She was asleep.

Lawson stood at the foot of the woman’s bed and fought a most unprofessional urge to smooth the tangled blond hair away from her cheek. She looked small and vulnerable. Pale, too.

She moaned, a frown pinching her features. He stepped forward to… He didn’t know what he’d planned to do. Be there. Reassure her.

He dragged a hand over his face. Man. If just watching a pretty woman sleep sent him down romantic rabbit trails, he needed to date more. He’d never experienced such an undeniable jolt of emotion toward anyone.

Sleeping Beauty didn’t have nothing on this lady.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest beneath the white sheet as she settled once more, her face smoothing into relaxation. Doc was keeping her overnight. Good. Lawson didn’t want her on the road.

He wondered where she was headed and had the odd thought that he hoped it was somewhere close to Calypso.

When she didn’t awake, he eased out. The ticket could wait.

The rest of the day kept Lawson busy, but thoughts of a pale face and blond hair were never far away.

He transported a prisoner for the town police, made a run out to the county line where someone had shot a rancher’s cow, and then rounded up a herd of horses that had gotten loose. By the time he found the owners, the sky was dark and he was worn slick.

With the horse owner’s thanks ringing in his head, he called it a day and aimed the Explorer home. All he wanted to do was head to his peaceful little ranch on the edge of town, feed his horses, watch a little basketball on TV, and tumble into bed. The deputies would handle the night shift.

The law dog in him kept an eye on things as he passed his neighbors. When his headlights illuminated his mailbox, he stopped for his mail, tossed it on the seat, and pulled down the short drive. The ranch-style house wasn’t big, but a confirmed bachelor didn’t need much. A nice-sized living and kitchen combo for entertaining friends. Three bedrooms in case he had guests, which he never did, but who bought a one-bedroom ranch? The thirty acres were what he loved. A place for his horses, a big barn and corrals, a storage building.

His headlights washed across the front porch. He blinked, slowed the car, leaned forward, and squinted. Somebody sat on the steps.

Lawson touched the weapon at his hip. He was well liked in the county, but every officer of the law made enemies.

As he drove closer, the figure rose. A kid. His belly dropped as suspicion grew. He’d only seen her a couple of times, and she’d been a lot smaller, but it had to be her. Madison. His niece. Bryce’s daughter.

If he wasn’t a law-and-order guy, he’d be tempted to murder his half-brother—who was nowhere in sight.

He parked the vehicle beside the porch and got out. The girl stood. A backpack lay on the step.

“Madison?”

“Yeah. Your favorite niece. Aren’t you thrilled to see me?” Her tone was resentful, as if her sudden, unexpected appearance was his fault.

“What’s going on? I thought you were headed to Nashville with your dad.” What else was he to think after he’d flat out refused to babysit?

“Not too smart on your part if you believed that.” She hitched up the backpack. “Can we go in? I’m cold.”

Of course, she was. Temp had dropped at least ten degrees since sundown.

He unlocked the door, clicked on the lights. “Where’s your dad?”

“Halfway to the promised land, I guess.” She dropped the backpack and shrugged out of a dirty pink puffer jacket.

The kid would have been pretty without the belligerent expression. Big gray eyes, tilted nose, and smooth skin not yet tormented with acne. Pale blonde hair that reminded him of Dallas Langley, only Madison’s looked none too clean and was yanked back in a messy tail with multiple strands stringing around her face. She wore the typical middle-school gear. Tennis shoes, jeans, and a hoodie emblazoned with the slogan, #Idon’tcare.

The attitude did not encourage him.

“The promise land being Music City?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah.” She moved around his living room, taking in the sights, her voice a mixture of disinterest and sarcasm. “He’s gonna make it big this time. Buy a house. Get me a car. Whoopee.”

“You’re too young to drive.”

She looked at him over one shoulder. “Tell that to him. I’ve been driving since I was ten.”

Lawson cringed. “What are you now?”

“Thirteen.”

Thirteen and full of insolence. Where was the sweet, obedient child his brother had described? Probably the same place as the money his dear brother owed him. “How did you get here?”

She hiked a shoulder. “Hitched.”

“You what?” Lawson thought his heart would stop. “Don’t you know how dangerous that is? You should have called me.”

She lifted a dubious eyebrow. “With what? The cell phone I don’t have? And even if I’d borrowed one, would you have come? I have ears. I heard him talking to you.”

She had him there. “Your dad just dumped you out and left you to catch a ride?”

“I’ve done it before. No big deal. Truckers are usually nice.”

Lawson thought he’d swallow his tonsils. Hitchhiking. A thirteen-year-old girl. Was she nuts? And what was he supposed to do with her? He knew about as much about belligerent teenage girls as he knew about ballet dancing. Nothing.

