Justice

by Patricia Rosemoor

about him. About her own foolishness in opening herself up to him again. About his being the only man she’d ever loved. She’d never stopped—not once through all those lonely years. She’d never even given another man a fair chance. Rather, she’d vested herself in work that was satisfying, and in the little family she had. Now everything had changed. Aunt Marlene and Uncle Jasper—her surrogate parents—were at odds with each other, might even divorce. Gray—closer than a first cousin, more like a brother—was gone, maybe for good. To get him back safely, the ranch would have to be divided, even as were the hearts of its owners. She feared nothing would ever be the same again. Everything really had changed, Reine thought with a lump in her throat; all but her work—and that would still be waiting for her. When this was over, she would throw herself into it completely. She would lose herself in helping other people’s children rather than the ones she didn’t have. Would probably never have. Most important, she would try to forget that Cash Abreu ever existed. Blindly staring into the room, she suddenly focused on what looked like some refuse in one corner. Frowning, she drew closer until she could make out a bedroll laid out as if it had been recently used. And, unless she was crazy, she smelled the lingering odor of food. Tamales? And something far less tempting—stale cigar smoke. Someone had been using the old mill for shelter and might be returning at any time. Uneasy, not up to...