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      To the best friends and critique partners ever:

      Crystal Green and Sheri WhiteFeather.

      Where would I be without you?

       Chapter One

      There were a lot of things Tammy Byrd would rather be doing on a Saturday afternoon than driving five hours to meet a bunch of relatives she’d never met, but there was no way around it.

      Her paternal grandfather was dying, and he’d called his estranged family home.

      She supposed she ought to feel something after hearing of the poor man’s plight, like sadness, grief or compassion, but any kind of relationship with him had been lost to her, thanks to a falling-out he’d had with her father years ago.

      Apparently, now that Jasper J. “Tex” Byrd was about to face his maker, he was going to try and make things right. At least, that’s how Tammy had it figured.

      When she’d first heard of the old man’s request, she’d assumed her stubborn, my-way-or-the-highway daddy would have dug in his boot heels and refused to go. She’d also wondered what her dad would say when he learned that she was going to make the trek on her own.

      But he’d blown her away by announcing he was going to make the trip and insisting that she and her brothers join him.

      Whatever his reason, be it guilt, love or a need to set things to right, her father, who never took orders from anyone, had caved to the old man’s request.

      Tammy’s brothers had been summoned, too, but they were fishing in a remote area of Montana and couldn’t be easily reached for at least several days, maybe a week. Still, she knew they’d be on the first flight they could find back to Texas. Family had always been important to them. Well, at least, their immediate family was.

      Her father would be coming later, too. She supposed she could have waited until after he’d had his appointment for his annual physical and rode with him, but she’d wanted to have her own vehicle handy. Besides, she was intrigued by the whole idea of family feuds and secrets. So she’d packed her bag this morning, prepared to meet the rest of her family—a dying grandfather, an uncle and two cousins she’d never met. Then she’d slid behind the wheel of her little pickup and left her daddy’s ranch.

      Five hours later, with the satellite radio tuned to a classic country-western station, an empty diet soda can in her cup holder and the printout of the directions on the seat beside her, she neared her final destination in Buckshot Hills.

      She slowed as she reached a cluster of oak trees, which her father had told her to watch for, then searched for the sign that indicated she’d reached Flying B Road.

      There it was, a bold wrought-iron-and-metallic creation that was as big as day—and as ornate as all getout.

      Before she could turn off one road and onto the other, a black Dodge Ram pickup with mud flaps roared around her. As it passed, the left rear tire hit a mud puddle and shot a big splash of dirty water at her little white truck.

      The jerk.

      She was about to lay on the horn, but held back. After all, it might be one of the relatives, and there was no need to get off on a bad foot before they’d had a chance to meet face-to-face.

      Realizing she’d have to wash the truck to get the bug spatters off the windshield, anyway, she shrugged off her annoyance and turned

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