"Mama's dying, Billy!" she'd cried. "You have to come home."

"You said she has cancer, Emma," he'd replied, the calm voice of reason. "That takes years-"

"She's had it for years, Billy. They just found it. I tell you she's dying! I don't know what to do. I can't take care of her and the ranch and... everything. Come home, Billy. Please, come home."

He'd hung up and called his boss at the TSCRA and told him he needed some time off. He hadn't offered any explanation. His personal life was his own business.

"What about that case you're working on?" his boss had asked.

Billy was investigating what appeared to be a conspiracy among a group of ranchers who were stealing their own cattle, selling them in Mexico, and then collecting insurance for the loss. "The case'll have to wait," he'd said. "I won't be gone more than a week."

His trip was going to be even shorter than that, if he knuckled under to Blackjack's ultimatum.

Twenty-four hours.

It wasn't going to be nearly enough. Not to settle things with his mother and Emma and arrange to put the C-Bar up for sale. Maybe he ought to swallow his pride and explain the situation to Blackjack. Surely the man would back off.

Billy grunted deep in his throat. Jackson Blackthorne wasn't known for showing mercy. The instant he smelled blood, he'd go for the jugular. Better not to say anything just yet. Maybe the picture wasn't as bad as Emma had painted it.

His heart began to pound the way it always had in the past-with fear and anxiety-when he caught sight of the ramshackle wooden ranch house where he'd grown up, silhouetted in the light from the naked bulb that lit the front porch.

Home.

The good memories he had of the place were few and far between. It would have been difficult to return in any event, but he'd brought a little extra baggage... a son his mother and sister knew nothing about. He wondered-worried-what they would say. Maybe he should've told them sooner about Will, but he'd been afraid his mother might try and convince him to give Will up, and he didn't want his impressionable-and adoring-teenage sister to know that he'd fathered an illegitimate child.

He drove around to the back door and parked, surprised to see the kitchen light on at this hour of the night. It was nearly 3:00 a.m. He swore under his breath. He'd given up swearing out loud, so Will wouldn't pick up any bad habits. He'd hoped to get Will in a better mood before he had to introduce him to his family.

"We're home, Will," he said, as he turned to unbuckle the harness that had kept his son secured.

Will clambered toward him as Billy lifted his child into his arms. From the weight of the plastic diaper, it had been soaked several times. "I'm sorry, son," he muttered. "I'll get you dry as quick as I can."

Will stopped crying and snuggled against Billy's shoulder, his nose tucked against Billy's throat, his arms clasped around Billy's neck, his knees dug into Billy's chest. It always amazed him that his child trusted him so completely. He never wanted to lose that trust, never wanted his son to feel betrayed by him the way he'd felt betrayed by his stepfather.

Billy grabbed the diaper bag, which he'd learned never to be without, and headed for the kitchen door. He was careful to avoid the broken step as he hopped onto the covered back porch. To his surprise, the back porch light came on and the screen door screeched open.

"Billy? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Emma. It's me."

He was still blinded by the porch light, so he couldn't see more than her shadow before he stepped inside. He stuck his boot out to keep the screen door from slamming, then turned to greet his sister.

When he got a look at her, his jaw dropped.

Emma was six feet tall in her bare feet and slender as a reed-except where her sleeveless white cotton nightgown visibly bulged over her rounded belly.

"You're pregnant!"

She laid a protective hand over the child in her womb, pointed her chin at Will, and countered, "Whose baby is that?"

"You never mentioned you'd gotten married," he said.

"I'm not," she replied, meeting his gaze defiantly. "Is your wife with you?" She looked over his shoulder toward the door. "Is she coming in?"

"I'm not married, either," Billy said. Will was still clasped against him tighter than a leech, so it was pretty obvious they were together. "Will is my son."

"What happened to his mother?"

"We can talk about that later," Billy said. "I have to get Will dry and into bed."

