"Tell me who the baby's father is," he said. "I promise I won't do anything but talk to him."

She eyed him through a sheen of tears and said, "He's gone."

"Dead?"

She shook her head, her bright red hair whipping back and forth across her bare shoulders. "No. He's left Bitter Creek."

"And gone where?" Billy demanded.

"Away."

"That's convenient," he said. "I suppose once you've had the kid and put 'unknown' in the s.p.a.ce where the father's name is supposed to be, it'll be safe for him to come back."

He watched the flush of shame and humiliation rise on Emma's fair skin and felt guilty for putting her through the wringer. He was in no position to be lecturing her, when he was unmarried himself and the father of a fifteen-month-old son.

The same thought must have occurred to her, because she said, "You're in no position to talk, Billy."

"Both parents' names are on Will's birth certificate," he pointed out. As though that excused the fact he hadn't married his son's mother.

But Debbie Sue Hudson hadn't wanted to marry him. Or have his baby, for that matter. Billy knew what it felt like to be unwanted, and he'd been determined no kid of his was going to suffer that fate. So he'd taken his son, vowing to see to it that Will always felt loved.

So far, that had meant making sure his son was warm and dry and fed. He'd spent hours talking to Will about all the plans he had for his son's future, which was going to be promising, if Billy had anything to say about it.

Which was a far cry from his own childhood.

Billy hadn't mourned his stepfather when he'd died driving drunk three years ago. Oh, he'd shed a few tears after the funeral. But what he'd really been mourning was the lost dream of growing up with a father who loved him, instead of one who detested and demeaned him.

Which was why he'd been so adamant about protecting his son. And why his current situation was so dire.

He couldn't afford to lose his job with the TSCRA. He needed to be able to prove to a family court judge in Amarillo that he could provide a better home for Will as a single parent than Debbie Sue and her new husband could. The worst of it was, Debbie Sue didn't really want Will. She wanted money.

Sometime after Will's birth, Debbie Sue had overheard two bar patrons discussing how Billy had gotten his job with the TSCRA because he was Jackson Blackthorne's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son. She'd decided that with such rich relations, Billy was the goose that laid the golden egg. He'd been paying her a little bit every month to keep her off his back.

Four months ago she'd gotten married, and her new husband had seen the main chance. Debbie Sue had demanded that Billy pay her $50,000 to give up her parental rights. Otherwise, she threatened to haul him into court and seek custody of Will.

Billy was terrified that if push came to shove, she'd do what she said. And she'd win. After all, he'd been "Bad" Billy Coburn all his life. He'd stood before enough judges for doing the wrong thing that he'd seen how they operated. Judges listened to what you had to say, then did what they d.a.m.n well pleased. He didn't trust a one of them.

He had a high school diploma, and he'd taken a few night college courses in Amarillo, but that was the extent of his education. He had a job, but Blackjack had threatened to take that away from him-and would-if he didn't get out of Bitter Creek. He could get another job. But would it be good enough to convince a judge he was financially stable?

And he was a single male parent. Mothers usually got children who were as young as Will. Not always, of course. But often enough to make Billy's skin get up and crawl every time he thought of facing a judge who had the power to take Will away from him.

If he'd had the money, he'd gladly have paid it to Debbie Sue. He would even have swallowed his pride and gone to Blackjack for cash, if he'd thought there was a s...o...b..ll's chance in h.e.l.l he'd get it. But there wasn't.

Billy had no idea how he could come up with that kind of money. His parents' ranch, the C-Bar, was mortgaged to the hilt, and his stepfather had run it into the ground. They had a few head of Angus cattle, but the ranch made ends meet with the stipend Blackjack had promised to pay his mother and sister if Billy went away and left Summer alone. Even that would disappear, he was sure, if he stayed in town more than twenty-four hours.

The day Billy finally told Debbie Sue he didn't have $50,000 and never would, she'd begun court proceedings, telling him to get the money or give up Will.

He would never give up his son.

But what was the judge going to say when he found out that, not only was Billy unmarried and unemployed, but he had the additional costs of caring for a sick mother and a pregnant teenage sister?

He could run. But what kind of life would Will have if Billy kidnapped his son and they ended up looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives?

"I'll be fine, Billy."

