LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter One

      The hospital emergency room was full of people, but the tall man never saw the crying children and listless adults who covered the waiting area. He was disheveled, because he’d dragged on jeans and the first shirt that had come to hand and hadn’t taken time to shave or even comb his thick, straight black hair.

      He stopped at the clerk’s desk, his expression enough to get her immediate attention. He looked rough and not in the mood for red tape—his face cold and hard, and very nearly homely.

      “Yes, sir?” she asked politely.

      “The sheriff’s office said my brother was brought here. His name is Bruce Wade,” he said, with barely controlled impatience, his voice deep and cutting, his silver eyes piercing and level.

      “He was taken to surgery,” the clerk said after a minute. “Dr. Lawson admitted him. Just a moment, please.”

      She picked up the phone, pressed a button and mumbled something.

      Tyson Wade paced the small corridor restlessly, his shepherd’s coat making him look even taller than he was, the creamy softness of his Stetson a direct contrast to a face that looked like leather and sharp rock. Things had been so normal just minutes before. He’d been working on the books, thinking about selling off some culls from among his purebred Santa Gertrudis breeding herd, when the phone had rung. And all of a sudden, his life had changed. Bruce had to be all right. Ty had waited too long to make peace with the younger brother he hardly knew, but surely there was still time. There had to be time!

      A green-uniformed man walked into the waiting area, removing his mask and cap as he walked toward the taller man.

      “Mr. Wade?” he asked politely.

      Ty moved forward quickly. “How’s my brother?” he asked brusquely.

      The doctor started to speak. Then he turned, drawing Ty down the white corridor and into a small unoccupied examination room.

      “I’m sorry,” the doctor said then, gently. “There was too much internal damage. We lost him.”

      Ty didn’t flinch. He’d had years of practice at hiding pain, at keeping his deeper feelings under control. A man who looked like he did couldn’t afford the luxury of letting them show. He just stood there, unmoving, studying the doctor’s round face while he tried to cope with the knowledge that he’d never see his brother again; that he was totally alone now. He had no one. “Was it quick?” he asked finally.

      The doctor nodded. “He was unconscious when he was admitted. He never came out of it.”

      “There was another car involved,” Ty said, almost as an afterthought. “Was anyone else badly hurt?”

      Dr. Lawson smiled with faint irony. “No. The other car was one of those old gas-guzzlers. It was hardly dented. Your brother was driving a small sports car, a convertible. When it rolled, he didn’t have a chance.”

      Ty had tried to talk Bruce out of that car, but to no avail. Any kind of advice was unwelcome if it came from big brother. That was one of the by-products of their parents’ divorce. Bruce had been raised by their mother, Ty by their father. And the difference in the upbringings was striking, even to outsiders.

      The doctor had paused long enough to produce Bruce’s personal effects. The soiled clothing was there, along with a handful of change, some keys, and a clip of hundred-dollar bills. Ty looked at them blankly before stuffing them back into the sack.

      “What

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