Made in Texas!

Caleb recalled what Donna had told him about Savannah’s pregnancy test. “Is there a long-lost kid?”

“Yup, their P.I. located him,” Manny said. “And it really chapped some of their hides that Savannah named him in the style of Tex’s boys. James Bowie Jeffries is what he’s called.”

Next to Caleb, Hugh made a grumbling sound, seeming to be just as offended as some of the Byrds apparently were.

Then Hugh said, “Did Maria have her ear to the door or something?”

“Very funny, old-timer.” Manny polished off the last of his chili, standing to get seconds, like he always did. “No matter how Maria heard it, she didn’t like the news. That family is coming apart at the seams now that Tex is gone, and she doesn’t know how long we might have jobs here.”

Caleb put down his beer. “That’s a load of bull, Manny, and you know it.”

“Do I? Caleb, we don’t know these Byrd kids from seven holes in the ground. I like them well enough, but what if they end up dismantling the Flying B? What if Tex was all that was keeping the ranch together?”

Something seemed to crack in Caleb, breaking him in a thousand directions inside. This was his home—the only one he’d ever felt comfortable in after his mom had passed on.

Manny had gone back to the food station, leaving Hugh and Caleb alone.

The foreman chucked the rest of his coffee on the ground.

“Before Tex died,” Caleb said, “he told me that, under the conditions of his will, the ranch couldn’t be dismantled. The grandkids have to spend their inheritance on bettering it, so Manny’s worrying for nothing.”

“It’s not the ranch I’m thinking about.” Hugh ran a hand over his grizzled face. “You can’t have more than one person inheriting something and expect them to all agree on every decision.”

“So you’re worried about the family itself. Boss, you’ve sure become pessimistic about things lately.”

“And why shouldn’t I be? It might be time to retire, live off my savings, fish all day. Who needs all this nonsense?”

Hugh’s words were flippant, but Caleb knew better. Like him, the foreman loved this place, as well as the ragtag family of ranch hands that Tex had put together.

Gathering his plate, Caleb prepared to go.

“Where’re you off to?” Hugh asked.

“Where do you think?”

“Aw, no.” Hugh shook his finger at Caleb. “You’re not going to the house like I think you are.”

“I am. There’s no way I’m going to see a rift destroy Tex’s family.”

“So what’re you gonna do—help Donna Byrd carry in another rocking chair and chide her about family business at the same time? That’s no way to get into her good graces, son.”

“This has nothing to do with that. She and the others need to know that we—the staff—have a stake in seeing the family at peace, too.”

“You’re overstepping, Caleb.”

Was he?

Would Tex have told him that, too?

The last time Caleb had seen him, lying in bed, looking like half the hale-and-hearty man he’d always been, Tex had told Caleb that he would be leaving him a bit of money. Not a whole lot, but enough to tell him that he valued him.

“Money doesn’t show everything that’s in a person’s heart, though,” Tex had said.

“Of course it doesn’t.”

He had closed his eyes, so weary. “If I could buy goodwill from my sons and their children, I would. I’d do anything for them to realize that they could have something wonderful out here on the Flying B together. At least you’ve always known what you’ve got on this ranch, Caleb.”

“That’s right, Tex.”

The money hadn’t been the point, though. In fact, Caleb had never expected to be treated like Tex’s blood, and he’d been blown away that the man had even given him some seed money for his own future. Naturally, he’d spent it well, on the new house he’d purchased for his dad and aunt, but it was too bad money couldn’t buy a positive word from his father during one of his more lucid times, either.

Now, Caleb began to walk away from the table, saying over his shoulder, “Tex would’ve wanted me to interfere, all right. The Byrds need to know that their decisions affect more than just the few of them.”

He left Hugh sitting on the bench while he scraped off his plate into a receptacle and then headed for the main house, where the dim lights buttered the back windows in the falling dusk.

And where Donna Byrd was about to get an earful.

NEEDING PRIVACY, DONNA had come outside to the wraparound porch, where she sat on the new cottage-style swing she and the girls had chosen for the renovation.

Just do this, she thought, looking at the cell phone in her hand. Go. Now. Dial!

But she couldn’t, even if Dad and Uncle William had finally checked in this morning with their own votes after one heck of a long night of waiting.

They both wanted to find James. And they were both evidently done with their Hill Country trip, on their way back to their respective homes in Houston and Uncle William’s ranch. Even the most clueless person in the world could infer that there’d been a setback with the brothers because of last night’s news, but Donna and the rest of her relatives had promised each other that they would do everything within their power to make things right between them again.

Yet there was this to deal with, as well. And, since Donna had been riding their P.I.’s tail this whole time about Savannah and a possible child, she was the one who’d volunteered to give him the go ahead on tracking down James.

Still, the phone was incredibly heavy in her hand, almost as if it was something that could drag her down until she wouldn’t ever be able to get back up.

Was she going to let one phone call beat her, though?

She dialed without another thought, listening to one ring. Two.

Then, an answer.

“Walker Investigations,” said the P.I.’s rusty-nail voice.

“Hi, Roland, it’s Donna Byrd.”

“Miss Byrd—I haven’t heard from you for a whole day. I thought you might’ve dropped off the face of the planet.”

Hilarious. “We were only waiting for our dads to weigh in on Savannah and James.”

“And?”

She closed her eyes, opened them. “We’d like you to go forward on finding out more about James and setting up a possible meeting.”

“Consider it done.” She could hear Roland tapping on a keyboard. “What about Savannah?”