"What?" Billy had been so lost in his thoughts that he'd forgotten Emma was sitting across from him.

"I'll be fine," she repeated. "Now that you're here-"

"I can't stay, Emma."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated."

"Take your time. Explain it to me. I'm not going anywhere."

He wondered how much he should tell her. Not about the custody suit. He wasn't sure he could talk about the possibility of losing Will without her seeing just how close to the edge he was. Maybe he should focus on what arrangements they should make for their mother.

"What's Mom's prognosis?" he asked.

"Not good. The cancer has invaded her organs-lungs, kidneys, liver. She's dying, Billy."

"How long does she have?"

"The doctor doesn't know. A couple of months, maybe."

"Isn't there anything he can do for her? Chemotherapy? Radiation? Surgery?"

Emma shook her head. "It's too late. He can give her something for the pain. She's going to need care. With everything I have to do around the ranch and..." She smoothed her nightgown over her rounded abdomen. "And other things... I realized I couldn't do it all alone. So I called you."

Billy shoved a hand through his hair and blew out a gusty breath. "How would you feel about selling the ranch?"

"What would that accomplish? The shape it's in, no one would pay much for it. Except maybe the Blackthornes. They'd buy it for the land."

Billy grimaced. "Mom paid too high a price to get this place. I'd hate like h.e.l.l giving it back to Blackjack for nothing."

"That's not the worst of it," Emma said. "Where would Mom and I go? Is your place in Amarillo big enough for the four-" She patted her stomach and revised, "The five of us?"

"There's barely room for me and Will."

"So selling this place is out. Any other ideas?"

Billy swallowed the last of his bourbon and set the jar on the table. "Let me sleep on it. Maybe something will come to me by morning."

"I hope you have better luck than I've had," Emma said. "I've gone round and round with this in my head, and I haven't figured out a solution to the problem."

"I'll think of something," Billy said.

Because if he didn't, he was going to lose his son.

Billy's stomach turned over.

By the time the sun rose again, he had to come up with a plan. He wasn't giving up Will. That simply wasn't going to happen. No matter what he had to do.

Chapter 4.

SUMMER WOKE UP FEELING UNHAPPY AND DESPERATE and reckless. If only Billy hadn't shown up in town last night. If only he'd stayed away two weeks longer. His sudden reappearance had turned her life upside down.

She'd tossed and turned all night, unable to decide what she should do. Her brothers had all made lives for themselves that took them away from the ranch. Trace had inherited a cattle station in Australia. Clay was the attorney general of Texas. And Owen was a Texas Ranger. All she'd ever wanted was to one day be mistress of Bitter Creek. Could she marry Geoffrey knowing that she was doing it simply to realize her dream?

On the other hand wasn't that why she'd agreed to his proposal in the first place? Why wasn't she grabbing at the chance her mother had offered her with both hands?

Her current confusion was all Billy's fault.

His return had reminded her that once upon a time she'd had a best friend with whom she could share everything, say anything. And for the briefest moment before they'd been separated two years ago, she'd felt things for Billy Coburn that she hadn't known it was possible for one human being to feel for another. Frightening feelings. Terrifying feelings. Billy had touched someplace deep inside her that she'd kept hidden from everyone, even herself.

What she felt for Geoffrey wasn't nearly so threatening. She could marry him and get the ranch and never have to worry about having those terrifying feelings again.

Unfortunately, she'd already broken off their engagement. She'd have to lie to Geoffrey if she wanted their marriage to go forward now, and she'd never believed herself capable of that sort of deceit.

Summer made a growling sound in her throat. She hated being manipulated even more than she wanted Bitter Creek. First her father throwing Geoffrey at her as a prospective husband, hoping for a grandson to carry on after him. Now her mother offering her Bitter Creek because she was concerned with appearances and didn't want to call off the wedding.

She had half a mind to marry the first man whose path she crossed. That would show her parents she was no puppet on a string!

Summer dressed hurriedly in a plaid Western shirt, crisp new jeans, and her favorite red boots with the Circle B brand hand-tooled into the fine leather, determined to escape the Castle before her mother awoke and demanded her answer. She needed more time to think, and she needed a private, peaceful place to do it.

