Roughneck Cowboy. Marin Thomas

into water beads that sparkled in the firelight. She set the tote on the floor, draped her coat over the back of her chair, then sat down. Her eyes skipped over him, but when she spotted Charlie, she smiled. Travis waited for her to make eye contact with him, but instead she rummaged through the tote on the floor.

      Travis wasn’t a vain man, but working on an oil rig in the middle of the ocean gave him a year-round tan and a muscular physique. Add in his dark black hair and killer smile and, more often than not, women noticed him. He wasn’t sure if he should protest or laugh that he’d been passed over by plain Jane.

      “Food will be right up,” Beulah said, poking her head into the room. She switched her attention to the newcomer. “Sara, don’t you ever take a break from grading papers?”

      So plain Jane was a schoolteacher.

      The lady chuckled at Beulah’s comment, the husky sound conjuring up an image of a late-night necking session in the backseat of Travis’s truck. That he’d find anything interesting about a woman who wasn’t his usual type reminded Travis his love life of late had been dryer than Death Valley.

      He’d had one long-term relationship in his thirty years—Charlie’s mother. They’d dated for three years before Julie had become pregnant. He’d suggested they marry but Julie found one excuse after another to avoid a trip to the courthouse. A week after they’d brought Charlie home from the hospital, Julie had ditched them.

      No note. No call. Just gone.

      After Julie’s betrayal, Travis had stuck to flings. His two-week work rotation on oil rigs made trusting a girlfriend out of the question. Affairs were clean, quick and emotionless. And right now, Travis had bigger problems than his love life. Once he took care of business with Dominick Cartwright, his first priority was finding a nanny to care for Charlie.

      Once in a while Travis pondered what his life might be like if he didn’t have Charlie to raise. Most days she was a good kid and he never regretted being a single father—mainly because his mother had done most of the parenting. Now the full responsibility of raising Charlie sat squarely on his shoulders and he’d never felt more unprepared for anything in his life.

      “Here you go,” Beulah said, delivering their food. She tweaked Charlie’s nose, coaxing a half-smile from her. “Holler if you need anything else.”

      He took a bite of the burger and watched Charlie as she spooned cereal into her mouth. “How are the Froot Loops?”

      Another shrug. The rest of the meal passed in silence. When Travis finished his burger, he said, “I’m going to use the restroom.” He made it to the doorway when the schoolteacher’s sultry laughter rang out. He checked over his shoulder, but the woman was engrossed in the schoolwork she’d brought with her. Maybe he’d imagined the sound.

      When he entered the restroom, he did a three-sixty in front of the mirror. No embarrassing stains or rips in his jeans. No kick me note stuck to his sweatshirt. What had the schoolteacher found so damned funny?

      WHEN THE HUNKY MAN returned to the parlor, Sara pretended interest in her second-graders’ spelling tests. Through veiled eyes, she studied the man, noting his bare ring finger. She wondered if he was the little girl’s father. Uncle? Family friend? The absence of a bowlegged walk confirmed he was no cowboy, but his muscular build and deeply tanned face suggested he made his living outdoors.

      The imp fidgeted in her seat, peeking at Sara every few seconds. Oh, dear. The child realized she had an audience. When Beulah delivered her meal, Sara nodded toward the other diners and whispered, “Who are they?”

      “Came up from Houston to visit the little girl’s granddaddy.” Beulah motioned to Sara’s coffee mug. “More?”

      “Thanks.”

      Sara had just taken a bite of corn bread when Mr. Coppertone bent to pick up his napkin from the floor. The girl stuck out her tongue, wiggling the appendage like a worm on a fishhook. Sara giggled, but looked away before the child caught her staring. Her resolve to ignore the comedian lasted less than a minute. When she glanced up, two white straws protruded from the girl’s nose. Sara awarded her an A for creativity—the walrus face was priceless.

      The man stopped playing with his cell phone and scowled. “That’s not funny, Charlie.”

      Charlie. Unusual name for a girl.

      “Take the straws out of your nose.” His deep voice boomed. “Now.”

      The troublemaker pointed at Sara. “She thinks I’m funny.”

      Oh, you little stinker. Sara resisted the urge to duck her head. She offered a friendly smile, but the man’s scowl remained in place.

      “I don’t care if the world thinks you’re hilarious. Finish your cereal.”

      “I want to go home.” The pint-size rascal crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

      “Too late to turn back now. We’re in this for keeps.”

      His words coaxed a quiet sigh from Sara. What she wouldn’t give to find a handsome man who wanted to be in it for keeps with her.

      THE GRAVEL ROAD LEADING to the Lazy River Ranch felt like a dark, endless tunnel. Travis battled another round of second thoughts as they bumped along the path. Should he have phoned and given the old man a heads-up about his and Charlie’s visit? Or should he have waited until after the holidays to drop in? He shoved his worries aside. Dominick Cartwright didn’t deserve any courtesies from him.

      What if your father didn’t know you existed all these years?

      Travis had considered the possibility, but it was easier to assume Dominick had wanted nothing to do with him than to believe his mother—the woman who’d raised him single-handedly all these years—had denied him a relationship with his father.

      “When are we gonna be there?”

      No sooner had Charlie spoken than the ranch house came into view. Halogen lights lit the circular drive crowded with cars. Damn, he’d crashed a party. He parked by the empty coral.

      From a distance, the barn appeared old but in pristine condition. He’d have expected an oil baron to possess a state-of-the-art aluminum-sided structure with central air and all the high-tech stuff. Maybe the small cattle herd they’d driven past was just for show. He switched his attention to the house. Light poured through the windows of the white two-story home with a wraparound porch.

      “Well, I’ll be,” he mumbled when a hound dog limped from around the corner of the house.

      Charlie unsnapped her seat belt and pressed her nose to the windshield. “What’s wrong with him?”

      “Probably just old.”

      “He looks sad.”

      The dog barked once, swished its tail, then disappeared inside the barn. “I guess that means we’re welcome.”

      “Aren’t we going in?” Charlie asked.

      How did a father explain to his little girl that he was scared spitless?

      You’re doing this for Charlie.

      If he could fool himself into believing that, then he wouldn’t have to acknowledge his own need to know if he’d ever mattered to the man who’d sired him. The decision to stay or leave was taken out of his hands when the front door opened and two men stepped outside. They stood beneath the porch light and stared in Travis’s direction. A moment later, they shuffled down the steps and headed across the driveway.

      “Stay put, Charlie.” Travis cut the engine and got out of the truck. One man walked with a cowboy swagger, the other possessed the steady gait of a confident businessman.

      As they drew near, the swaggering cowboy spoke. “Need directions?”

      Hardly. “I’m here to see Dominick Cartwright.”

      Both men stopped a few yards away. Travis didn’t