Dallas was silent as she walked beside Lawson through a field and into the woods of The Triple C Sanctuary, a large expanse of wilderness the Caldwells had set aside as a personal game refuge.

Lawson, because of his close friendship with the Caldwell family, had received permission to bring her here, though not surprisingly he owned a key to the huge white gate marked Triple C Ranch. The posted signs along the fence were clear. Private. Keep out. Family only. Which, apparently, now included her.

She was still trying to decide how she felt about that.

“It’s mostly wild land and woods, some creeks and canyons.” His voice was hushed to match her mood. “As boys, we explored most of it.”

This time of year, the land looked dead and empty, but in a month or two, when dogwoods and redbuds bloomed, it would be lovely.

“Where is my father buried?”

“Through here.” Lawson pointed toward a stand of evergreens. “There’s a clearing. You’ll see.”

As if he felt her tension, Lawson took her hand, smoothing a thumb over its back again and again. He was intuitive like that, a trait she admired.

She admired many things about this man. He was thoughtful and kind and unselfish, and about as masculine a man as she’d ever met. Strong and protective. A real keeper.

For someone.

In moments, they stepped through the trees. Dallas sucked in a gasp.

Lawson turned his head to look at her. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“And unexpected.” Before them was a clearing containing a small church, lovely and well-maintained. Its arching roof seemed to point straight up to heaven.

“Clint built this. Your dad.”

The term still caused a drop in her stomach. Dad. Her dad. Clint Caldwell. “Why?”

Lawson shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Cori was dying of cancer. He built it for her.”

Cori, her father’s wife. A mix of emotions swirled inside Dallas. To build a chapel like this in such a beautiful setting, her father must have been devoted to his wife. Which brought her back to the question: How had she, Dallas Langley, come to exist?

“Did she live long enough to see it?”

“She did and came here often, according to what I’ve been told. I was too young to remember. But Gilbert says she prayed here nearly every day and maybe found some much needed peace during her illness.”

“Undoubtedly, she felt her husband’s love in this place.”

Dallas wanted to resent the fact that her father had loved his wife so deeply and loved her mother only long enough, only strong enough, to father a child, but she couldn’t. A man who could love that much was worth knowing. Respect, however, was another matter.

Had he known about his Texas daughter? That was the question that haunted her.

“Want to go inside?” Lawson asked, leading the way toward the chapel.

“Yes.”

With the quiet hush of woods and birdsong around them, they stepped through the unlocked door into a tiny space. Four pews with an altar in front of them, and against the front wall, a plain wooden cross.

“Skylights,” she mused, staring up at the ceiling where the day’s pale sunlight seeped through glass.

“No electricity. Just skylights and windows.”

“It’s beautiful. Simple but lovely, and I feel a…reverence. Don’t you?”

“Every time I step inside, it’s like God is here, waiting. When I was a teenager hanging with the Caldwell boys, I used to sneak off from the others and come here just to sit and feel that holy presence. Occasionally, when something particularly ugly has happened in my job, I still come here. That’s why they gave me a key.”

Lawson’s words moved her. In her experience, not many men, particularly tough cops, would admit such a need for God.

“Are the graves nearby?” Her heart pinched a little to think of meeting her father for the first time at his graveside.

“Out back. Come on, I’ll show you.”

They exited the chapel, their feet making soft, swishing sounds against the sleeping grass. Except for a single cawing crow, a hush settled over the meadow.

At the edge of the building, Lawson paused and turned her toward him. “Are you ready for this?”

She nodded.

“Would you rather be alone? I can wait inside the chapel.”

Thoughtful, sweet man. “No. Come with me. Please.”

He held out his hand. She took it, and together they made the turn around the building. Immediately, she saw the graves. One large black granite stone with a pair of entwined white doves on top marked them both.

Dallas walked closer, grateful for Lawson’s quietly supportive presence. He let go of her hand, and when she glanced at him in question, he dipped his chin. “Go ahead. Say hello to your dad. I’m right here.”

Her dad. A thick lump formed in her throat. For several seconds, she couldn’t speak, so she nodded and walked around the stone to the names. Her focus fell on only one.

“Clint Nathaniel Caldwell,” Dallas managed to murmur, almost to herself, but to him too. Her father. “Hello.”

She touched the letters, letting one finger slide over the rough granite.

Did you know about me?

The unanswerable question stuck in her throat.

Someone had recently placed purple and white flowers in the headstone vases. And the area around the graves appeared neat and well cared for.

Her father’s kids had loved him, loved him still and respected him in death. Would she have loved him, too? Would he have loved her?

Secrets. They never brought any good. And now, the secret Clint Caldwell had kept from his family stood at his gravesite. Wishing she’d known him, wishing she could have loved him in person, this mysterious man she’d longed for her entire life.