"Where were you planning for him to sleep?" Emma asked.

"I've got a portable crib in the pickup. He can stay in my old bed until I get it set up." Billy set his Stetson on top of the refrigerator, then pulled the empty bottle from the diaper bag and said, "How about filling this with milk and warming it up, while I change his diaper."

"Sure."

He could feel Emma's eyes following him as he headed down the narrow hallway. He could imagine the questions careening through her mind. It was plain he wasn't the only one who'd been keeping secrets. He could hardly believe it. His teenage sister, unmarried and pregnant! As soon as he got his son in bed, he and Emma were going to have a serious talk.

Billy didn't want to flip on the overhead light in his bedroom, because it was a bare bulb. He felt his way in the dark to the cheap ceramic lamp beside his bed and turned it on. Nothing had changed in the two years he'd been gone, except a thick layer of dust had acc.u.mulated.

His old room was the size of a jail cell, and the ancient mattress on the iron-railed double bed sagged in the middle, which was convenient, because it made a safe well in which to lay his son.

Will protested being laid down, but Billy distracted him by saying, "That lady we just met is your aunt Emma." He unsnapped the legs of the cotton sleeper Will was wearing and continued, "She's warming a bottle for you right now. You can drink it while I put your crib together, and then you'll be able to settle down and get some sleep."

Billy had been terrified the first time he'd diapered his son. Will had been so tiny, and he'd felt so clumsy. Those days were long past. He ripped open the diaper tabs, lifted Will by the ankles and removed the diaper, then closed the heavily soaked disposable diaper plastic-side out with one hand and dropped it on the rag rug beside the bed.

He swiped Will's bottom clean with a Wet Wipe, powdered him, and taped on another diaper with masterful efficiency. Then he gave his son a buzzing raspberry on the stomach, listening for Will's chuckle and the feel of his son's hand clutching his hair.

By then, Emma had shown up with the warm bottle of milk. "Here you go," she said, handing it to Billy.

Billy offered the bottle to Will, who eagerly stuck the nipple in his mouth, holding it there with one hand while he twisted his fine black hair in the fingers of the other.

"Will you watch him while I go get the crib?" Billy asked.

"Sure," Emma said, easing onto the corner of the washed-out, k.n.o.bby-weaved bedspread.

Billy heard Will start to wail the instant he was out of sight and Emma's soft voice rea.s.suring him that Billy would return soon. He hurried out to the truck, grabbed the fold-up crib from the truck bed, and hauled it back inside to his bedroom.

Will pitched toward him the instant he reappeared, straining against Emma's hold, as though Billy had been gone for five months instead of five minutes.

Billy dropped the crib and took his son in his arms long enough to comfort him. "It's okay, Will. I'm not going to leave you."

Billy always felt bad when he had to leave his son in someone else's care, and he'd done it often enough that Will knew what was coming and cried not to be left behind. Billy ended up with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that didn't go away until he came back and retrieved his child. It was better now that he'd found Mrs. Caputo, the lady in the apartment down the hall from him in Amarillo, who loved Will like a grandson.

Billy lay Will back on his bed and said, "Hang in there, buddy. I'll have your crib together in no time."

It didn't take long to open the crib and put in the mattress, crib pads, sheet, and blanket. Billy was conscious of Emma watching him and fought the urge to start explaining himself-and confronting her about her pregnancy. When he was done, he picked Will up and settled him in the crib, tucking the blanket carefully around him, down one side, around his toes, and back up the other side.

"Snug as a bug in a rug," he said when he was done.

"Sing, Daddy," the boy said when Billy was done.

Billy glanced at Emma and felt himself flush. He'd read in one of the baby books he'd devoured in the months Debbie Sue had been pregnant, that it was a good idea to establish a bedtime ritual. So he had. He couldn't really blame Will for not understanding that he wanted to forgo it this once. "Not tonight, Will," he said.

"Sing, Daddy," Will insisted.

