There’s more to the story. While I was in Texas, I fell in love with Dana Shayne. I didn’t stay because I was to marry Jocelyn, a choice I’ve never regretted. But I recently learned I’d fathered a child. I’m thrilled, but I regret that I’ll never be able to see my son, Evan. So I’m asking you to go in my place. I’ve set up a trust for the boy so he’ll be taken care of. But he needs to know his family.
I know it’s a lot to ask, but please, Jared, don’t let Father in Evan’s life. I’m afraid of what he might try to do if he learns about him. You can’t let GH ruin another Hastings.
Also, San Angelo just may have some answers for you, too. I’m sorry I’m not around to help, but read Mother’s letter. It explains a lot of things.
Always,
Your brother,
Marsh
Jared couldn’t believe what he’d read. He ran his hand over his face, not surprised to find tears. Marsh had a son. A child he would never know. With a shaky hand, he reached for the yellowed envelope addressed to Audrey Trager, opened the flap and took out the single sheet of stationery along with a picture. It was a younger version of his mother.
Dressed in brightly colored Western clothes, Audrey Trager wore a rhinestone crown on top of her blond hair. The white ribbon draped across her had the bold lettering, Western Days Rodeo Queen 1971. Next to her stood a tall man dressed in jeans and a Western-tooled shirt. He had dark hair, partly covered by a large black Stetson. Grinning at the camera, he had Audrey pressed against his side.
On the back of the photo, was written, “Audrey Trager, Western Days Rodeo Queen, and Jack Randell, bull-riding champion.” Jared then unfolded the single piece of paper that had only one paragraph.
Audrey,
I’m sorry to hear your news, but I told you from the beginning that all I could give you was a few good times. Now it’s time I move on. As for the baby, you’re on your own. Guess I forgot to mention I’m already married. So you might want to get rid of the kid.
Jack Randell
Jared’s heart pounded in his chest as he reread the paragraph that suddenly changed everything. He checked the postmark, six months before his birth date. Damn, he wasn’t Graham Hastings’s son. That explained so much. The man’s anger, the resentment…the hatred. Jared glanced down at his fisted hand and the crumpled letter inside it.
So he’d been passed off to one bastard by another. To another man who didn’t want him. As if he had a choice about who his father was. It didn’t sound like Jack Randell was any better at the job.
But that didn’t stop Jared from wanting to find out the truth.
Chapter One
She was doing this for Evan’s sake.
Dana Shayne dreaded the trip into town, but it had to be done. She closed the door to the house and walked down the porch steps with her four-year-old son in tow. Evan’s dark, wavy hair was neatly combed for a change, and his best jeans and striped T-shirt had been freshly laundered. On his quickly growing feet, he wore his black-tooled cowboy boots that Bert had taught him—to her dismay—to spit-shine.
Her son looked up at her. “I saved my ’lowance, Mom. Can we get ice cream?” he asked, using his best, how-can-you-resist-my-face? look. Then he added a few blinks over his chocolate-brown eyes.
Dana doubted they’d have anything to celebrate today, but she wouldn’t deny him the simple pleasure of an ice-cream cone. “Sure we can, honey. That sounds good.”
She opened the door to her daddy’s old 1970 Ford crew cab truck and helped Evan into the safety seat in the back, then went around to the other side. She checked her gathered print skirt and white short-sleeve cotton top. Already the late-spring weather caused her to perspire, and today of all days she needed to look cool and confident. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Wilson at the bank to see her sweat.
Dana started up the truck and headed toward San Angelo. Passing the Lazy S Ranch sign that her granddaddy had put up years ago when he’d settled in West Texas, she suddenly felt sad. How much longer would a Shayne own this land? This had been her and Evan’s only home. How could she leave it? But since her father’s death, she and the sixty-five-year-old foreman, Bert, couldn’t handle the place alone, and not many ranch hands would work for what she could afford to pay.
Dana had hoped to expand the cattle operation. Maybe if she had done it a year ago, she’d be able to pay the upcoming balloon mortgage payment. But there wasn’t enough money. As if on cue, the truck hit a rut in the road and she groaned. So many things around the ranch needed fixing, not just the road, but the roof on the house and barn, along with most of the fencing.
Dana sighed. Somehow she had to convince the bank that if they lent her more money, she could make a go of it.
“Hey, Mom,” Evan called from the back seat. “I’m gonna get pep’mint.”
Dana smiled and turned to her son. “Peppermint sounds good. I think I’ll have that, too.” She couldn’t believe how fast her baby had grown. He’d soon turn five, and this fall he’d be heading off to kindergarten. No doubt the separation would be tougher on her than her son.
A horn sounded and Dana turned back to the road only to discover she had wandered into the path of another vehicle. With a gasp, she jerked the wheel to pull the truck back on her side. Overcompensating, she ended up going off the shoulder and into the high grass. The truck bumped and bounced but she managed to keep it under control until it finally stopped. That’s when she heard the screech of tires, followed by a crash.
With her heart beating like a drum, Dana managed to put the truck in Park and unbuckle her seat belt. She turned around to Evan. “Are you okay?” Her hands were shaking as she reached for him. She caressed his face, trying to soothe his fears.
“Mom, that was scary.”
She saw the fear in his eyes and his trembling lip. She stroked his arm soothingly. “I know, honey, but we’re okay.” She didn’t want to remove him from his safety seat, not until she checked on the other vehicle. “Mom needs to check on the people in the other truck. So you have to stay here.”
The child nodded. “Hurry, Mom.”
“I will,” she promised as she climbed out of the cab. Her legs were weak, threatening to give out, but she gathered her strength, knowing someone could be seriously hurt. She raced across the deserted two-lane road to the late-model Chevy extended cab with Nevada plates. With the new highway, hardly anyone used this road, not unless they were coming to the Lazy S. Seeing the bent hood and hearing the sound of steam from the radiator, she knew there could be serious injuries.
“Oh, God, please, don’t let anyone be hurt,” she chanted as she ran to the driver’s door and found a man slumped against the wheel. When she jerked the door open, he started to lift his head and groaned. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
“Wait! Don’t move, you could be hurt.”
“If a devil of a headache counts, I’m dying.”
Dana watched as the man raised his head all the way and turned toward her. He had thick, raven-black hair and deep blue eyes. He had at least a day’s growth of beard, but not enough to hide the cleft in his chin. She didn’t see any sign of injury or blood.
“Do you hurt anywhere other than your head?” She examined his broad shoulders and his chest covered by a denim shirt. Her gaze moved down over long, muscular legs encased in faded jeans. On his feet he wore crepe-soled work shoes, instead of the area’s standard cowboy boots.
“No, and if the air bag hadn’t gone off, I’d have been fine.”
Somewhat relieved, she finally noticed the evidence of the deflated bag hanging from the steering wheel. “It probably saved your life.”
The