“You hungry?”

Again, the nonchalant shrug. “I could eat. You cooking?”

“Looks that way.”

With a longing glance toward his recliner, Lawson headed to the kitchen and the refrigerator. While taking out bacon and eggs, he motioned toward the hallway.

“Put your backpack in the extra bedroom while I rustle up some food. Down the hall, at the end. Bathroom’s across from it.”

“So I’m staying?”

“For tonight.” Until he could figure out what to do. His irresponsible brother better get his head together quick.

“He won’t answer if you call. And I’m not going to foster care.”

Lawson slapped a skillet on the stove and turned to face her. “He’s done this before?”

“What do you think? He’s not exactly father of the year.”

So cynical for such a young kid. Lawson found that his compassion gene, which was considerable, had started to ache. Madison slouched in the kitchen doorway, pretending to be tough when she had to be crying inside. Rejection stunk, and apparently, she’d been hurt too many times.

“Tough day?” he asked softly.

She bristled. “I didn’t ask you to feel sorry for me. I just wanted to be clear. I’m not going to foster care. So if you’ve got any funny ideas about dumping me—”

Lawson lifted a hand, cut her off. “Got it.”

She whipped around and tromped down the hall, dragging the backpack and mad at the world. Lawson got busy frying bacon and eggs, pondering this unexpected turn of events.

By the time the food was ready, Madison still hadn’t returned. Lawson stuck his head in the hallway and yelled, “Supper’s on.”

He plopped plates on the small square table for two, added a few condiments and the food along with glasses of milk.

Madison reappeared in the kitchen doorway. Her hair dripped water onto a blue sweater, her face shiny and pink. “I took a shower. You’re out of shampoo.”

She glared at Lawson as though he’d complain. He motioned toward a chair. “Sit. Supper’s on.”

She sat and reached for the food platter, scraping half the six eggs and half the bacon onto her plate. She didn’t bother with salt or pepper or ketchup or hot sauce the way he would. She dug in, shoveling food like a teenage backhoe.

Lawson filled his plate, bowed his head, and said a quiet prayer of thanks, though inside he was praying for guidance. And patience. When he lifted his head, Madison was staring at him, chewing away. Two of the eggs were already gone. She gulped a long swallow of milk.

“Been a while since breakfast?” he asked casually.

“Yeah. Like in yesterday. I figured I’d better save my money in case…”

Lawson didn’t even want to know the rest. “Eat all you want. There’s plenty.”

“This is enough.”

He scraped another egg onto her plate anyway. She ate it.

When she finally slowed down, she fiddled with a piece of toast and said, “Are you an Indian?”

Lawson blinked. This kid was full of surprises. “Why do you ask?”

“You don’t look like one.”

“What do you think an Indian looks like?”

“I don’t know. Like on TV, I guess. Dad said you were. Said you’d scalp me if I didn’t behave.” She studied him like a specimen. “But I don’t see it.”

The law be hanged. He really was going to throttle his brother. “Why not?”

“Your eyes are blue.”

He snorted. “You ever heard of rude stereotypes?”

“People are what they are. Why would I care?” She nailed him with those gray eyes. “So. Are you?”

“Native American? Which, by the way, is the preferred term. Yes, I am. Partly. Along with a strong dose of your grandmother’s Scots-Irish. My father was half Chickasaw.” And Lawson was proud of that heritage.

“So you’re what? Like, a quarter or something?”

He nodded. The quarter was enough to give him a good tan and dark hair, and that was about it. “Yes, and you’re quick with the math.”

“Not rocket science.” She shoved a chunk of toast in her mouth.

“Word to the wise. Don’t go around boldly asking questions about someone’s ethnicity. People are sensitive about that stuff.”

“Why? If you’re proud of it. I wish I knew what I was.”

Lawson lifted his milk glass. “Space alien, maybe?”

The kid almost laughed, but she managed to hold it in.

They ate the rest of the meal in relative silence, which suited Lawson. He was too tired and disgruntled to carry on a decent conversation.

He finished one egg and a couple slices of bacon while she devoured every crumb on her plate and gulped down two glasses of milk. She wasn’t big. Maybe five feet and a hundred pounds. Where she put the food was anyone’s guess.

When Madison pushed her plate away and let out a long sigh, Lawson began clearing the table. He wasn’t a man to leave his dishes undone. After all, no one else was around to do them. So, he ran the dish water and got busy. Behind him, he heard the fridge door open and glanced over his shoulder. Madison was putting away the butter and jelly and his beloved ketchup. She caught him looking, slammed the door, and stalked out of the room. The bottles inside the refrigerator rattled.

