“Nonsense. It’ll be fine, Ruth. Skip can help with the work.”

The debate ended as Maggie came bounding into the living room. A redheaded, eight-year-old dynamo, Maggie was the daughter of Big Sam Delaney, former sheriff and now mayor of Branding Iron. Her stepmother, Grace, a teacher, was Cooper Chapman’s sister. Among her many talents, Maggie was an enthusiastic cook.

“Hi, Mrs. McCoy.” She greeted Ruth with a friendly grin, then turned to Jess. “Aunt Jess, we’re almost out of chocolate chips. Do you have any more?”

“Look in the bottom bin of the fridge,” Jess said. “I put them there so they’ll stay fresh and so nobody will find them and eat them.”

“Like Trevor?” Maggie grinned.

“Yes, and like his father. Are Janeen and Tammy okay?”

Maggie nodded. “They’re helping. We’re having fun. I’ll find the chips.”

As she danced away, Skip and Trevor came out of the hall, wearing their warm coats, caps, and gloves. “We’re ready to go, Mom,” Trevor said.

“Okay, but Ruth will be dropping you off, while I stay here and supervise the girls.”

“I guess that’s my cue.” Ruth stood and found her keys in her purse. “Let’s go, boys. Thanks for taking my daughters, Jess.”

“No trouble at all. Remember what I said. Treat yourself. Have some fun. You don’t get enough of that.”

With the boys in the back seat of the station wagon, Ruth drove out through the gate and made a left turn onto the road that would take her to Judd Rankin’s old family ranch.

Ever since learning that her first love was out of prison and back in Branding Iron, she’d avoided any contact with him—not an easy thing in a small town. But Judd had become reclusive, which made it possible. Ruth had kept a strict distance between them for her son’s sake as well as for herself. But today, without warning, all her precautions were about to be tested.

Skip had always believed that he was the son of Tom Hastings—the kindly father he remembered from his early childhood. He’d seen the family photos—including one of a proud Tom holding him as a baby. That the two looked nothing alike had never seemed to trouble him.

When Ruth had married Ed, he’d given Skip his name; but Ed had never cared for his stepson. It was the memory of Tom’s fatherly love that had kept Skip grounded growing up. What would it do to the vulnerable boy to find out his lineage had been a lie—and that his real father had been a biker who’d killed a man in a street brawl and served five years for manslaughter?

After Judd’s arrest, Ruth could have told him about the baby in a visit or a letter. But for the sake of her child, she’d chosen to keep the truth from him. Given the chance, she would make the same choice again.

Now she could only let her son go to Judd and hope that neither of them would discover their connection.

She pulled up to the ranch gate and stopped the car. In the near distance, the rambling brick house, screened by bare cottonwoods, was just visible. “Here we are, boys,” she announced. “You can walk the rest of the way.”

“It’s okay to come up to the house. Then you can meet Mr. Rankin,” Trevor said.

“Thanks, Trevor, but I’m in a hurry today. I’ve got a lot to do.” Ruth was trembling beneath her coat. “Maybe another time. Have fun, you two. But remember, you’re there to help.”

“Thanks, Mrs. McCoy.” Trevor climbed out of the car. Skip followed him.

Ruth watched for a moment as the boys headed up the driveway, Trevor, slim and dark, Skip, taller, his body beginning to fill out. Tearing her gaze away, she forced herself to shift gears, turn the wagon around, and leave. She’d feared this day would come. Now that it was here, there was nothing she could do except hope for the best.

* * *

From where he stood on the porch, Judd Rankin watched the boys walk up the driveway toward the house. He’d been expecting Trevor. The second boy was a surprise. But Trevor bringing a friend shouldn’t be a problem. Cleaning out the storeroom was a big job. He could always use an extra pair of hands.

He’d glimpsed a brown station wagon letting the boys off at the gate, then driving away. Somebody must’ve been in a hurry—or maybe they didn’t want to deal with an ex-convict. That was all right, too. Judd had learned not to take things personally. Other people’s attitudes were not his problem.

Trevor waved as he caught sight of Judd on the porch. A good kid. Judd liked him and liked his parents. He’d reserve judgment about the other boy.

Judd greeted the pair as they mounted the porch steps. “Thanks for coming, Trevor. And I’m glad to meet you, young man.” He extended a hand to the new boy. “Judd Rankin’s the name.”

The boy accepted the shake. His hand was chapped and roughened. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rankin. I’m Skip McCoy. My real name is Thomas, after my father, but I’ve always been Skip.”

Judd’s throat tightened. When he’d come home to Branding Iron, after five years in prison and a year in Australia, he’d learned that Ruth was married to a man named Ed McCoy. Could this young man be her son?

But no, the boy had said that his father was named Thomas. Probably no connection to Ruth at all.