Her Hill Country Cowboy. Myra Johnson

though. She’s cookin’ up a storm for the barbecue.”

      “I’ve been smelling the brisket all morning.” Christina’s stomach underscored her remark with a loud growl.

      Bryan guffawed. “I’ll take that as a compliment!” He ambled over to a shelf and poked around. “Say, that dog of yours sure made a hit with Joseph. Just came from the house, and he had to tell me all about how Gracie kept him from being scared while Omi doctored his hand.”

      Christina’s chest warmed. She bent to give Gracie a hug around the neck and inhaled the comforting, musky-sweet scent of dog fur. “She’s sure been a blessing to me.”

      Tugging a flat, oblong box from the shelf, Bryan asked, “How long have you had her?”

      “Ever since I got out of rehab after the accident.” Glancing away, Christina exhaled slowly as the memories resurfaced. “For a while, I was terrified to even ride in a car, much less drive again. But with Gracie beside me...somehow she keeps the fear at bay.”

      “Interesting. Sorry to say I didn’t know much about service dogs for your kind of trauma before Marie explained how Gracie helps you.” Lips skewed, Bryan looked toward the open door. “I worry about Seth’s kids. Worry about him, too.”

      “That’s understandable.” Christina hesitated. “I guess you know in my former life I was a social worker. My specialty was children and families.”

      “Yeah, Marie mentioned it was on your job application.” A nervous look flickered behind his eyes. “Best you don’t bring it up around Seth, though. He’s not too keen on social workers.”

      “Really? Why?” Christina couldn’t fathom why any parent with kids as emotionally wounded as Seth’s would refuse whatever help he could find.

      “Long story,” Bryan said with a sigh, “and I probably shouldn’t be telling it, but since Seth won’t talk about it, seems somebody ought to.”

      He set down his box, pulled over a step stool and plopped down. Speaking in hushed tones, and with repeated glances toward the door, he described how Georgia Austin’s career had taken off and she’d urged Seth to move the family to Minneapolis. He’d refused, insisting their home was here in Juniper Bluff, and if she truly loved him and the kids, she wouldn’t need a fancy job in a big city to feel complete.

      “Seth fought long and hard to save his marriage,” Bryan went on. “Fought even harder for custody of those kids. Then Georgia got sick, and that’s when a social worker stepped in. She convinced Georgia the kids would be better off with Georgia’s sister and her husband, who had a nice home in Tulsa and boy-and-girl twins a couple years older than Joseph.”

      “A ready-made family,” Christina acknowledged with a nod.

      “Exactly. A far sight better, in her opinion, than placing the kids with an angry, broken single dad and his aging grandparents on a barely-making-it guest ranch.”

      “Obviously, Seth won.”

      Bryan’s mouth hardened. “Almost didn’t. Between the social worker and the high-powered lawyers Georgia’s family hired, he had the fight of his life.” Groaning, he pushed to his feet and hefted the box he’d come for. With a kindly but pointed glance at Christina, he stated, “So, like I said, best not mention the social worker thing around Seth.”

      Left alone in the storeroom, she massaged her hip while pondering everything she’d learned about this troubled family in the three short days since her arrival. Her initial thoughts about God’s having brought her here for a reason now gave way to doubt, because she suspected Seth would never be open to the kind of help she’d been trained to give.

      For all the good her training had done her personally. The adage physician, heal thyself played through her mind. A master’s degree and four years’ on-the-job experience hadn’t prepared her for the aftermath of the accident that nearly cost her life—and not only hers but that of the innocent child in her care.

      A stabbing pain arced through her skull. Even with both fists pressed to her temples, she couldn’t halt the parade of images behind her eyelids, or the voices screaming in her head.

      “I’m taking Haley to the hospital, Mr. Vernon. Please don’t try to stop me. The police are on their way.”

      “She’s my kid! You got no right to lay a hand on her!”

      But the brute of a man already had, and more than once, judging from the blood and bruises. As Christina carried the sobbing child toward the car, the ominous click of a shotgun hurried her steps. She’d barely gotten Haley buckled into a child safety seat when the first blast from the gun rang in her ears.

      Before the second shot, she was behind the wheel, gunning the engine and barreling down the potholed lane.

      She never even saw the loaded dump truck bearing down on them, only heard the scream of the horn, her own terrified shriek, and the crunch of collapsing metal and shattering glass before everything went black.

      At Gracie’s whimpers and insistent nudges, Christina wrapped her trembling arms around the dog’s neck. Without the strength to stand, much less get herself to her cabin, she could do nothing more than hold on and wait—pray!—for the memories to pass. As she had every moment of her life since that day, she thanked God that little Haley Vernon had suffered only a broken arm as a result of the crash. The child now resided with a loving aunt and uncle in South Carolina, safely beyond her abusive father’s reach.

      From somewhere far away, a man’s voice penetrated. “Christina, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

      She lifted her head and met Seth’s worried gaze. Ignoring the high-pitched hum in her ears, she dredged deep for what little control she could muster. “I’m...fine. A dizzy spell, that’s all. I—I think I’m dehydrated.”

      Before she could blink twice, a bottle of water appeared in Seth’s hand—where it came from, she had no idea. Kneeling in front of her, he unscrewed the top and helped her tip the bottle to her lips. “Better? Honestly, you don’t look so good.”

      The kind and gentle Seth was back, but much as she appreciated this side of him, right now she’d have preferred a little more gruffness. If he were any nicer to her, she’d melt into a soggy puddle of tears. With great care, she forced herself to stand. “Really, I’m okay. I just need to lie down for a while.”

      “And eat something. It’s past noon.” He tucked a steadying hand at her elbow, which was a good thing because her legs felt like overcooked noodles. “I’m sorry I left you by yourself earlier. Let me walk you to your cabin.”

      If she refused, he might end up scraping her off the path and towing her to the cabin in his utility wagon. To keep her dignity intact, she muttered a terse “Okay, thanks,” and hoped he didn’t notice how heavily she leaned on him. “Let’s go, Gracie.”