Lawson growled and scrubbed harder on the frying pan.

He wasn’t cut out to babysit a teenager.

What was he going to do with her if Bryce refused to return? Even though Calypso’s very own foster and adoption specialist, Emily Caldwell Donley, would see to it she had a good placement, Lawson wouldn’t send his niece to foster care, not when she was so opposed. But he was a busy man and a bachelor. No women to advise him. What was he supposed to do with a snarky teenage girl?

Pulling the drain plug, he washed down the sink, dried his hands, and headed down the hall to the guest room, where he pecked lightly at the door.

“What?” came the sharp reply.

“May I come in?”

“It’s your house.”

He sighed and eased the door open. “A polite, ‘come in’ would be better.”

She’d kicked off her shoes and lay on her side at the end of the full bed scribbling in a spiral notebook. She blinked up at him, expression annoyed. “What?”

So much for the manners lesson.

“I’m calling it a night. Is the room okay? Do you have everything you need? The chest and closet are empty if you want to use those.”

She sat up, her face bewildered but edged with hope. The kind of hope that stabbed Lawson in the heart. “Are you letting me stick around? Just till the old man comes for me, I mean. Probably won’t be too long.”

He hadn’t decided yet. First, he and Bryce had to have a long talk. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll scalp you?”

Gray eyes widened. “Would you?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, Madison. I wouldn’t. And that’s an ugly stereotype we don’t appreciate.”

She offered the universal head roll that infuriated adults. “Gee, I’m sorry,” she said in the most insincere apology ever. “You don’t have to cry about it.”

“Goodnight, Madison.” He shut the bedroom door and started down the hall. Behind him, he heard the lock click. Probably afraid he’d scalp her. He shook his head and found his way to the bedroom that had been calling his name for hours.

Tomorrow, he had a lot on his agenda. Right now, he didn’t want to think about work or angry teenagers or his irresponsible brother. He wanted to think of something or someone pleasant. A vision of blonde hair and a pretty face appeared behind his eyelids.

Dallas Langley.

Where was she from? Why she had she been flying through Calypso?

And why did she linger so strongly in his mind?

The next morning, Dallas wobbled to the bathroom to wash up and get dressed, grateful that someone had brought her overnight bag to the hospital. The headaches always interfered with her mental acuity and left her as washed out as a bleached red sock. She was in no shape to meet these Caldwell people who claimed to know her father. She wanted to be at her best, sharp, in case they wanted something from her that she wasn’t willing to give. A person couldn’t be too careful these days.

Wobbling back to the stiff, miserable hospital bed, she sat on the edge and tried to remember the course of events that had brought her to the ER. The phone call from Wyatt Caldwell, of course, which was one more shock in a long month of mental stresses. Then the decision to drive to Oklahoma, the growing headache, and the awareness of being so very, very sick, followed by a man with strong arms. She’d have to find him, thank him. Someone at the hospital would know who brought her in.

Dallas took her handbag from the nightstand and fished for her car keys. Not there. She reached for the nurse’s call button to ask.

“I’m not sure, miss,” came the reply. “But the sheriff is headed your way. Maybe he’ll know.”

The sheriff? Again? Had she wrecked the car? No. She was confident she hadn’t. Had he, a cop no less, been her rescuer?

A knock sounded and after her weak, “Come in,” a figure appeared in the doorway. A dark-haired, good-looking male figure. In a uniform. With a cowboy hat. Every female cell in her weak body went on red alert.

Even though he was a cop, Dallas was thrilled to have put on her makeup. Not that she looked her best, but she had to look better than she had yesterday.

Gear rattled as the cop approached. Muscles she didn’t want to notice rippled when he removed his hat. He brought with him the smell of crisp cold air and a fresh shave. “How you feeling?”

“Alive.” She managed a wan smile. “Are you the one who drove me to the ER?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you. And it’s Dallas. Dallas Langley.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Sheriff Lawson Hawk.”

He just had to add the sheriff part. Show off his authority. Typical cop.

But the memory of strong arms and a warm chest came back to her. Comforting, secure. He’d taken care of her.

“You were in a bad spot yesterday,” he said. “Is that a frequent occurrence?”

”’Bad spot’ is a nice way of putting it.” The man had seen her vomit, for crying out loud! “And to answer your question, the headaches have been especially bad lately.”

She stopped short of saying more. No one, not one single person in this town, needed to know about Aaron. She didn’t want the gossip and whispers to start again. Not that she planned to stick around long, but maybe she would. Anywhere except Bayville sounded perfect right now. People here had already proved to be kind and helpful, and she might actually have family here.

