His boy’s face and hands were covered in dirt and his hair was askew as if he’d run his fingers through it. His jeans and T-shirt were soaked in sweat and his boots covered in mud. Rode hard and put up wet.

“How’d the job go?” Bragg couldn’t help a smile.

Mitch glanced up and met his gaze. “Good.”

“They drag you through the mud?”

A slight grin tugged the edge of his mouth. “I’m working with a couple of horses. Nags, really. One has a bad attitude.”

The black one. “That’s your job?”

His muscles didn’t constrict with customary strain. “For starters. Today I was in the field. Dude name José showed me how to weed.”

Not she. Not Greer. “You like the boss?”

“Hard to read. Kind of edgy but shoots straight.”

“José?”

“No. Greer.” As tempted as he was to press for details about Greer, he held back.

Mitch sat on the hearth and tugged off his boots. Bragg had wondered why any Central Texas builder would put a fireplace in a house. The temperatures rarely dipped below fifty even in the dead of winter, and he’d never built a fire in the damn thing. They both used it as Mitch was now: a way station to pull off or stow dirty boots.

“Judging by your clothes I’d say it’s been a good day’s work.”

“Not bad.”

“Get yourself washed up, and I’ll make us a couple of burgers.”

“Sounds good.”

Bragg watched his nephew vanish down the hallway toward the bathroom. There was a small spring in his step he’d never seen before. Mitch might not ever recapture the naïve youth he’d had before Iraq, but a bit of the darkness had lifted.

Greer had bought those nags for Mitch. She’d said the boy’s hiring had been a favor, a promise to her late aunt. He supposed he should be grateful she’d reached out to Mitch.

But why Mitch? Why now? The Ranger would not let the man enjoy this good fortune and simply let go of the gnawing suspicion tugging at his gut.

Most nights Greer crawled into bed by eleven, her body too tired to function. Often her aunt had said she was pushing herself too hard but Greer hadn’t agreed. The way she figured it, the more she crammed into her life the more she believed she’d make up the time Jeff and Sydney had lost.

Earlier in the evening she’d been working on the books and fatigue had struck with such force, she’d broken a rule and made a strong pot of coffee after two in the afternoon. The caffeine kick would throw her off but she’d needed to crunch numbers.

That burst of energy now exacted a price of worry and restless energy.

Hoping to relax, she’d showered and donned an oversize T-shirt that skimmed her thighs. Damp hair hung around her shoulders, and she’d traded contacts for glasses. But relaxation escaped her.

So here she sat, wired, her mind tripping back through the day analyzing every detail. A sample tasting had revealed the grapes were sweetening on schedule. Science helped determine peak flavor, but much of the process remained up to educated guess. A wrong guess—too sweet or too sour—meant a less-than-successful harvest and loss of much-needed profits.

Her mind skipped from grapes to the new hand. Mitch. He’d done well today. Quiet, he’d remained to himself but he’d kept a close eye on the horses, and he’d worked to complete the corral expansion. There’d been times during the day when he hammered so hard, she wondered if he pounded nails or nightmares. He’d worked to exhaustion far past the five o’clock quitting time.

Too early to tell if she’d made the right choice with Mitch, but, as with the grapes, all the analysis and thought simply translated into a gut feeling and hope.

The last time she’d reached out to really help another boy, she’d chosen Rory. She’d been filled with youthful optimism and a deeply rooted need to atone. She’d thought then if she could save him, she could somehow make up for the loss of Jeff and Sydney. And so she’d poured her heart and soul and love into him, and he’d lapped it up like a starving man. For weeks she’d thought perhaps she’d found a savior in Rory. Together they would heal.

Though Rory said all the right words about change and a brighter future, his actions told a different story. He was such a beautiful boy, and he caught everyone’s attention. The girls wanted him. The men resented him. At first she’d convinced herself the attention wasn’t important to him because he only had eyes for her.

But in the coming weeks, she realized he craved attention as much as he had drugs. He often stopped to speak to the girls and savored their flirting. Several times she’d spotted him lurking around the medical center, his expression lean and hungry. She’d known if not for her, he’d have stolen whatever could be sold or traded for a high. Never enough attention. Never enough drugs.

And then he’d left camp, and his promises to stay in touch had been forgotten.

Greer drew in a tight breath. She’d thought the years had softened the old wounds but seeing Mitch today had brought so much back. His eyes glistened with the same dullness she’d seen in Rory’s. The urge to rescue had risen up strong.

Mitch, like Rory, came with a family that did not trust or particularly like her. Whereas David Edwards had intimidated her twelve years ago, now she could handle him. Tec Bragg was another matter. He had a distinctive energy about him. Caged and prowling, it moved under the stony façade like an animal.

“Bragg,” she muttered as she pushed her hair off her face and sat back against the pillows.

If Ranger Tec Bragg was a likeable man, then he did a great job of hiding it. He wore the Ranger’s traditional attire but she sensed he’d chafed at the uniform. A tall, powerful man, he didn’t suffer fools gladly. Though she’d dealt with enough men like him in the fields and on the construction crews, she doubted any she’d ever encountered matched him in tenacity.

She reached for her laptop and searched Ranger Tec Bragg’s name, really not sure what would pop up. To her surprise there was an eight-month-old article about Bragg’s working on the border. A cartel had crossed into Texas and killed a half dozen Mexican nationals and two border agents. Bragg and a couple of other Rangers tracked the shooters to a small town miles inside the Texas border. The article had said there’d been fierce fighting. A standoff in a warehouse. The survivors would have been overrun if not for Bragg, who positioned himself on top of a vehicle with a rifle equipped with a night scope, and had fired. He’d received tremendous return fire, but he’d not flinched. He’d held his position until help had arrived.

It wasn’t what the article said that caught her attention but the image of Bragg leading a man away in cuffs. Bragg’s cheek was bleeding as if it had been slashed with a knife and his T-shirt was covered in dirt and blood. His expression was fierce to the point of feral.

Greer stared at the computer image of Bragg. His dark eyes projected an anger contacting like a bare-knuckled fist.

Had she made a mistake tangling with Bragg? No matter, she’d set out on a course and would not stop now. She could only hope he stayed clear of the vineyard. But with Mitch she’d be seeing him again.

She slid under the covers, hoping if she closed her eyes the caffeine would take pity and let her sleep. “Just a few hours,” she muttered. “Not much time. Barely a little.”

Breathing deeply, in and out, as she’d been taught so many years ago, her body did relax. She focused on breath and let the day go.

Soon she was asleep.

But slumber did not bring relief. Instead of blissful oblivion she found herself back behind the wheel of her brother’s new red sports car.

Her manicured hands clutched the wheel and the wind blew her blond hair. She felt free. Grown up. Her brother was in the back. And beside Elizabeth, Sydney lay with her head against the headrest.