A Rugged Ranchin' Dad

A warm, beautiful free spirit who’d been content to gloriously take each day as it came.

She’d been the healing balm to his wounded pride and broken heart. She’d taken him and his abandoned son and turned them into a family. Strong, loving and patient, Dahlia had guided him through a bad time in his life.

Now it was his turn. His turn to be strong. His turn to guide them past the tragedy of Brooke’s death to begin again. Only...how?

“Remember the first time I brought you to the ranch?” Stone tightened his grip on her hand.

A sweet, fleeting smile drifted over her face as she gazed up at him. “I was so scared, wondering if Blade and Rocky would like me.”

“My brothers know a good thing when they see it.” Stone grinned at her. “Wasn’t it one of my brothers who played matchmaker and got us together in the first place?”

“Flint kept telling me about his big brother Stone—”

“For months he kept telling me about this new girl at college that he’d met and how he thought I’d like her—”

“And you kept stalling, not wanting to meet another female again for as long as you lived.” Dahlia laughed.

Stone laughed, too. They’d done this countless times before, each giving their version of his brother Flint’s one and only attempt at matchmaking.

“I was still scared when it came time to meet the rest of your family, though.” Dahlia shifted slightly in her seat and leaned her head back. “I took classes with Flint, but meeting your other two brothers—and especially your baby boy—was a big day in my life.”

“And meeting you was a big day in mine,” Stone told her softly, taking his eyes off the road long enough to look at her. Dahlia’s eyes were a startling, dazzling shade of blue, a dark, velvety contrast to her pale gold skin and sunny blond hair. “The most important day in my life.”

He watched for a second or two as her blue eyes darkened and deepened in wonder, and shock waves of longing splintered through him.

“Was it, Stone?”

The wistful note in her voice wrenched at something hidden far back in the boarded-up places of his heart. How long had it been, he wondered uneasily, since he’d said anything even remotely reassuring to her?

“You know it was,” he answered, suddenly feeling too much, needing too much from her.

Taking several deep, steady breaths, he concentrated on the traffic, unable to trust his tenuous self-control. They were on a two-lane, paved country road now, and the light, morning traffic was a welcome distraction.

So were her fingers, snuggled deep inside his hand. Her closeness eased the ache of emptiness that had tormented him the past year. It had been so long since she’d wanted anything to do with him, either physically or emotionally.

Grief over Brooke’s death had taken its toll.

Stone grew still as he remembered the one exception. Nine months ago, Dahlia had decided she wanted another baby—but he’d had to refuse.

Something else she’d wanted that he couldn’t, in good conscience, give to her. Because there was no way in hell that he’d bring another child into this world, to love it, care for it...

And then lose it.

The melting ice around Stone’s heart slowly hardened.

Dahlia watched as Stone drove the rest of the way to the ranch, both hands now gripping the steering wheel. Watched the way he’d withdrawn, once again, into that lonely, private place deep inside himself.

Brooke’s death had absolutely destroyed him, she acknowledged, as fear and doubt swept through her. He wasn’t going to let her help him. And here she was, with only two weeks left to complete her mission!

Two weeks—when she’d been trying to get through to him for twelve long, painful months.

But Stone’s will, as always, was one of pure steel.

How could she possibly make him believe in anything ever again? How could she make him see what a terrific father he was? And that what he needed to do now, most of all, was to trust his feelings when dealing with Field. How could she hope to restore his faith in himself, to trust his own good judgment again?

But that was her mission from Basil.

Oh, dear, how was she to accomplish this particular miracle all by herself?

Dahlia knew how hard it was to let Field be a normal little boy, to protect him without controlling his every move, to love him without smothering him—but Stone wasn’t even trying.

He was so wrapped up in grief and guilt over Brooke’s death, and fear over losing Field, that he wasn’t listening to anyone.

She straightened her shoulders. She wanted so much to be a good angel, to live up to the trust that Basil had placed in her. But Stone—he wasn’t the same man she’d married. He’d always wanted more, craved more, fought for more than anyone she’d ever met. But the fight had gone out of him.

And so had all the love.

