"Key's in it," he said. "And you need to watch that oil gauge," he added. "We patched the leak, but just in case, don't set off anywhere until you're sure it's got oil in it. If you notice a leak, let us know. We'll fix that."

"Thanks a lot, Clay."

He shrugged. "Neighbors help each other out."

"Yes, but there's not a lot I could do for your boss. He's already got all the help he needs."

He smiled. "He does have a sweet tooth," he confided, "although Miss Turner isn't much of a hand at cakes or pies. Don't tell her I said that," he added. "She's a great cook."

"She just doesn't do pastries," Grace finished for him, smiling back. "That's okay. I can't fry chicken or make biscuits."

"We all have our gifts," he agreed.

"Thanks again."

"No problem."

He drove away with the cake beside him on the truck seat.

THAT NIGHT, Grace drove herself to the hospital. She sat outside the intensive care unit, in the waiting room, until very late. Coltrain found her there, alone, when he made his last rounds.

He ground his teeth together. "Grace, you can't work all day and sit here all night," he grumbled, standing over her.

She smiled. "If it were your grandmother, you'd be sitting here."

He sighed. "Yes, I would. But I'm in better health than you are..."

"Don't start," she said curtly. "I take very good care of myself and I have a terrific doctor."

"Flattery doesn't work on me," he replied. "Ask Lou," he added. Lou was his wife.

She shrugged. "It was worth a try." her eyes became solemn. "The nurse said there's no change."

He sat down beside her, looking worn. "Grace, you know that heart tissue doesn't regenerate, don't you?"

She grimaced. "Miracles still happen," she said stubbornly.

"Yes, I know, I've seen them. But it's a very long shot, in this case," he added. "You have to get used to the idea that your grandmother may not come home."

Tears p.r.i.c.ked her eyes. She clasped her hands together, very tightly, in her lap. "She's all I've got, Copper."

He bit his tongue trying not to say what he was thinking. "Don't make her into a saint," he said curtly.

"She was sorry about it all," she reminded him with big, wet eyes. "She didn't mean to get drunk that night. I know she didn't. It hurt her that Mama went off without a word and dumped me in her lap."

"Is that what she said?" he fished.

Her face closed up. "She wasn't a motherly sort of woman, I suppose," she had to admit. "She didn't really like kids, and I was a lot of trouble."

"Grace," he said gently, "you were never a lot of trouble to anyone. You were always the one doing the work at your house. Your grandmother sat and watched soap operas all day and drank straight gin while you did everything else. The gin is why her heart gave out."

She bit her lower lip. "At least she was there," she said harshly. "My father didn't want kids, so when I came along, he ran off with some minor beauty queen and never looked back. My mother hated me because I was the reason my father left. And no other man wanted her with a ready-made family, so she left, too."

"You looked like your father," he recalled.

"Yes, and that's why she hated me most." She looked at her clasped hands. "I never thought she cared about me at all. It was a shock, what she did."

"It was guilt, I imagine," he replied. "Like your grandmother, she had a high opinion of her family name. She expected what happened to be in all the newspapers. And it would have been, except for your grandmother playing on Chet Blake's soft heart and begging him to bury the case so n.o.body knew exactly what happened. But it was too late to save your mother by then."

She swallowed, hard. "They never caught him."

"Maybe he died," Coltrain replied curtly. "Or maybe he went to prison for some other crime."

She looked up at him. "Or maybe he did it to some other little girl," she said curtly.

"Your grandmother didn't care. She only wanted it hushed up."

"Chief Blake was sorry because of what happened to my mother," she said absently. "Otherwise, I expect he would have pursued the case. He was a good policeman."

"It was more than that," he said, his expression solemn. "The perpetrator thought you were dead. Chet thought you were safer if he kept thinking it. He didn't mean for you to live and testify against him, Grace."

Her skin crawled at just the memory. She wrapped her arms around herself. "Do you suppose he kept the file?"

"I'm sure he did, but it's probably well hidden," he told her. "I doubt Cash Grier will accidentally turn it up, if that's what's worrying you," he added gently.

She grimaced. "It was. Garon has been very kind to me," she told him, "in a sore-paw, irritated sort of way. I don't want him to know about me."

"It was never your fault, Grace," he said, his voice soft and kind, as if he were talking to a small child. In fact, it had been Copper who treated her when the policemen brought her to the emergency room. He'd been a resident then.

"Some people say I asked for it," she bit off.

"h.e.l.l!"

"He lived close by and I used to wear shorts," she began.

"Don't ever make excuses for a creature like that," he lectured. "No normal man is going to leer at a twelve-year-old child!"

She managed a smile for him. "You're very good to me."

"I wish I was good for your social life," he replied. "You don't even date, Grace. You're twenty-four years old. You should have had therapy and learned to get on with your life. I blame your grandmother for that. She wouldn't have a relative of hers connected in any way with a psychologist."

"She's very old-fashioned."

"She's an ostrich," he corrected hotly. "Protecting the family name by pretending nothing happened."

"Everybody knows what happened," she reminded him.

"Not really. They only know the bare bones."

