Mr Serious. Danica Winters

as Winnie pushed past. The woman had barely spoken to him since they had left the hospital. Pissed didn’t even seem like a strong enough word to express the vibe she was sending his way. It was going to be a long week at the ranch. He’d thought war zones were bad, but at least there he wasn’t the sole focus of a woman’s wrath.

      His mother stepped up beside him, and as she noticed him watching the woman, she chuckled. “Don’t worry about Christina—she’ll come around. She’s just a bit protective of Winnie, that’s all.”

      “Christina?” He let out a long breath. “As in Alli’s sister, Christina?”

      “The one and only. She’s been a real asset to the ranch. Didn’t you recognize her?”

      He’d only ever seen pictures of Alli’s sister. Alli had made sure to keep him at arm’s length from her family—when he had suggested having them at their wedding, it was in that moment Alli unilaterally decided they should elope. He should have seen it as a warning that she had some issues, but no, love had made him blind. So blind he hadn’t noticed when she had started to keep him isolated; after a couple of years he never saw his friends or even his brothers.

      If he’d been smarter, he would have seen what she was really doing—using him to take care of her while she pursued another man. As much as he had the right to, he didn’t hate her. Emotions were crazy, and love was even more illogical. Not that he still loved her. No. That feeling had died the moment he’d left the ranch and run away to the military. The day he signed his papers was the day he had let his past go—that was, until now.

      Christina turned around, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, and glared at him. “For some reason, Winnie is asking about you. You may want to go see her.”

      He could almost hear the hiss in her words. Yep, she hated him. Sweet.

      He sighed, and his mother gave his arm a little squeeze. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m telling you, her bark’s worse than her bite.”

      He had a feeling he would get the chance to see if his mother was right, but if Christina’s attitude toward him was any indication of her bite, he was sure he’d come away with at least a mark or two.

      Winnie sat at the table while Wyatt set about grabbing supplies for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As he walked to the table, Wyatt turned to Waylon. “Want one?” He lifted the jelly. “This is what you eat for lunch in the Girl Scouts, right?” His brother laughed.

      Stepping behind Winnie so she couldn’t see, he flipped his brother the bird. “It’s still better than a solid diet of doughnuts, Deputy.” He rubbed his stomach. “In fact, I think you’re growing a bit around the middle.”

      Wyatt laughed. “You need to move back to the ranch.”

      “You looking for someone to help you with your Dumb and Dumber act?” Waylon teased.

      The girl wiggled in her chair. “Yeah, Way-lawn.” She said his name like she had to think about each syllable on its own, and it made it sound like a children’s rhyme. “You come back. And you know what? We have party.”

      Waylon chuckled. “Is that right?”

      “Uh-huh,” she said with an overly exaggerated nod. “Way-lawn, you and me, we dress up. You help me?”

      He’d had bullets whiz by his head in active combat zones, and he’d stepped in front of high-value dignitaries, ready to give his life for the greater good, yet, as Winnie looked up at him, he couldn’t help the fear that rose within him. He had no idea what to do with a kid—especially a kid who wanted to do a craft project. Maybe he’d have more of a clue if she wanted to strip down an assault rifle, but costumes—he was totally out of his league.

      Christina gave a wry laugh from behind him. “Waylon doesn’t do that kind of thing, sweetheart. If you want, though, I can help you later.”

      He noted the jab she was taking at him, and he couldn’t help rising to the fight. “Nah, Ms. Winnie. Don’t you worry, I got you. You want a costume? I’m your man.” His stomach clenched as he thought about how ill equipped he was for the promise he’d just made.

      “Don’t you have a job to do? You know, trying to find my missing, fugitive sister? Or are you going to just let her get away with murdering the vet and William Poe’s wife?” Christina rebuked.

      She stared at him, and some of the anger that had filled her features seemed to melt away, replaced by shame. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, not waiting for him to talk. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just...just...”

      “Hurting,” he said, finishing her thought.

      She sighed, not admitting he was right, but he could see from the way her posture softened that he’d hit the truth. Of course she would be hurting and scared, and probably overwhelmed. Her sister was her only family, since their mother had passed away a few years back.

      “I want to find her. Alli needs to come home,” she said, her gaze moving to Winnie and the bandage on her arm.

      What was he missing? There was something happening that they weren’t telling him—he could feel it in the air.

      “What’s going on?” he asked, tired of skirting the issue.

      “Huh?” Christina looked up at him, a look of shock flashing over her features. “What do you mean?”

      “You guys are hiding something.” He turned to Wyatt, who all of a sudden seemed wholly consumed by the process of making another sandwich. “What is it that you don’t want me to know?”

      His mother walked into the kitchen, almost as if the question had beckoned her to the room. She glanced around at Christina and Wyatt, as if giving them some signal. “Everything’s fine, kiddo. We’re all just worried about Alli.”

      “Did she do something you aren’t telling me? I mean, besides murdering Bianca and that other woman and then going on the run?”

      His mother smiled. “It’s not what she did but what she didn’t do that is the problem.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      His mother touched his shoulder. “Just work on finding Alli. Then we can deal with everything else.”

      Some of the fondness he was feeling toward being home drifted away. He’d forgotten how the family always turned inward first—and because of his time away, he now stood outside the circle.

      “Look, why don’t we run over to the impound lot?” Wyatt said, waving the peanut butter–laden knife around in the air.

      “You’re not leaving me here alone to wonder what’s going on,” Christina pressed, but she glanced over at his mother with a question in her eyes.

      “Don’t worry, I’ll watch Winnie,” Eloise offered.

      Whatever was going on revolved around that little girl. Waylon glanced at Winnie. How was she involved with all of this? Was it possible she was Alli’s daughter? Was that why there was such a rush to find the woman—and why they had been adamant that he come home to help them in the search? He pushed the thoughts from his mind. Alli had always told him she was unable to get pregnant. The child couldn’t be hers.

      * * *

      THE IMPOUND LOT was attached to the prerelease center on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t much of a place. Wyatt punched in his key code, and the gate of the chain link–enclosed lot opened with a grinding sound. There was a collection of beat-up old cars and one late-model Mustang. Most of the jalopies had flat tires or shattered windshields, and more than a few had both. The lot even had a few campers that looked like they’d escaped the show Breaking Bad, complete with what Waylon was sure were meth labs inside.

      He chuckled, but his humor was short-lived as they drove around the corner and came into view of the convicts’ exercise yard. One of the prisoners looked over, and as he caught sight of Wyatt’s patrol unit, he spat