Dahlia could still feel the warmth of his fingers around hers, even though he was no longer holding her hand. But his touch lingered in her mind far longer than she cared to admit.

Memories tapped at her heart.

The gentleness that had an unexpected way of peeking through Stone’s oh-so-tough outdoorsy personality. The startling chemistry that had sprung to life upon meeting face-to-face the first time. And the way the sexual attraction had grown and deepened through the years.

Stone was more than her husband. He was her best friend.

Which made his...his almost studied emotional distance doubly hard to take. Stone had preferred to live in an emotional vacuum since Brooke’s death, to become isolated from pain—but he was forcing the rest of them to live that way, as well.

Dahlia’s gaze repeatedly strayed toward Stone’s side of the car. It was hard to believe that the man who had once made her nerve endings sing with joy could cause her heart to ache so much. But when Brooke died, he’d closed off the part of his life that had to do with being happy. He’d also, by all appearances, closed and locked the part of his heart that had to do with love. And he had no desire to open either one.

Her sigh was soft, and with an effort she pulled herself out of her thoughts. She had work to do, and she was going to do it. But where was she to start?

“I remember the morning we brought Brooke home from the hospital,” she said brightly. She desperately wanted to gain back some of the closeness that had vanished when Stone had retreated behind one of his moods. “She was wearing that little denim dress embroidered with little red hearts on the collar...”

“And you tied a red ribbon around her little bald head.”

Dahlia was surprised at the way he joined in. She wasn’t used to talking about Brooke and having him respond. Usually he tried to change the subject.

“She wasn’t bald,” Dahlia protested, laughing. “She had hair in the back almost long enough to put into a ponytail.”

Stone hesitated and then his words came out sort of gruff and tender. “She was the prettiest little thing I’d ever seen in my life.”

Tears backed up in her throat. Especially when Stone reached out and took her hand in his again. “Was she as pretty as Field?”

“Guys aren’t pretty.” But he sent her a fleeting grin. “Field was a rugged little guy even on his first day of life.” Then his grin broadened. “All six pounds of him.”

Dahlia saw the light in his gray eyes just seconds before he turned his attention back to the road ahead. But he squeezed her hand in his, and she squeezed back. And then she had a thought.

“Why don’t you have any pictures of Field during his first year?”

“What do you mean?” Stone sped up to pass a car.

“You only have four or five pictures of him—”

“We’ve got dozens of albums, crammed full of pictures of both kids.” Stone was back in his own lane now and flashed her a puzzled, questioning look.

“But all those were taken after we met. After we were married,” Dahlia explained. “I meant pictures of Field coming home from the hospital. Do you realize there are no pictures of your son with his mother?”

He looked at her. “You’re his mother.”

She smiled gently at him, touched by the statement. For Stone, his first wife and the mother of his child just... no longer existed. Not in his mind. And certainly not in his heart. “But why didn’t you take more?” she asked him. “Field was your firstborn son. I would have thought you’d have taken tons of pictures.”

Stone shrugged and turned his attention back to the road. But he didn’t evade the question. “I don’t have a reason. I guess I was just too busy taking care of him to bother with taking pictures.”

And too hurt.

Dahlia suddenly cringed inside at the thought of what her completing her mission would mean for Stone. He’d already been abandoned by one woman, and he’d never understood her reason.

And now, if things worked out, Dahlia would also abandon him. Would he understand? Would he understand she just had to be with Brooke? No matter what the cost?

And Field...oh, that poor, poor child. Dahlia’s heart wrenched with guilt at just the thought of leaving him. He’d already been abandoned by one mother. What would her leaving do to his ability to trust?

That was why she had to get Stone and Field’s relationship on solid ground. Before it was time for her to leave.

“I’m sorry now that I didn’t take more pictures of Field his first year,” Stone was saying, and she struggled to pay attention. “Kids grow up so fast and then they’re...gone,” he ended quietly.

Dahlia watched as he struggled with some painful memory. She said gently, “Field’s growing every day. It’s hard to believe he’s already ten years old.”

“Yeah.”

“Soon he’ll be in high school and dating some cute little cheerleader.”

Stone cleared his throat. “More than likely some little cowgirl in a rodeo.”

