"Come on," Cash said. "I want to see if your son looks like you."

Garon gave him a depressed glance. "I hope not, poor little kid."

"They'll have him ready about now," Coltrain remarked. "Well?"

Garon went with them, reluctantly. He wasn't sure it was right for him to be enthusing over a child while Grace was fighting for her life. But he knew he'd go crazy if he had to sit here thinking about it. At least, the child would be a diversion.

But when he was looking through the window at the little boy, his mindset changed. His whole att.i.tude changed. He stood staring at the tiny thing in the blue blanket with eyes that hardly focused.

"He's so tiny," he exclaimed. "I could put him in my pocket!"

"Want to hold him?" Coltrain asked, seeing a way to erase the terror from his eyes.

Garon looked at him, surprised. "Would they let me?"

Coltrain smiled. "Come on."

THEY PUT A HOSPITAL gown on him, sat him in a rocking chair, and handed him the tiny little boy, wrapped in his blanket. A nurse showed him how to support the baby's head and back.

Garon looked down at his child with a mixture of awe and fear. He was so small. All his reading hadn't prepared him for the impact of fatherhood. He counted little fingers and toes, smoothed his hand over the baby's tiny bald head. He saw Grace in the shape of the child's eyes, and himself in the chin. His eyes grew misty as he thought of the days and weeks and months and years ahead. Please G.o.d, he thought, don't let me have to raise him alone.

The baby moved. One tiny hand grasped Garon's thumb and held on. The baby's eyes didn't open. He was curious about that, and asked. The nurse, beaming, told him that it took about three days for the baby to open his eyes and look around him. But he still wouldn't be able to see much yet. Garon didn't care. He looked down at his son with an expression that no artist in the world could have captured.

Watching through the window, Coltrain and Cash smiled indulgently at the sight.

"What a picture," Coltrain said with a grin.

"Picture!" Cash took out his cell phone, turned it, looked through the eye and snapped several pictures of Garon holding the baby. "Something to show Grace," he told Coltrain, "when she comes out of recovery."

Coltrain nodded. He hoped that prediction was correct. He knew far more than he was going to tell Garon or his brother. That could wait until there was no longer any choice about it.

FOUR HOURS LATER, Dr. Franks went looking for Garon. He looked very tired.

"She's holding her own," he told Garon. "We'll know within eight hours."

"Know?" Garon moved closer. "Know what?"

The doctor drew in a long breath. Coltrain grimaced. Dr. Franks looked at Garon and said gently, "In eight hours, either she'll wake up-or she won't."

It was the most terrifying thing anyone had ever said to him. He knew he must look like the walking dead as he gaped at the surgeon.

Coltrain laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Don't give up now," he said.

"I'll go mad," Garon said huskily. "Eight hours...!"

"We're going to go to the motel. I booked a room," Cash began.

"Leave the hospital, now? Are you out of your mind?" Garon raged.

"Only for a few minutes," Cash promised, exchanging a covert glance with the two doctors over Garon's shoulder. "Come on. Trust me."

"You'll call me, if there's any change?" Garon asked Coltrain unsteadily.

"I promise," the redheaded doctor agreed.

"I got you a room, too," Cash told Coltrain. He handed him a key. "Don't argue. I have friends you don't want to have to meet."

Coltrain chuckled. "Okay, then. Thanks. I'll take advantage of it, in a few hours."

"We'll be right back," Garon promised.

Cash didn't say a word.

AN HOUR LATER, Garon was pa.s.sed out on the sofa in the suite Cash had registered them into. It wasn't quite fair, he knew, but his brother seemed to be on the verge of a coronary. Cash had filled him full of scotch whiskey and soda. Since Garon hardly ever took a drink, the combination of worry, exhaustion and alcohol had hit him hard. He went out like a light.

Cash wondered at the depth of the man's feelings for his young wife. He hadn't spoken a great deal about Grace in the past few months. They'd both come to the house for dinner a few times, and Tippy and Grace had become fast friends. Grace loved to hold their baby, little Tristina, whom they called "Tris," and cuddle her. Garon had watched his wife with the little girl, and an expression of pure delight had radiated his normally taciturn features. Garon didn't speak about Grace very much, but when he did, it was with pride. Perhaps he hadn't known his own feelings until this tragedy unfolded. It was impossible not to know them now.

