“There’s a nice homeless shelter,” she said with wounded pride. “It isn’t much, but it has a good reputation. I’ve already talked to the woman who runs it, just in case.” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t make enough money for a really good apartment. Not yet. That’s why I was thinking about the military...”

Tad hugged her close. “No way are you going to go and get shot trying to take care of me,” he said firmly. “We’ll live on the streets if we have to. I can’t lose you, too, Clancey. I’ve lost everybody else.”

“Me, too,” she said on a sigh. She hugged him back. “We’ll do whatever we have to do.”

“If we have to go to the shelter, Cal won’t like it.”

“Cal won’t know,” she returned. “It’s closer than the house to your school and my work.” She drew back and forced a smile. “Not so far to walk,” she added.

He grimaced. “I guess.”

“I wish I was a better provider,” she began.

“You just hush,” Tad told her. “You’re the best sister in the whole world and I wouldn’t trade you for worlds.”

She flushed a little. “Thanks.”

He grinned up at her. “You’re welcome.”

Outside, a big SUV was just pulling in at the front walk. Clancey’s heart jumped. She told herself, and not for the first time, that this wasn’t a good idea. She and Banks worked together. It was dangerous, in more ways than one, to get involved with a coworker. There was probably a regulation somewhere about it.

Banks was thinking something similar. This had seemed like a good idea at the time, taking the kids out for a meal and some good music at a family restaurant. But he was getting cold feet. Clancey was a coworker. He shouldn’t have made the invitation in the first place.

He rapped on the door. Clancey opened it.

He just stared at her. She wasn’t really pretty, but she had a nice figure and a pretty mouth. She was abrasive, but she had a sweet nature.

“This is probably a bad idea,” he began.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” she blurted out. “Maybe we should...”

“Mr. Banks!” Tad exclaimed, running back down the hall from his room, pulling on his jacket as he came. “Gosh, this is nice of you! I love flan!”

Banks laughed in spite of his misgivings. “I have to admit, so do I,” he replied.

Clancey was noting the blue chambray shirt that covered his broad, muscular chest, the way his slacks clung to the hard muscles of his legs. He was wearing hand-tooled tan boots that matched the belt that held his service revolver in its holster. On the handle of the weapon was the famous Cinco Peso design of the Texas Rangers.