“Joss is upset,” Raney said.
“I can see that.” With reluctance, he turned back around, walked over, gave Joss an awkward there, there pat on her shoulder, and said, “What’s up, Buttercup?”
Raney rolled her eyes. The guy had been in a war and prison, but a few tears freaked him out? “She got a letter from Grady, her baby’s father. Can Dalton read it, Joss?”
“He can post it on the Internet, for all I care.”
Dalton read the letter, glanced at the money, then at Raney, his brows raised in question.
Raney shrugged.
“He sent you money,” he said to Joss.
“Exactly! The bastard! I can’t believe he’d do that to me!”
“Money is bad?”
Seeing that her sister was about to go nuclear, Raney explained that Joss saw the money as Grady’s payment for sleeping with him, like she was a prostitute.
Dalton studied the letter again. “It doesn’t say that. All it says here is that the money is for the baby. Nothing about you being a prostitute.”
“She’s not a prostitute!” Raney defended.
“It’s implied,” Joss muttered.
An implacable expression came over Dalton’s face. Raney had seen it twice before—at their run-in on the day she’d tried to fire him, and earlier in the car when he’d told her he didn’t want her money. She had hoped never to see it again.
“No, it isn’t, Joss,” Dalton said with a noticeable lack of sympathy for Raney’s distraught sister. “You’re putting in words that aren’t there. All I see is a guy trying to do the right thing for his baby. And you.”
“He said I was being irresponsible and hardheaded.”
“Maybe you are.”
Raney glared at him.
Joss teared up.
Dalton thrust the letter at her. “Read it again, Joss. He also said he still loved you. Isn’t that worth something?”
While she read it again, Dalton hunkered beside her chair and stroked a hand down her back. “Whatever happened between the two of you,” he went on in a gentler tone, “at least the guy’s trying. Can you give him that, at least?”
Joss smoothed the crinkles out of the letter then carefully folded it. “He doesn’t deserve it,” she said. But her voice held less anger now and the tears had stopped.
How did he do that? Raney wondered. How did he know exactly what to say?
“Probably not,” Dalton agreed, still stroking her back. “But he’s just a guy, and we can be pretty dumb sometimes.”
Joss gave him a wobbly smile. “Sometimes?”
Raney sank into another cushioned chair, relieved the sobfest was over. Joss’s emotional fits always left her rattled. She never knew what to say or do, other than to lose patience. And as happened too often in the past, she had been so desperate to end the shitstorm and do something, even if it was wrong, she hadn’t realized what Joss really needed.
But Dalton knew. Like when Raney had panicked and shut down. He hadn’t given up. Not then and not now with Joss. With the same soothing approach he used on frightened horses, he had calmed her fears and Joss’s hysterics, while giving them both the reassurance they’d needed. He should be canonized.
With a last pat on Joss’s back, Dalton rose. “You done crying, Buttercup?”
“For now. Fancy Pants.”
“Good. I don’t like it.” He settled in another chair. “Now tell us about this Grady guy and why you’re mad at him, and what you want us to do about it.”
Us? We’re a family now? The man certainly knew how to take charge.
Raney knew within a few minutes after Joss began that her sister was still in love with the man she claimed to hate. As she talked about him, her expression softened into something wistful, almost sad. Her voice lost that sharp edge of anger, and she trailed her fingers over the letter in her lap almost as if she were touching the man himself.
This could be bad, Raney thought.
His name was Grady Douglas. He was seven years older than Joss and close to Dalton’s age. Raney got the impression from things her sister said—and things she didn’t say—that Grady was a lot more mature than she was and had taken on the role of protector in the drug-and-alcohol-infused world of touring musicians. Protector, and lover, it seemed.
Grady managed Crystal, the headliner, Joss explained. He booked appearances, arranged transportation, handled security, and kept the aging singer sober enough to go onstage. “Touring with a band isn’t as glamorous as I thought it would be,” Joss admitted. “I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I did if it hadn’t been for Grady.” She gave a sad smile. “I know I said some mean things about him, but he really did take good care of me.”
“In what way?” Raney asked.
“It was his idea to have me open for Crystal. And he’s the one who convinced her to sing a couple of my songs at the concert in Houston. They sounded amazing with the band behind them, although between you and me, I might have sung them better. He also showed me how to copyright my songs so no one could record them without paying me. And he even helped me cut a demo and showed me who to send it to. He’s smart that way. He told me I would be a star if only I could get my music in front of the right people.” She gave a long sigh and slumped back in her chair. “Fat chance that’ll happen now.”
“Why? What’s changed?” Dalton asked.
“I got pregnant, that’s what changed. As soon as I told him, he started ragging on me all the time. That’s why I got off the bus in Waco. I couldn’t take it anymore. Now I’m afraid he’ll show up here and start nagging me again.”
“He won’t,” Raney assured her. “Dalton and I won’t let him bother you.”
Dalton nodded. “Just part of my new job as household security.”
“What does he nag you about?” Raney asked.
“Everything. What I eat. How much I sleep. How I feel. Who I spend time with. Will I marry him? Do I need a back