Lawson watched the conflicting emotions come and go on Dallas’s face. This couldn’t be easy, but she needed to do this.

He stood with his hands folded, taking his cues from her. It was important to give her space, but it was important, too, to be here if she needed him.

When she glanced up, eyes swimming, he took that as a need and crossed the short expanse of grass to reach her.

“He would have loved you so much.”

A watery smile met his comment. “Do you always know the right things to say?”

If he did, he’d spill his guts and ask her to stay indefinitely in Calypso.

“Clint would have been proud of all you’ve accomplished, of how beautiful and kind you are.”

“Thank you. It helps to believe he wouldn’t have been ashamed of me.”

“I knew him, Dallas. Clint wasn’t like that.”

She sniffed, nodded, putting on her brave front as she pressed fingertips against her eyelids “I didn’t expect to feel this emotional.”

Lawson let Dallas set the pace. She needed time for her feelings and thoughts to evolve and settle. So he waited.

The moments lengthened as birds rustled in the trees along the edge of the clearing. When at last she turned away from the headstone, Lawson drew her toward him.

She rested her head against his shoulder and said on a sigh, “Thank you.”

Lawson kissed the top of her head, inhaled her sweet fragrance, and then, without conversation, led the way back to the truck.

As he helped her up into the cab, she gave him a soft smile that squeezed his heart. No words, only that smile. And it was enough.

Driving the Silverado deeper into the sanctuary to a particularly pretty bend in Willow Creek, Lawson paused beside a weeping willow. When Dallas gazed at him in question, he said, “Let’s walk. I think you’ll enjoy it.” She needed it too.

Dallas nodded. Again, no words, but he could see her beginning to settle as he continued along the trail. The tiny furrow eased from her forehead, and her hands unclenched in her lap. Once, she looked up and out the window to watch a red-tailed hawk circle overhead.

Her lovely profile drew his attention. He had to discipline his mind to remain focused on the bumpy, grassy trail.

Lawson realized then that he could sit in silence or in conversation with Dallas Langley and be perfectly content. Simply being with her was enough to fill him from the inside out.

Saying goodbye was going to hurt.

When he’d parked near the creek, they got out, and Lawson took the picnic basket Connie had packed for him from the back of the truck.

“Connie insisted,” he said when Dallas appeared surprised. “In case we get stranded in the backwoods for days and days.”

The silly comment seemed to lighten her pensive mood. Mouth forming in an O, she pressed a hand against each cheek. “I can’t get stranded. I didn’t bring my makeup bag.”

They both chuckled. He loved her humor.

“I’ve seen you with and without makeup.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You’re beautiful either way.”

“Oh.” Her face wreathed in pleasure, she tugged her jacket closed.

“Too cold?”

“No. I’m fine. This is…nice. I’ve never had a winter picnic.”

She’d have her first with him. He liked that idea.

They walked, talking a little but mostly noticing the natural world around them. The air was chilly today, but not bitter, and the Oklahoma wind kinder than usual. It was a fair day, as late winter days go.

Lawson ducked beneath some low hanging branches and stopped next to the creek. Dallas followed.

“This is one of my favorite spots in the Sanctuary,” he said. “Willow Creek.”

Water bubbled in the wide stream, clear and lazy, the way he felt sometimes when he’d come here. The peaceful sound relaxed him. The overhanging trees sheltered him. He could hide out here with his thoughts and prayers, talk out loud to God and never be seen or heard by another human. He was grateful for that, and as a busy sheriff who saw the harder side of life, he sometimes needed the solitude. The beauty helped wash away the ugliness.

“I can see why.”

After taking a blanket from the basket, Lawson spread it on the ground and set the basket there.

“When I come here alone, I feel as if I’m the only person on earth. Just me and God.”

“You must get a lot of thinking done here.”

“This is where I sort out all the problems of the world.” He smirked. “Of Calypso County, anyway.”

He didn’t add that he’d come here yesterday to make sure the area was safe and clean. And to pray and ponder what he was going to do about his growing feelings for Dallas Langley.

Dallas strolled closer to the creek, feeling the peace and quiet ebb and flow with the water. As she gazed across at the tangle of brambles and low hanging willows that gave the creek its name, she understood why Lawson liked to come here. A person could let go of a lot of stress in a location like this.

A cottontail hopped out and then stood frozen, its shiny eyes staring at her. She slowly turned her head toward Lawson and pointed.

He came up beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. He said nothing. He was good that way. Silent in the right moments. Warm and funny at other times.

The bunny rabbit turned and casually hopped back into the brambles.

“Oh, no. I scared him off.”

