on a little guilt did the trick, he wasn’t above it. “Nate and Gilbert built the ramp so Chance could come. Connie has brisket and ribs in the smoker. She knows barbecue is your favorite.”

“All that trouble. For us.”

It hurt him to know she’d rarely been fussed over in her life. If she’d let him, he’d do a lot of fussing. So would his family.

But today, after the incident, she’d pulled away again, an island alone, close enough to see but too far away to touch.

A throb started in his chest.

Marisa turned her back to take out a pitcher of tea, and he thought she’d refuse the invitation. She came back to the counter, filled the glasses, set the pitcher aside with a tink of glass against tile, and glanced toward the living room before finally agreeing. “Okay.”

And though she stayed, she said little and kept her distance from him, the man she’d kissed with passion hours before.

The day had lost its joy, and Ace knew he’d failed again.