Reckless in Texas

by Kari Lynn Dell

  “Are you a fairy?” the little girl whispered.

  Summer’s eyebrows shot up. Maybe the girl was really lost—days lost and delirious. “No, sweetheart. Are you cold? Hungry?”

  “Are you an angel?”

  “No, just a human.”

  Summer carefully knelt in front of the girl. She knew what it was like for strangers to approach you, touch you, speak to you and leave you uncomfortable.

  Summer swallowed a lump in her throat, swallowed away old, bad memories, and resisted the urge to touch the girl to see if she was shivering. It was far too cold for a little girl to be left wandering around.

  “Is that yours?” the little girl nodded toward the caravan.

  “Yes.”

  “It looks like a fairy palace.”

  Summer smiled. “Fairy palace” might not have been the aesthetic she was going for, but colorful and free meant different things to different people. Maybe that description was about right.

  “It’s a little cold to be walking around alone. Can I help you get back to your house?”

  “I got a little lost.” She bit her bottom lip, the downy pale slashes of her eyebrows drawing together. “Daddy will be mad.” The little girl’s big blue eyes filled with tears.

  The chill in the air was no match for the chill in Summer’s heart. Angry fathers weren’t something she had any experience with, but angry parents or adults who scared children—she knew them, and the memory was disturbing.

  She felt immediately protective of this lost and scared little girl. Poor thing. She needed a friend.

  “I’m Summer. What’s your name?” She held out her hand. An offer, if the girl felt so inclined to take it.

  The girl opened her mouth, but before any sound came out, a man’s voice bellowed through the trees. “Kate!”

  Instinctively, Summer stepped between the trees and the girl. The little thing didn’t need an angry man yelling at her when she was lost, teary and scared, no matter if he was her father or not. Parentage wasn’t a get-out-of-being-a-monster-free card, for anyone. “If you want to hide—”

  But the dot of red darted around her.

  “Daddy! I’m here!” Kate waved her red mittens and jumped up and down, then got distracted by the snow puffing up in drifts as she jumped. She giggled, kicking the snow in powdery arcs, any threat of tears gone.

  “Katherine.” The man burst through the tree line. He was obviously furious and frustrated, but the predominant emotion on his face was neither of those things.

  He was terrified.

  Summer knew she should soften. A man who felt terror as he searched for his missing daughter was more than likely not the kind of man who would hurt her as well.

  Or so one would hope.

  But Mom had been loving and thoughtful one minute, quick to raise her hand the next. Everything inside Summer coiled in a tight, tense ball. It took a great feat of strength not to reach out and grab the bundle of red away from the man. A lot of people were very, very good actors, after all. She had found people who were honest, and good as well. She just had no idea which one he was.

  The father sank to his knees in front of the girl, grabbing her shoulders. “What are you doing? You can’t keep doing this to me.” He ran his gloved hands down her arms, over her face, as though he were checking for an injury. Once he was satisfied, he pulled the bundle of red against his chest. For a few quiet minutes, he simply held her there, his eyes closed, some of the tension in his shoulders draining away, clearly moved and relieved that she was unharmed.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. But look!” She pointed at Summer, a bright smile showing off two missing front teeth. “I found a fairy palace!”

  For the first time, he looked at Summer. He got to his feet, his mouth tightening into a frown. He was a tall man, a broad man, and neither the puffy work jacket nor the cowboy hat that now shadowed his face could do anything to hide the obvious—that he would be far stronger and more powerful than her.

  “Who are you?” he said. No, that was too kind—his tone was all demand as he stepped in front of Kate as if he could shield her from Summer.

  Summer wanted to shrink away, or hide, but she’d learned something about standing up even when it was the scariest thing you could imagine. “Maybe I should be asking you that?”

  “Why are you talking to my dau—” Kate grabbed the hem of his coat and he stopped.

  “Daddy,” she whispered, tugging on his coat. She grinned up at Summer. “She’s a fairy queen. Just like in the bedtime book.”

  “We’re going home.” He moved her by the shoulder, steering his daughter toward the trees. They separated Summer’s clearing from a fence that she’d never crossed. She’d never even given a thought to what lay beyond it. Because Shaw had been enough. Shaw felt safe.

  For some reason, nothing beyond that fence ever had.

  Acknowledgments

  This is where you normally thank your family, your writer friends, your agent and editors, and I do owe a huge debt to all of the usual suspects—you know who you are. However, there is another group of people who, in my case, deserve priority.

  On May 8, 2014, I was diagnosed with Stage IIIC ovarian cancer. This book and I are literally in existence due to the efforts of an amazing group of medical professionals—Dr. Melanie Bergman and the staff of Cancer Care Northwest; the surgical and nursing staff at Sacred Heart Medical Center in Spokane, WA; Dr. Grant Harrer, David Brost, P.A., Tosha, Nanette, Sharnai, and the rest of the exceptional staff of Sletten Cancer Institute. I wish I had time and space to list you all by name because you have earned my everlasting gratitude. With luck, we will to continue to see as little of each other as possible.

  To my stylist, LeeAnn Burke, who smoothed an emotionally rocky road by keeping me looking as close to normal as I ever get. I may be the only person in history who had better hair when I was bald.

  To June Yearwood and Janet Yearwood (I had to flip a coin for who got to be listed first), my eagle-eyed beta readers, whose unflinching critiques finally brought this story into focus, along with everything I’ve written since. Plus Megan Coakley, who hooked us up, and is my hero just for surviving every day with humor and class.

  And finally, to Janet Reid, who back in 2012 dragged me and this book-that-was-not-working into her conference room and spent two days of her precious time helping me deconstruct it, chapter by chapter, to root out the flaws. We may not have fixed it, but knowing someone of her caliber would devote that much time and effort to us kept me from giving up on this baby.

  And to Ryan the Intern, who was trapped in that room with us, I’m sorry if you were scarred for life. Consider it a favor. You’re probably making more money and drinking a lot less in whatever profession you chose that was not publishing.

  About the Author

  Kari Lynn Dell is a ranch-raised Montana cowgirl who attended her first rodeo at two weeks old and has existed in a state of horse-induced poverty ever since. She lives on the Blackfeet Reservation in her parents’ bunkhouse along with her husband, her son, and Max the Cowdog. There’s a tepee on her lawn, Glacier National Park on her doorstep, and Canada within spitting distance. Visit her at karilynndell.com.

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