“Nah, he simply had better things to do.”

So did Lawson, but he was here with her. He’d taken his Saturday off and given it to her, to make things easier for her,

Dallas plucked a dry leaf from the ground at her feet and twirled it in her fingers. “I never really liked cops.”

Lawson dipped away from her, a hand over his heart, his eyes wide in fake dismay. “I’m crushed. I thought everyone loved cops.”

“Seriously. I couldn’t stand anyone even remotely connected with law enforcement.”

“Now, you’re scaring me.” His mouth lifted so she knew he teased. “Exactly how long is your rap sheet?”

“Short. Very short. As in nonexistent.”

“Except for defacing Calypso’s public sidewalks.” He pointed at her. “And speeding.”

“There is that.” She studied the leaf in her hands. It was crisp and brown, completely dead, but still lovely in its own way. “It’s just that I’ve been let down a few times by police officers, particularly my stepdads.”

“They were cops? Both of them?”

“Unfortunately. My mom had a thing for men in uniform.” And cowboy boots, apparently. “One guy didn’t last long, but the other stuck around for several years. He was a jerk. To me, anyway. Mom refused to see it, for a long time.” Dallas rolled her eyes. “She was always that way when she was in love.”

Blinded by attraction. Was that what had happened with Mom and Clint Caldwell?

Lawson stiffened. “This guy didn’t abuse you, did he?”

The man looked absolutely lethal—in her defense—and Dallas quivered a little with the thrill of it.

“Not in the way you mean. But I spent more time in home jail than I care to admit. My stepdad was a swaggering, overly macho cop who ruled with an iron fist and had the scary muscles to back it up. Granted, my obnoxious teenage perspective was likely skewed, but I despised the guy.” She released the leaf to the earth to join its companions. “After too many years, Mom finally realized he was a loser and kicked him out, but by then, I had a very bad opinion of the law.”

“I’m sorry.” He stepped closer, leaves crunching beneath his boots, and she thought for a minute he might kiss her. She was disappointed when he didn’t. “All cops are not like that. Most are good guys, keeping the peace, without much swagger. The job will suck it out of you.”

“That bad?”

“Sometimes, but it’s the best job in the world when I can help someone.”

“Like Madison.”

“Madison is a different tale. She’s kin. But Lord knows, I’m trying.”

Dallas thought now was a good time to tell him about the girl’s connection with the horse. “She’s all bottled up inside, Lawson. I remember being like that as a teenager fighting with my stepdad. Having my horse to talk to, to groom, to ride off into the quiet woods, made a difference.”

“I understand that.”

She turned toward him then and put a hand on each of his muscular arms. “I thought you would. She’s worried about Sadie going blind.”

“So am I.” Lawson smoothed her hair away from her face, his touch sending little twinkles of pleasure over her skin.

Dallas leaned in, letting her cheek rest against his tough, manly palm. “What will you do with her?”

“Madison? Or Sadie?” He slid his hands down and over her shoulders before letting them fall to his sides.

Too bad. She loved his touch, loved being this close to him. Loved the mellow, easy feeling his company always brought.

“Both,” she answered, “but I meant the horse. Madison’s worried she’ll go to slaughter.”

“Sadie’s been with me a long time. She’s earned her keep.” He turned toward the picnic basket. “She’ll live out her life on my ranch.”

Dallas followed along, settling across from him on the soft gray blanket. He’d have a hard time getting the leaves and sticks off this one. “I hope you tell that to Madison.”

“I will.” He flipped up the lid on the basket.

“I overheard her fretting about her dad.” She accepted a thermos he offered.

“She misses him,” Lawson said.

“Maybe.” Unscrewing the thermos cap, Dallas breathed in the aroma of coffee. “But I think she’s more worried that he’ll take her away.”

Lawson’s hand paused on the edge of the basket. “She tell you that?”

“Not directly. I’m good at reading between the lines, remember?” She poured coffee into two foam cups. “How would you feel about that?”

“You’re sounding like a shrink again.” Lawson finished emptying the basket. “But to answer your question, I’ve given the problem of her delinquent dad and her a lot of thought, and I’m not sure. I’m a bachelor, and my job is demanding of my time, but if she went with Bryce, I’d worry.”

“And maybe miss her too?”

“Probably. Even if she is snarky and rude most of the time.”

She handed him one of the cups. “Learned behaviors can be unlearned.”

“Says Dr. Dallas.” He gave her a crooked grin. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you. She’s better than she was in the beginning.”

“I think so too. We had a good talk the other day, and when she got upset, she apologized. Not to me, but to Sadie.”

“It’s a start.” He pulled out a bag of chips. “Okay, enough about me and my niece. Let’s talk about you. Have you discussed your dad with your mother yet?”

