“I’ll take care of it,” Katie said. “It’s on me.” She ignored Trevor’s offer of money and found her purse wedged between half-filled boxes on the kitchen counter. As she and Tiffany headed outside; Katie glanced up at the upper story of the carriage house, the place Luke temporarily called home. How would it be to live so close to him, to know that he was only a few short footsteps away? She thought again for a second about making love to him on the parlor floor and decided she couldn’t dwell on the future or what, if any, kind of relationship she had with him. Only time would tell.

* * *

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you again. How’s it going out there?” Ralph Sorenson’s voice was loud, and filled with anticipation.

Luke had steeled himself for this phone call—a call he hadn’t wanted to make. “It’s going,” he replied, hedging. “Renovations on the ranch house have started and I should be moving out to the spread in a month or two.”

“So what about the other? Have you found out if Dave had a kid like he hinted at?”

Luke heard the note of eager enthusiasm in the older man’s voice, could almost see Ralph’s aging fingers curl, white-knuckled around the receiver. “I’m not certain yet,” Luke admitted, “but I’ve got a couple of leads. Good ones. As soon as I know for sure, I’ll let you know.”

“It means a lot to me,” Ralph said. “It’s all I have left of my boy.”

“I know. I’m working on it. Trust me.” Luke heard the old man sigh and felt like a heel. How had he gotten himself roped into this mess? He turned the conversation to the weather, the price of feed, a new virus that was infecting cattle herds in west Texas—anything but the topic of David Sorenson’s child. Stretching the telephone cord so that he could look out the window to where Josh Kinkaid and Stephen Santini were playing one-on-one at a basketball hoop hung on the garage, he leaned his shoulder against the window.

The older kid was winning by a lot, but Josh, even though he still hobbled a little, wasn’t a slouch. Luke hated the thought, but he would bet dollars to doughnuts that the kid was Dave’s. His age was perfect, and Katie acted so oddly—like she couldn’t wait to change the subject—whenever the question of Josh’s paternity came up. She’d also been blown away when she’d learned about Dave’s death—had turned white as a sheet. Hell, what a mess.

But he couldn’t prove it. He suspected only one person knew the truth.