Six hours later, Garon awoke. He blinked, looking around the room. It was a hotel room. Why was he here? There was his brother, Cash, on the phone. He didn't remember....

He sat straight up on the couch, horrified. "What time is it? Have you called the hospital? Grace...What about Grace?" he exclaimed.

Cash held up a hand, nodded, and said, "We'll be right there." He hung up, smiling. "Grace is out from under the anesthesia. She's awake."

"Awake." Garon shuddered. "She's alive!"

"Yes. She isn't responsive yet; she's still pretty much under the anesthesia. But the doctors are cautiously optimistic. The new valve is working perfectly."

Garon got to his feet and held his head. "d.a.m.n! What did you ladle into me?"

"Scotch whiskey, soda and a substance I'm not allowed to own or explain because it's cla.s.sified." He grinned.

Garon couldn't help a chuckle. His brother really was a devil. But he'd become a good friend, as well. He paused by Cash and clapped him on the shoulder with rough affection. "If you ever get in trouble and need anybody arrested, you can call me."

"I'll remember that. Let's go."

GARON WAS ALLOWED in to see Grace, but only for a couple of minutes. She was white as a sheet, but her breathing was steadier and the blip on the monitor was fairly regular. He brushed back her hair, loving the softness of it, the quiet beauty of her face.

As if she sensed his presence, her gray eyes opened and she looked at him, a little blankly.

"You're going to be all right," he said softly. "Very soon, I'm going to take you home."

Her lips tugged into a faint smile before she closed her eyes and went back to sleep. Garon touched his finger to her dry lips, loving just the sight of her.

He went back out into the waiting room feeling more optimistic. The fear was still there, but he'd deal with it. He stopped when he saw six men surrounding Cash. They were colleagues from the San Antonio office, all except one-who was the former leader of their Hostage Rescue Unit. His heart felt lighter as they came to greet him, asking about Grace and offering help. He had to choke back overflowing emotion. He really did work with the best group in the world.

GRACE IMPROVED DAILY. They had her up and walking the day after surgery. It horrified Garon, but they insisted that this was what had to be done in order for her to recuperate and, more importantly, not develop a respiratory infection to go with the side effects of the surgery.

Garon walked her down to the nursery with painful slowness. He pushed the pole where her IVs hung. She held on to his arm and felt lighter than air, despite her ordeal.

They stopped at the nursery and the nurse held up little Tory for them to see. Garon didn't know it, but Cash had snapped several photos of him holding the little boy and shown them to Grace. If she had any doubts about his feelings for his son, the photos erased them. Grace was fascinated by his love for the child.

"He looks like you," Grace whispered, in tears as she saw her child for the first time. "He's beautiful."

"Like his mama," he whispered, and bent to brush his mouth over her dry lips with breathless tenderness. "Thank you for risking so much to bring our son into the world."

"You gave him to me," she replied, her eyes full of softness.

He kissed her hair. "I've given you a hard time, Grace. I'm glad I'll have the opportunity to make it up to you."

She gave him a wry look. "Penance, is it?"

He smiled. "In spades."

"That sounds interesting."

He nibbled her lower lip. "When you're back to yourself, in about two months or so, we'll explore some sensual pathways together."

His wicked tone amused her and she giggled like a girl. "You stop that," she told him firmly. "Right now it's all I can do to walk. They did split me right down the middle, you know, and I'm going to have even more scars now than I did to start with."

He grinned. "I like your scars. They're s.e.xy."

Her eyebrows arched. "Well!"

"We've got the whole world, Grace," he added, glancing back into the window of the nursery, where their child lay sleeping. "The whole wide world."

She smiled. "Yes." And she slid her hand trustingly into his.

THEIR FIRST CHRISTMAS together was the most wondrous of Grace's entire life. Garon went out and got a tree, brought it home and had several of the wives of his ranch hands decorate it for him. The result was a delightful triangle of color and light. The baby could focus now, and he seemed to find the lights fascinating. He lay in Grace's arms, making baby sounds that fascinated both his parents.

"It's just beautiful," Grace remarked, smiling up at him. "It's the nicest tree I've ever had."

He nodded, eyeing it. "My dad wasn't keen on celebrations, but our stepmother liked to decorate them. I never took to her. After dad found her out and divorced her, our housekeeper started making Christmas special for us. I've always loved Christmas trees."

"Me, too," Grace replied. "I had to fight Granny to put one up every year, but I got my way."