The sheriff helped himself to a chair and pulled it close to where she sat on the bed. The man was real eye candy, all black eyelashes and brilliant blue eyes with the right amount of masculine bone structure to keep him from looking feminine. That, and the fact that his body was honed and fit and about as masculine as any she’d ever admired.

And admire she did. Along with a completely unwanted but powerful jolt of attraction. Cops, even helpful, good-looking local sheriffs, were not on her happy list.

“I noticed your Texas tag. What part of Texas are you from?”

None of his pretty business. “Do you have my car keys?”

“I do.” He dug the keys from his jacket and dangled them toward her. “You were in no condition to drive.”

Her temper flared. “What was I going to do? Stop in the middle of the highway and just sit there until the headache passed?”

He gave her a mild look. “That’s why I took the keys. You were too sick to drive yourself to the hospital. So I secured your car and drove you here.”

“Oh.” She snatched the outstretched fob. “Where’s my car?”

“Pete’s Quick Stop on the edge of town. Pete said he’d keep an eye on it until you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now.”

The man didn’t take the hint and move. And she was trapped between him and the hospital bed.

“You have folks in Calypso, or are you passing through?”

Was this an interrogation? “I’m in town to see someone.”

His sapphire eyes studied her. He wanted to pry. She knew he did. But she wasn’t telling him another thing. She didn’t know the Caldwells, and even if they were kin, she wouldn’t share such personal information with a stranger. Even a cop.

“Doc released you yet?”

“I’m waiting on a prescription. Then, I’ll schedule an Uber.”

“Not in Calypso you won’t,” he said.

“There are no Uber drivers in this town?” Really? She’d thought they were everywhere.

“Not a one. We have a single taxi, but you don’t need to worry about that. I brought you here. I’ll take you back to your car.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks.” A cop was going out of his way to be nice. Might as well take advantage of such a rare event.

Something banged against the door, and a nurse rolled a wheelchair inside. “Ready to get out of here?”

“More than ready.” She pushed to her feet. Her ears began to buzz. Her knees wobbled. The incessant head throb started up again. “Oh.”

Grappling for the bed behind her with one hand, she tried to sit but missed her mark and grazed the mattress edge.

“Whoa, there.” Strong hands caught her under the arms and brought her upright. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Dallas gave her head a slow shake. It thrummed, but not like yesterday. “Absolutely.”

The sheriff, strong hands and flexed muscles, turned her toward the wheelchair and guided her down. The nurse put her handbag in her lap, and the lawman grabbed her overnight bag. “This everything?”

“Yes.”

They rolled her out to the waiting police vehicle. The cop’s gear bumped the edge of the wheelchair, his lean, uniformed legs in her peripheral vision. She’d never been more aware of the way a man walked, loose limbed and confident.

After he eased her onto the passenger seat, he pulled the seat belt toward her and smiled. “Buckle up.”

The smile was deadly. White teeth, dark skin, sparkly eyes. Maybe the buzzing in her head wasn’t from the headache after all.

He got in the driver’s seat, and they started out of the hospital loading zone. “Where to?”

“My car?”

“I’m not sure you’re ready to get behind the wheel.”

“I’m perfectly capable—”

“Of passing out in the hospital room.”

“I’m fine now.”

“You said you were in town to see someone. I could drop you there.” He raised both eyebrows, clearly curious.

“Just take me to my car and then direct me to a hotel. I can drive myself.” The hotel was a great idea. Another day’s rest would gear her up to phone Wyatt Caldwell.

Lawson Hawk made a completely male noise of disagreement but said no more. The man had no idea that she’d dealt with migraines most of her life. She knew the drill. She’d be weak and pathetic for a couple of days, maybe more, and then she’d bounce right back.

“Royal B & B in town is very nice, and we have a fairly new Best Western right off Main. I’m told it’s clean and the rates are reasonable.”

“The hotel works.” Chatty bed-and-breakfast proprietors were not her thing, especially when she was battling a migraine.

In short order, they pulled into the convenience store parking area. The sheriff killed the engine and turned toward her, one arm slung over the steering wheel. “Remember this?”

“Vaguely.” Mostly she remembered him, his solid strength and kindness, and the awful pain. She reached for the door handle. “I don’t know how to thank you enough—”

He lifted a hand. “No need. Part of the job.”

Right. He hadn’t rescued her out of the goodness of his heart. He was a cop, duty bound.

He came around and opened her door. Dallas stepped out. The embarrassing whirlwind started inside her head again. She wobbled, tried to gain her balance, but plopped back onto the seat. Her heart rattled and her breath came short.

“Maybe I should get that hotel room first.”