The Second Son. Joanna Wayne

of him, her agile frame caught in the beam of his headlights. Unexpectedly, his mind leaped back to the sight of her as the voluminous wedding gown had parted, revealing delicate curves and satiny skin.

      He shuddered as his body responded in ways it shouldn’t, the feelings inside him so foreign to the way he normally reacted that they almost frightened him. He worked on regaining control of mind and body as he drove through the open gate.

      A spray of lights from an oncoming car illuminated Lacy as she swung the gate closed and latched it. The vehicle slowed, and Branson’s muscles tensed instinctively. For a second, he thought the driver was going to stop, but he accelerated again and darted off before Branson had a chance to identify the car or the driver.

      “I thought for a minute Charles had come to haul me back to his place,” Lacy said, climbing into the truck and buckling her seat belt.

      “I couldn’t tell the make of the car, but it wasn’t his Jag.”

      “So you had the same thought?”

      “The possibility sprang to mind. It was probably a couple of young people looking for a spot to pull off and neck. I’ve found them in the driveway before on a Friday or Saturday night.”

      “And like the good sheriff you are, I’m sure you sent them home.”

      “I’ve even been known to take them myself if I catch a whiff of alcohol. The exciting life of a Texas county sheriff.”

      “Then you should thank Kate and me for dropping into your world. We seem to be real short of dull moments lately.”

      “So I’ve noticed.” Branson guided the truck around a rut in the road. He slowed as a young deer stepped out of a cluster of mesquite and into the peripheral glow of the headlights. The deer froze for a second, just long enough for Lacy to sit up and take notice, before the startled animal darted back into the brush.

      She watched in the direction the fawn had disappeared and then turned to look at him. “What’s that?”

      “The fawn?”

      “No, those lights.”

      She pointed past his head, out his side window.

      Branson shifted his gaze and caught a glimpse of the sprawling two-storey ranch house where he’d lived all his life. “That’s home. I told you it was too late to turn back.”

      “You mean you actually live there!”

      “A man’s got to sleep somewhere.”

      “But it’s so big!”

      “Yeah. My dad leaned to the grandiose. We pretty much fill it up when we’re all home, though.” Branson rounded a curve in the road, and clusters of heavy brush and scrubby trees blocked the house from view for the next hundred yards or so. When it appeared again, Branson realized why the size looked so impressive from a distance.

      The place was lit up as if there were a party going on. Only there wasn’t. The birthday party had been two days ago.

      Past midnight and all the lights burning could only mean trouble. He speeded up as much as he dared with the prospect of a deer or a cow stepping into his path. Still, it seemed to take forever to cover the last of the distance down the dusty road.

      Forgetting Lacy Gilbraith, Branson skidded to a stop and jumped out, hitting the ground at a run and not slowing until he was inside the house.

      One look at Ryder’s face, and he knew his fears had been well founded.

      Chapter Five

      “It’s Mom!” The explanation spilled out of Ryder’s mouth before Branson had a chance to question him. “She was having chest pains. Langley called Dr. Ramirez and he sent an ambulance for her. He’s meeting her at the clinic in Kelman for now. If it’s serious, they’ll stabilize her and move her to San Antonio.”

      Branson handled the bad news like he handled everything. Outwardly, he was calm. Inside, the dread burned like acid. “How long ago was that?”

      “They probably haven’t been gone a good half hour yet.”

      “Where’s Langley? I saw his car out back.”

      “He rode with Mom in the ambulance. She was still insisting she’d be fine, but she looked scared. She was pale as a sheet. And shaky.” Worry pooled in Ryder’s eyes. “I’ve never seen her like that before.”

      Branson rolled the news around in his head. Other than the winter she’d had pneumonia, he didn’t remember his mom ever going to bed with an ailment. If she’d willingly left Burning Pear in an ambulance, she had to be in serious pain.

      He buried his hands in his pockets, hating the feeling that there was nothing he could do. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

      The answer came from the newly created nursery in the form of a high-pitched wail. Betsy. In the panic of the moment, he’d forgotten all about the baby. And Lacy. He glanced toward the back door. Apparently she hadn’t followed him in.

      Betsy’s cries increased in volume.

      Ryder backed toward the hall door. “Mom’s in good hands, Branson. Good spirits, too. She was still giving orders as they strapped her to the stretcher.”

      But in spite of his attempts to reassure Branson, Ryder’s lips were drawn into tight lines, his muscles bunched, as he turned to walk toward the crying infant. He stopped at the door and turned back to face Branson. “Mom will pull through this. She has to.”