Clancey moved down to the ranch with Tad and invited the Martins to move into the house Morris had owned. Their own little house was falling apart. The roof leaked and the plumbing was failing, along with the wiring. They accepted gratefully and insisted on paying rent. Clancey agreed, to save their pride, but she set the amount at a figure they could easily afford.

“That was nice of you, to let the Martins live in the house,” Brenda commented when she came down on the weekend to visit with Colter and Clancey and Tad.

“A house needs to be lived in,” Clancey said simply. “And they’re such sweet people.”

“Yes, they are.” Brenda cocked her head and looked at them. She smiled. “You look good together.”

“Thanks,” Colter chuckled.

“Grace went back to South America two days ago,” she continued. She made a face. “After reminding me again that nice women don’t wear short skirts.”

“Nice men don’t carry guns, either,” Colter mused. “Or so she said.”

“You are so nice,” Clancey replied, and hugged him close.

He wrapped his long arms around her. “I’m glad you think so, honey.”

“I think you’re nice, too, Colter,” Tad said with a grin. He’d come into the living room with both Miss Kitty and Bumblebee, the kitten. They followed him everywhere now. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a Texas Ranger, just like you.”

“I’m very flattered,” Colter said, and smiled at the boy. “How’s the homework coming along?” he added.

“Awww, Colter, it’s just Saturday,” he groaned.

“And if you get your homework done, you can game all weekend,” Colter returned.

“I didn’t think of that.” Tad laughed. “Okay.” He ran back down the hall to his room. The cats galloped after him.

“Oh, you have a way with kids,” Brenda remarked gaily. She studied them. “You two going to have kids?”

They nodded. They smiled.

“I’m always available to babysit,” she replied with a big smile.

“We’ll remember,” Colter promised.

“We have another cat who needs housing,” Brenda began.

“We have two cats,” Colter pointed out.

She sighed. “The more the merrier?” she asked hopefully.

“Suppose we think about it?” Clancey asked, and sighed as she snuggled close to her husband.

“We can think about it,” he agreed.

Brenda grinned.

They had a new kitten, an uproarious birthday celebration for Clancey the first week of December, when she turned twenty-four, and a wonderful Christmas celebration with a nine-foot artificial tree and company and lots of presents. Then, three months later, Clancey came home on Saturday morning after an appointment with Dr. Louise Coltrain.

“You look... I don’t know, worried,” Colter said, taking her gently by the shoulders. “Is something wrong?” he added, and now he looked worried, too.

“The rabbit died.”

His eyebrows arched. “You killed a rabbit?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” she began. “You know, a metaphor.”