They were watching television together. Garon had been hard at work, trying to nab a new drug smuggler who'd set up shop locally. He'd formed a task force, and Marquez was on this one, too. The two men had settled their differences and seemed to be getting along well. Rick came by to see the baby from time to time, but he always brought Barbara. He didn't want to alienate Garon, apparently.

The news contained a feature about a new line of dolls that had broken sales records everywhere, and Grace watched it raptly. It was about a new line of handmade cloth dolls, called "The Mouse Family." There were male and female mice, and baby mice. There was a line of clothing for them, and even a candy named after them. They were selling like hotcakes. Every child seemed to want one for Christmas. They'd sold out everywhere. Grace grinned as she watched the screen.

At the end, they mentioned that the dolls were the creation of a hometown Texas girl, Mrs. Grace Grier, of Jacobsville, Texas.

Garon had almost pa.s.sed out when he finally found out what her secret project actually was. She'd sold the rights to the mouse dolls even before they married, and she'd done prototypes of all the outfits that would go with them. n.o.body had expected them to sell this fast. Well, the agent for the department store that Grace had written to, enclosing a sample mouse doll, had expected it. He had great faith in Grace's sewing ability, and the dolls were really cute. He'd spent weeks lobbying for presentations, and he'd managed to convince the toy buyers for a huge department chain that they would be the newest fad and make a fortune. He'd been right. Grace was going to be very rich.

"I thought I knew you, when we married," Garon remarked with a chuckle. "I didn't have a clue what you were really like."

"I told you I wasn't domestic," she pointed out.

"That's why we have Miss Turner, baby," he said softly, smiling down at her. "You just go right ahead and make dolls."

"I only make the prototypes," she reminded him. "They have a whole department of workers making the dolls. It's getting harder, too, because they really are selling out everywhere."

"Which reminds me. Carlson would love it if you'd make a white mouse for his daughter's birthday. A special one, with big blue eyes."

She grinned. "He can certainly have one. You'll have to take care of Tory while I'm working on it."

He grinned back. "That isn't a ch.o.r.e."

"You've turned into a very good father," she pointed out.

"I'm not, yet. But I'm working on it."

"I have something for you, by the way, after I put Tory to sleep for the night."

"For me?" he asked, puzzled.

"Don't bother guessing. I'm not saying. Not yet, anyway."

"Does it have anything to do with roses?"

She pursed her lips. "Not quite. Help me up, would you?"

He eased her up from the sofa, with Tory in her arms. Her chest incision had healed, but it was still just a little sore. It had been impossible for her to breast feed the baby, which was a disappointment. But it also meant that Garon got to give the baby his bottle, and he loved it. She was over six weeks past her surgery and improving daily.

"I'll be back soon," she told Garon.

ACTUALLY SHE WASN'T. He got involved in a movie while Miss Turner closed up the kitchen and went to a gospel singing with Barbara. The house was quiet.

Just as grenades started blowing things up on screen, a shadow fell over the television. He looked to one side and his eyes bulged. There was Grace, her long blond hair almost to her waist now, her slender body encased in a pink satin gown that was held up by tiny spaghetti straps. She looked young and very s.e.xy.

"What are you up to, Mrs. Grier?" he asked. She was raising his blood pressure, and the doctor hadn't said anything about letting her resume intimate activities.

She grinned. "You said you thought my scars were s.e.xy, didn't you?"

He nodded. His heart was racing at the sight of her, because those straps let the gown sink almost to her nipples in front. She had beautiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s...

"If you really think the scars are s.e.xy," she said in a husky tone, "why don't you come to bed with me, and prove it?"

HE HADN'T REALIZED he was capable of carrying a woman down the hall and putting her in bed in such a short s.p.a.ce of seconds.

"You're sure it's all right?' he asked, but he was already stripping off the pretty gown, to reveal a body that made every muscle in him go taut.

"It's all right," she a.s.sured him.

He was out of his own clothing in a flash, and beside her on the clean white sheets. He threw the comforter off the side without even looking at where it landed. "Your chest must still be sore."

"It is," she agreed, loving the feel of his mouth on her own, on her shoulders and then, on the soft rise of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She moaned. "Be inventive," she whispered.

He eased her onto her side. His mouth found hers. His hands slid up and down the soft skin of her hips and thighs while his lips played havoc with her senses.