Summer headed out the kitchen door, undecided whether to ride horseback or take her pickup. She never got past the cherry-red Silverado her father had given her as a twenty-first birthday gift.

It reminded her of Billy.

Summer remembered leaning against the front fender of the big Chevy truck, the warm sun on her face, as Billy Coburn kissed her. Remembered hearing her b.u.t.tons ping against the cherry-red finish as he tore open her blouse to bare her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his gaze both endearingly reverent and excitingly carnal.

She'd offered him her virginity.

Summer remembered the astonishment she'd seen in Billy's eyes when she'd told him she was untouched. She couldn't blame him for being surprised. She'd spent years running with wild crowds at one university after another, doing whatever outrageous acts it took to get herself thrown out, so she could return to Bitter Creek-until her father made a generous donation to another inst.i.tution of higher learning and the whole ridiculous scenario began again.

The truth was, between her father and her three older brothers, Trace and the twins, Owen and Clay, no boy in high school would have dared to touch her for fear of his life, and she'd never let a man in college get close enough to seduce her. Owen had done a good job of warning her what happened to an unwary woman when a man started spouting flowery compliments. Forewarned, she'd gotten bored with hearing how her eyes were like topaz jewels and her hair was like spun gold and her lips were like wild, sweet strawberries, and rejected her would-be suitors out-of-hand.

Maybe the reason she'd liked Billy so much from the start was because he hadn't used false flattery to get her attention. Even the lowliest cowhand at Bitter Creek knew who she was, and they'd all tipped their hats in obeisance.

Except Bad Billy Coburn.

Summer grinned ruefully as she remembered the first time she'd come to the stable and found him mucking out stalls. Billy hadn't even acknowledged she was alive. He'd kept right on working as though the barn were empty.

She'd studied him secretly from the safety of the wooden stall while she saddled her horse. Billy was extraordinarily tall and had black hair like her brothers, but his eyes were a brown so dark they were almost black. A day-old beard stubbled his cheeks and chin. His jeans had worn white at the seams and his T-shirt had the arms torn out, allowing her to see the flex and play of corded muscle and sinew as he worked.

Both intrigued and affronted at being ignored-after all, she was an acknowledged beauty and the boss's daughter-she'd contrived a way to force him to speak to her.

She'd led her horse from the stall, stopped near the wheelbarrow into which Billy was forking manure and asked, "Do you think Brandy's hock is swollen?"

Without glancing in her direction, he'd forked another load of manure into the wheelbarrow and said, "Looks fine to me."

"You haven't even looked," she accused. Not at her horse... or at her. She might be only sixteen, but she had a grown-up figure which she knew had turned older men's heads. Billy Coburn seemed immune.

"Look," she insisted. Even she hadn't been sure whether she meant at her horse or at her.

He stopped abruptly, leaned his elbow on the pitchfork, and did a slow, sensual inspection of her body that left her pink with mortification.

"Everything looks fine to me," he said in a whiskey-rough voice. "But I think you knew that before you asked."

His eyes were narrowed in contempt, and his mouth had formed a sneer. At least, that's what Summer thought it was. She'd never actually seen anyone sneer before, especially not at her. Without another word, he turned and began forking manure again.

"Just a minute," she said, dropping the reins and taking the two steps to bring her toe-to-toe with him. She thought about reaching out to grab him, but figured that would be like sticking her arm into a lion's cage. It was likely to get torn off.

"I'm speaking to you," she said.

He ignored her.

"Do you know who I am?"

"A little girl playing grown-up," he muttered under his breath.

She was appalled and humiliated. And fascinated.

Didn't he care about his job? Wasn't he worried about losing it? All it would take was one word to her father, and he'd be gone. He must know it. Yet he seemed fearless.

"What's your name?" she demanded.

"Why do you care?"

She frowned. "I'd like to call you something besides-"

"It's not like we're gonna be friends, Mizz Blackthorne," he interrupted. He turned his back on her, leaned the pitchfork against a stall, and moved the wheelbarrow farther down the center aisle. Then he retrieved the pitchfork and went into another empty stall.

"I can be friends with whomever I like," she said, crossing to stand in the stall doorway, blocking his exit.

He glanced at her and lifted a dark brow. "Your father might have something to say about that, little girl."

"My father doesn't run my life."