She fidgeted with the cup, circling a finger around the rim. Steam moistened her fingertip. “Not yet. I did tell her about my brief hospitalization and that I’m staying in Calypso for a while.”

“Did the town name ring a bell to her?”

“If it did, she didn’t react.” Dallas set the cup on a flat spot in the grass. “I also hinted that I might look around for a job while I’m here.”

“Seriously?” Was that hope flaring in his blue, blue eyes?

“I stopped by the local station this morning. They run a nice ship. Small, but professional and progressive.”

“Why would you even consider a little station?”

Dallas gave him a sharp look. Didn’t he want her around? “A girl’s got to have a job somewhere, and after what happened in Bayville…”

She let the thought trail away, hoping he hadn’t picked up on it.

“After what happened?”

She should have known. Lawson was a cop. Cops don’t miss clues as big as the one she’d just dropped.

Was she ready to tell him about Aaron?

“You being a cop, I figured you’d know. Thought you would have checked me out by now.”

He shook his head. “That would be a real romance killer.”

“So, you haven’t? My stepdads ran background checks on everyone.”

“I’m not them.”

No, he wasn’t. He was a conundrum, a wonderful, anomaly in her understanding of cops.

“So,” he said. “Are you going to tell me? Or is it none of my business.”

After a nano second’s hesitation, Dallas decided it was time. She wanted him to know. If Lawson judged her the way some had, she’d know once and for all that he wasn’t the man she thought he was.

“I was dating a guy. Things were fine for a few months, but he starting getting possessive. Overly so. To the point he wanted to know where I was and what I was doing every day.”

“Abusive?” He said the word mildly, but the look in his eyes was protective, lethal even. The message was clear. Beneath the cowboy’s humor and friendliness was a man who’d defend her with his life.

A tremor ran through Dallas. She was a strong, independent woman, but with Lawson she felt a security she hadn’t known was missing.

“If you mean, did Aaron hit me, no. He was just needy, I think.” She looked up in the trees and shook her hair back, clearing her head of the images that always came when she thought about Aaron. “Maybe I should have been more understanding. I don’t know, but I started feeling smothered and broke things off.”

“He didn’t take it well.” Watching her over the rim, Lawson sipped at his coffee cup.

“Not at all.” She sucked in a breath, blew it out, realized she’d started to tremble inside. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about this after all.”

Instead of trying to convince her, Lawson set aside his coffee and repositioned himself next to her. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he hugged her close to his side. “Okay. Your call. But know I’m here if you need me.”

He understood. He got it. And this was Lawson. No way would he accuse her or suspect anything except exactly what she told him to be true. Lawson would never look at her with eyes of disgust or anger or suspicion. She could trust him.

The truth of that pushed away her last bit of anxiety.

Drawing strength from Lawson’s strong, solid presence, Dallas continued. “Aaron started harassing me. He called or texted constantly, so much that I considered changing my number. He begged me for another chance, promising to do better. Fifty or more times a day.”

“Which only made you more certain you’d done the right thing by ending it.”

“Exactly.” She raised a shaky hand to her head. A tiny pulse beat had started deep inside her brain. “Then, he started calling my radio show, sometimes more than once a night. The first few times, I talked to him as I would any other caller. Then, as he became pushier, I stopped accepting his call-ins. When I’d see his name on the screen, I’d reject it and go to the next caller. After that, he began driving by my house at all hours.”

“I’ve been in law enforcement long enough to know you were in trouble. Did you call the police?”

A bitter taste came to her mouth. Another reason she disliked cops. “Oh, yes. I called. They suggested a restraining order, so I got one.”

“And things got worse?”

“At first, no. Aaron seemed to get the message. I didn’t hear from him for over a week and was starting to breathe easier.”

“You let your guard down.”

“Yes, and that’s when it happened. The worst thing, more terrible than I could ever have imagined.”

“You’re shaking.” Lawson turned her into his chest. “You don’t have to talk about this. I can find out for myself.”

Too many people had misconstrued the facts, including the media and social networks. No way was she letting him learn the story from skewed reports.

Against his cotton-scented shirt, she murmured, “I want you to hear it from me.”

She pressed a hand on either side of his solid, dependable chest and backed away. Saying the words was hard. She needed some space.

“About a month ago, I was at work, doing my show. We had a good show that night with lots of interesting callers. I was having a great time and let down my guard.”

“The guy called in again.”

“Yes. Except he didn’t call from his normal number, so I didn’t recognize it, and he used his middle name.”

“So you let him on the air.”

She nodded, trembling now as she had that night. “All he said was, ‘You’re making me do this.’ And then….he shot himself.”