"They all look out for me, just the same," she said, feeling warm and protected. "We're all family in Jacobsville," she added thoughtfully. "Like old Mr. Jameson who was in prison for bank robbery and came home when he was released. He's paid his debt to society. He's sorry. Now he's just accepted."

He smiled. "It's one of the nicer things about little towns," he had to agree.

"You don't think anybody would tell Garon...?"

"n.o.body gossips about you," he said. "Not even Miss Turner."

One thin shoulder lifted. "He's a stranger here, even if his brother is our police chief," she said. "I don't suppose people would rush to air the dirty linen."

"You're not dirty linen," he said firmly.

She smiled. "You're a nice doctor." She hesitated. "Can't I see Granny, just for a minute?"

He made a face. "If you'll promise to go home afterward."

She was reluctant, but she did want to see Mrs. Collier. "Okay."

"Come on, then."

He led her into the unit, spoke briefly to the nurse and escorted Grace into a small cubicle where her grandmother, white as a sheet and unaware of anyone around her, lay quiet on the bed.

Grace had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. The old lady already looked dead. She was breathing in a way that Grace remembered vividly from her early childhood. Her grandfather had breathed like that the day he died. It was a rasping sort of sound. It was frightening.

Coltrain moved to her side. "Grace, it helps to remember that this is something all of us will face one day. It isn't an end. It's a beginning. Like the coc.o.o.n that produces a b.u.t.terfly."

She looked up at him with eyes that were far too bright. "My whole family is dead."

"You still have a cousin up in Victoria, and he likes you."

She had to admit that he was right. Although the cousin was in his late seventies and a semi-invalid. She moved to the bedside and slowly, hesitantly, touched her grandmother's broad shoulder.

"I love you, Granny," she said softly. "I'm sorry...I've been such a burden to you-" Her voice broke. Tears poured down her cheeks.

Her grandmother moved jerkily, as if she heard, but her eyes didn't open. After a minute, she was still again, and the raspy breathing worsened.

Coltrain, who knew what it meant all too well, drew Grace out of the cubicle and back into the waiting room.

She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be. d.a.m.n, Grace, you shouldn't be here alone!"

Just as he said it, the door opened automatically and Garon Grier, in a three-piece gray suit, walked into the waiting room.

Coltrain stared at him blankly. Grier was the last person in the world he'd expected to see, especially after the man had been so cool with Grace when her grandmother was brought in.

Garon joined them, his dark eyes on Grace's ravaged face. "Miss Turner said you'd probably be here," he said curtly. "I went by to thank you for the apple cake, and your car was gone."

"You baked him an apple cake?" Coltrain asked, surprised.

Grace moved restlessly. "I was rude to him and I felt guilty," she explained. "He had one of his men fix my car."

"Which she accused me of stealing," Garon added. One dark eyebrow lifted. "But the cake did make up for the insult. It's a d.a.m.ned good cake."

She smiled through her tears. "I'm glad you liked it."

He glanced at Coltrain. "I thought I'd follow you home," he told her. "Clay said the car may still leak oil. You live on a lonely stretch of road."

Coltrain liked the man's concern, but he wasn't showing it. "Let him follow you home, and stay there," he told her. "You can't do any good here, Grace."

She drew in a long breath. "I guess not." She turned to Garon. "I have to stop by the lady's room for a minute, then I'll be ready to leave."

"I'll wait," he a.s.sured her.

She walked down the hall. When she was out of earshot, Coltrain turned his attention to Garon.

"Mrs. Collier won't last more than a few hours," he said bluntly. "I think Grace knows, but she's going to take it hard."

Garon nodded. "I'll make sure she's not alone over there. When her grandmother is gone, she can stay at the ranch with us for a week or two, until she gets her bearings. Miss Turner will treat her like a long lost daughter..

"Isn't that something of a turnabout for you?" Coltrain asked warily. "Just recently, you didn't even want to be bothered with Grace's transportation."

Garon avoided his eyes. "She's got a good heart."

Coltrain hesitated. "She's a good person,' he amended. He frowned. "Aren't you working late?"

He nodded. "We have a missing child up near Tyler," he replied. "It's my specialty, so I was a.s.signed to the case." His expression tautened. "I've been in law enforcement most of my life. Usually, not much shocks me. This case..." He shook his head. "The perp took the child right out her bedroom window. We found evidence of a violent encounter in the room." His eyes flashed angrily. "This man is an animal. He has to be caught."

"Have you found the child?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. But I'm like a snapping turtle. I won't stop until I've found her. And the kidnapper."

Coltrain smiled. "You're like your brother, in that, I gather."

"Back when he was a Texas Ranger," he confided, "Cash chased a robbery suspect all the way to Alabama."

Coltrain chuckled. "That, I'd believe."

He shook his head. "If anyone had told me that he'd settle down in a small town and have kids, I'd have laughed my head off. Since his daughter was born, earlier this month, he's to a committed family man."

Before Coltrain could reply, Grace came back down the hall, looking morose and lonely.

Garon felt her pain keenly. He was no stranger to loss.

"Come on," he said gently. "I'll follow you home."

Grace hesitated. She looked up at Coltrain. "You'll call me...?"

He nodded. "I'll call you, Grace."