He chuckled. “Thanks. I’ve got a good crew.” He cocked his head. “You going to be okay over the weekend?”

“Yes. We’ve got plenty of food in the freezer, and I’ll feel like cooking by tomorrow. The fish is wonderful,” she added.

“I’m glad you like it. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks again.”

He threw up his hand on the way out.

When she woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of voices in her kitchen. One was Tad’s, excited and talkative. The other was deep and slow and amused. Banks!

She sat up in bed, delighted to note that it didn’t hurt anymore. She could even take a deep breath without a coughing fit. The wonder of modern medicine, she thought warmly.

She started to get up just as Banks walked into the room with Tad. He was carrying a plate with a pecan waffle and bacon.

She caught her breath. “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed, fighting tears. “It’s my very favorite...!”

“So Tad said. Don’t stand on ceremony. Dig in!” He handed her the plate and a syrup bottle.

“You angel,” she said to Banks, and flushed a little at the way he smiled.

His black eyes had lowered to her blue pajama jacket. She flushed and turned away quickly, putting her plate on the end table before she climbed quickly into bed and pulled up the covers.

“Heavens, you and Cal are spoiling us!” she exclaimed with a grin as she dug into her treat. She closed her eyes and moaned with delight. “I love waffles!”

He was studying her with a faint frown, his eyes narrow and thoughtful. She was joyful at the simplest things, like a child. It always seemed to surprise her when people were kind to her. He wondered suddenly what her life had been like, before she ended up being Tad’s only support. Those broken ribs he’d learned about in the hospital worried him. She’d never spoken of being in an accident. Clancey was mysterious, in her way.

“Mr. Banks says that Texas Rangers go all over the world on cases, Clancey!” Tad said, breaking the silence.

“Yes, we do,” Colter chuckled. “It’s an interesting job.”

“Dangerous, though,” Clancey said involuntarily.

“Most jobs that involve guns are dangerous,” he said easily. “However, my sister counters that anybody who works with dogs and cats is in a dangerous profession. She’s got scars.”

“Scars?” Tad asked, all ears.

He chuckled. “She’s been bitten, clawed, climbed, knocked down, dragged and otherwise abused by a succession of unwilling patients at the vet clinic where she works,” he explained. “But she loves it. We always had pets at home, when we were young.”

“Do you have pets?” Tad asked.

He nodded. “A big red Maine Coon cat named Miss Kitty. She sleeps on my shoulder every night.”