"It's late, Will."

"Sing sing sing!" Will demanded.

"You'd better sing to him, or he's going to wake up Mom," Emma said, an amused grin on her face.

Billy sat on the edge of the bed facing his son, cleared his throat, and sang in a deep baritone voice.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are.

Up above the world so high,

Like a diamond in the sky.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are.

The instant he was done, he popped up and leaned over the crib to tuck the blankets tight one last time. "Now good night," he said, bending over to kiss his son's forehead.

Will yawned and turned over, his hand still in his hair, the song signaling, as it had every day of his brief life, the end of their day together.

When Billy turned to gesture Emma out of the room, he discovered she'd already gone. Billy darkened the room and headed toward the kitchen for the showdown with his pregnant sister.

He found her sitting at the kitchen table peeling a banana. He lifted a brow and said, "Leg cramps?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"I've been through this," he reminded her.

"They woke me up," Emma explained past a mouthful of banana. "Figured I needed some pota.s.sium."

"At least you're taking care of yourself," Billy muttered. He wanted a cup of coffee, but the caffeine would keep him awake. He needed a stiff drink, but he'd been trying to rid himself of all the bad habits that had made his life so wretched before he'd left Bitter Creek. He no longer even smoked in the house, because it wasn't good for Will, and one of these days, he'd finally kick the habit.

But these were extraordinary circ.u.mstances.

"To h.e.l.l with it," he said, opening the cupboard over the ancient Amana refrigerator. Sure enough, he found a half-full bottle of Wild Turkey. He opened the cupboard to the left of the sink and got himself a jelly jar and poured a finger of liquor into it and set it on the table. He pulled out a chrome kitchen chair and turned it around, flattening the sharp edges of torn white vinyl before he straddled it.

He said nothing, just sipped the bourbon, liking the familiar taste of it, the comforting warmth of it as it slid down his throat. He watched Emma consume the entire banana and carefully fold the peel into a heap in front of her on the red Formica table.

"Are you all right?" Billy asked. "I mean, have you had any trouble with your pregnancy?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. I haven't been sick much. Just a little nausea and leg cramps once in a while." She glanced at him and said, "Will was quite a surprise. Why didn't you tell me?"

Billy and Emma had been close. At least, as close as a brother and sister could be with the seven-year difference in their ages. He'd stayed in Bitter Creek long after he'd yearned to leave, because he'd wanted her to graduate from high school and get a job before he left her alone to make her way in the world.

But two years ago he'd seen his chance and taken it, leaving her unprotected. And look what had happened. He felt guilty and angry and frustrated at the curves life kept throwing him. Her pregnancy was going to complicate everything. Twenty-four hours, h.e.l.l. He'd be lucky to get out of this G.o.dforsaken place in twenty-four months.

"I want to know what sonofab.i.t.c.h took advantage of you," he said, struggling for the rational tone of voice that had been so easy over the phone.

"It wasn't like that, Billy," Emma said. "I love him."

"Obviously the feeling isn't mutual," he shot back.

He heard her swallow several times and felt the knot growing in his own throat. He ought to pull her into his arms and comfort her. It was easy enough to hug Summer. But that was probably because she always made the first move. It was different with Emma.

Hugs were awkward things between Coburns. He'd made sure Johnny Ray didn't beat up on Emma, but that didn't mean she'd gotten any affection.

And she'd been a freak in high school, way taller than most of the boys and skinny as a bed slat, with a head of garish red hair. He'd tried to comfort her, to tell her she'd grow into her body and be pretty someday. But it hadn't happened before he'd left two years ago.

Now, G.o.d help him, she was downright beautiful.

It was no wonder some cowboy had come wooing, or that she'd fallen into bed with the first man who'd offered her some attention.

Billy blamed himself for her predicament. If he'd been home where he belonged, no lazy, care-for-nothing cowboy would have been able to take advantage of his sister.

But she'd said she loved the guy.