“All he talks about is entering rodeo roughstock events when he’s old enough.” Dahlia saw the life drain from his eyes and added softly, “He wants so very much to be like you when he grows up.”

“I know.” Profound weariness settled over his lean features.

“It’s natural for a son to want to be like his dad,” she continued.

“Then I wish I’d been a lawyer or something like that,” Stone snapped, his pain and frustration close to the surface.

Dahlia drew in a fast, agonized breath and said nothing. What was the use? Everything she said to him came out wrong. Everything she did only made him feel worse.

“Dahlia...honey, I’m sorry.” He turned to her and tried to smile. “I didn’t mean to take your head off. I just wish I hadn’t told Field all those wild and wonderful stories about my rodeo days. It put ideas in his head.”

She laughed soft and low. “It’ll be years before he’s old enough to compete. Field’s exploring his options, that’s all. He’ll go through weeks of wanting to be a rodeo champion and then a concert pianist or a great painter—”

Stone hooted with laughter. “A concert pianist? Field? A rock musician, maybe, but give me a break. Field’s about as likely to play classical music as I am to sprout wings and fly.”

Dahlia grinned happily. Somehow she’d gotten him to laugh and that was a good feeling. And a good start.

She glanced out the window at the passing countryside, with its bluestem and buffalo grass. They were in the hill country now, driving along the Medina River, so they were almost at the ranch.

Stone turned onto a dirt road, lined with mountain cedar trees, and she breathed in the characteristic fragrance of the hill country. Stone took the bridge across the river and moments later they drove under the large sign, proclaiming: Tyler Ranch. Established 1900.

Field was the fourth generation of Tylers to live on the 750-acre spread. Dahlia knew it would break his heart not to grow up here like his father and uncles.

And it would break Stone’s heart, too, even if he was too stubborn to admit it.

She propped her elbow in the open window, her chin in her hand, and gazed out at the miles of whitewashed fencing crisscrossing the range. She stared longingly out at the herds of sheep grazing in the foothills, the young lambs frolicking after their mothers. She sighed heavily.

A big, white three-story Victorian house, nestled in a grove of very old oak and pecan trees, came into view. An enormous red barn stood behind it, off to one side. As always, she felt a flash of pride when she saw the place where she had come to live as a bride of twenty-one.

That had been nine years ago, she thought, as Stone parked in the circular driveway.

A lifetime ago.

The car door on her side was yanked open. Stone’s youngest brother, Rocky, escorted her gently across the driveway and up the porch steps. “We’re glad you’re home,” he said with a grin. “Gives us an excuse to throw you a welcome-home barbecue tonight.”

Dahlia smiled up at him, wondering where Field was hiding. “You Texas boys certainly do love to eat, don’t you?” she teased back.

“How did you ever guess that?” Rocky’s grin widened as he settled her on the porch swing. Rocky had a huge appetite for barbecued ribs and hot Texas chili, but he was cowboy-lean, and had women chasing him from three counties. “Field made you a pitcher of lemonade, all by himself,” her brother-in-law said, his voice low for her ears alone. “So pretend you like it.”

Rocky never changed, Dahlia thought gratefully, her gaze following Stone as he came up the front steps, carrying her suitcase. Just then the screen door flew open and Dahlia’s ten-year-old stepson rushed out onto the porch, carrying a glass of lemonade. He headed straight for the porch swing and thrust it toward Dahlia. “I made it myself. All by myself,” he added with a sidelong look at his father.

Dahlia took a sip, announced it was perfect and drank up as the little boy she’d raised almost from birth watched with anticipation. He was slender and dark like his dad, with Stone’s gunmetal gray eyes.

“Don’t I get a hug?” she asked the child she loved with all that was left of her heart.

Field hesitated. “Uncle Rocky said to be careful and let you hug me.”

Dahlia smiled and reached out with one hand to draw the little boy closer. “Thank you for being so thoughtful, sweetie,” she said, kissing his cheek. “And thank you for the lemonade. It’s delicious.”

Rocky returned to the porch, carrying a tray with the pitcher of lemonade and three glasses. There were also three different kinds of cookies. “Field went with me to the store this morning,” Rocky said with a wink.

“Don’t you like your lemonade, Dad?” Field asked, staring up at his father. Stone leaned against the porch railing, absently rubbing his fingertip along the rim of the glass he held. “I made it,” the little boy announced, a slight trace of defiance in his voice. “All by myself.”

“It’s good,” Stone said after taking a hasty sip. “Excellent.”

“I cut the lemons in half with a knife.” Field was eyeing Stone carefully. “And, boy, was it sharp!”

Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat. She saw Stone dart a swift glance in his brother’s direction.

“I was in there watching him,” Rocky said hurriedly, shifting uneasily on the porch railing where he was perched.

“But even if he wasn’t,” Field chimed in, “I could’ve done it. Because I’m not a baby.” That last statement came out as if he dared someone, anyone—especially Stone—to disagree with him.

Stone must have realized it, too, because he stated quietly, “No, you’re not a baby. And knives aren’t dangerous as long as you know how to use them.”

“I know how. Uncle Rocky taught me,” Field added helpfully, his gray eyes brightening.

Nearby, Dahlia heard Rocky’s low, rueful groan. Her gaze darted to her husband. Stone had practically raised his youngest brother, and now he fixed him with a long, level look of reproach.

“Uncle Rocky said you gave him a knife when he was my age,” Field piped up, making matters worse.

Dahlia saw the startled look in Stone’s gray eyes. He slowly set his glass of lemonade down on the porch railing. “Did Uncle Rocky give you a knife?” he asked gently.

Field hesitated, then darted a sudden sheepish look at Rocky. The little boy looked back at his father and slowly nodded. Pulling a small leather pouch out of the back pocket of his jeans, Field said, “He gave me the one that you gave to him.”

Instead of taking the knife away from his son, Stone merely asked, “And Rocky taught you how to use it?”

Field nodded. “This morning while we waited for the lemonade to get done.”

“After you finish drinking your lemonade, why don’t you ask your uncle Rocky to give you some more lessons?” Stone surprised everyone by saying.

Dahlia’s heart surged with hope as she saw the look of pure joy enter Field’s eyes.

Field and Rocky finished their cookies and lemonade in record time, and headed toward the barn. If she turned around, Dahlia would be able to see them. And she could certainly hear them as Rocky patiently taught the little boy how to handle the pearl-handled knife. She smiled at the laughter that drifted up to the porch.

“That was a wonderful thing you did, letting Field keep the knife,” Dahlia said, smiling cheerfully.

Stone shrugged. “A boy needs to learn how to handle himself. That includes weapons.”

“It means more than learning how to handle himself, Stone,” she said earnestly. “Letting him have the knife means you trust him.”

Stone drained the last of his lemonade and set the glass down on the tray. “It means I think he’s old enough to go away to school.” His voice was carefully low and even. “He’s right. He isn’t a baby. And he’ll do just fine at boarding school.”

“But, Stone—”

His gray eyes leveled on her. “He leaves two weeks from today.” Then he scooped up her suitcase and headed for the screen door. “I’ll put this in your room.”

Stone entered the house and shut the screen door behind him. It was more gentle than a slam, but much harder than merely closing the door, Dahlia noticed wryly.

Two weeks. In two weeks Field would be sent away.

Dahlia turned around in the swing, fixing her gaze on Field, out by the barn. Basil said if she didn’t return within three weeks, then she couldn’t return. One week had already passed. In the hospital.

So she had two weeks left.

She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. If she could only stop Stone from sending Field to that boarding school in San Antonio, if she could convince him that living on the ranch would not put Field in danger—then maybe he’d regain his faith that he could protect his son.

She sighed, watching Stone’s little boy practice throwing his knife at the barn door, over and over and over again, determined to make his mark on the paper target. And Dahlia knew that keeping Field on the ranch wouldn’t alone solve the problem.

It was a start, but she now clearly understood the mission Basil had entrusted to her. She had to restore Stone’s faith in himself, and in his ability to take care of his family—even if it meant letting go herself.

Chapter Two

The Tyler family and the ranch hands mingled freely at the barbecue later that night. Three picnic tables had been placed end to end on the brick terrace, laden with bowls of barbecued chicken, potato salad, baked beans and barbecued ribs. A separate picnic table held the desserts.

Stone stood to one side, a bottle of beer in his hand that he didn’t really want, and watched the camaraderie of the others. Music played softly in the background, a mix of jazz and classical. Rocky had confiscated some of Dahlia’s favorite CDs from her collection.

Stone had a sudden, intense memory of dancing in the rose garden with Dahlia on summer nights. Dancing in the moonlight, with only the stars for company and a CD player for the soft music she loved.

And when she’d touched him, the world had spun and split and lightning had flashed.

He sighed heavily, his thoughts stumbling reluctantly back to the present. Stone knew Dahlia couldn’t help what she felt—or what she believed. One of the doctors thought it could be a combination of her head injury and the trauma of Brooke’s death. That believing she was an angel was Dahlia’s own way of dealing with her grief.

And it was about time she did deal with it, Stone knew. For the past year, Dahlia had been in a major state of denial, behaving as though nothing had changed. When everything had.

Brooke was gone and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

Stone continued to stand there on the terrace, the relentless music stirring his blood and making him think about days, and nights, that weren’t all that long ago. And he had the urgent need to escape from all this family fun and togetherness.

Before he forgot this wasn’t real life.

Real life was hard work.

And if Stone hung around having fun and feeling relaxed and mellow, he would want more—and he’d want it to last.

And that wasn’t going to happen.

Because what was life without Brooke in it? What did it mean to live a normal life without his daughter here, too?

Stone’s thoughts strayed back to that August summer night, a year ago. They’d had a barbecue that evening, too. A big one, to celebrate Stone and Dahlia finally building a house of their own.

To celebrate...life.

It had felt so damned good to be alive that night, he remembered painfully. He had felt incredibly lucky. And incredibly blessed.

Blessed with good health and work he enjoyed. With men who were more than ranch hands, they were his friends. And with three brothers he wouldn’t trade a ton of gold for, no matter how irritating and meddlesome they could be.

But most of all he’d felt blessed to have Dahlia in his life—and to have fathered the two children he loved more than anything on this earth.

Field had been the only good thing that had come out of his disastrous first marriage. And Brooke had been the icing on the cake when he’d thought life couldn’t get any better after he’d married Dahlia.

He remembered that night a year ago this month, and how he’d been looking forward to having at least one more child. But that was back when he’d believed his kids would live to grow up.

When he’d believed he could keep his children safe and whole to grow up to live a full life.

Stone took a slow, deliberate swallow of the cold beer.

That next morning, Brooke had taken her horse out alone, without permission, the high-spirited, beautiful little mare he’d given her on her birthday just six weeks earlier. Firelight had been spooked by something—and had thrown Brooke headfirst into the river.

So okay, damn it, maybe he hadn’t been the most spontaneous and open-hearted of fathers this past year. That was still no reason for Dahlia to have accused him of neglecting his own child.

He didn’t want his little boy hurt. Did that make him hard? Or controlling?

Not in his mind, it didn’t.

He was a father trying to protect his son the best way he knew how.

Stone took another deep swallow of his beer. He didn’t have it in him to act as though nothing had happened to his little girl. He couldn’t go on living as though Brooke hadn’t died. He couldn’t pretend everything was just like before, that life could, and should, go on without her.

Because it couldn’t.

Because to go on without her was to leave Brooke behind.

“Hey—” his older brother, Blade, slapped a hand on his shoulder “—why so anti-social tonight?”

Stone glanced at him. And he felt raw suddenly, twelve months’ worth of healing ripped away to expose the fragility of what lay within. It was always like this as soon as he started to remember. As if Brooke had been killed only yesterday.

“You okay?” Concern was plainly written on Blade’s thin, angular face.

Stone shrugged, his gaze wandering across the terrace until he located Dahlia. She was wearing a stone-washed denim dress and red sandals, and she looked fantastic. Her blond hair was hanging loose, just brushing her shoulders, the moonlight and lantern light playing with the different shades of gold and wheat and tan.