Bad Boy Rancher. Karen Rock

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      “More dresses for our little one?” Sofia passed Javi a light-up Batman mask then held up a glittery pink garment.

      Something twisted in Justin’s gut. He’d miss seeing her and James’s child born while he was behind bars. A couple months ago, they’d revealed the baby’s gender—a girl, rare in his male-dominated family. Jewel, who could outride, outrope and outshoot any of her brothers, was the least feminine of any of them, especially pretty-boy Jared.

      Since then, James had compulsively bought tiny dresses, flowered headbands, ruffled hats and lace socks with ribbons, each item frillier than the one before. The nursery resembled the inside of a Pepto-Bismol bottle, the walls practically oozing pink. The house hummed with hope and joy, leaving Justin feeling at odds whenever he entered it. He no longer fit in with his family—if he ever had. His head drooped.

      “This one has rhinestones,” James protested.

      “So do about twenty of the other dresses you’ve bought her.” Sofia smoothed a hand over her stomach.

      “Those were sparkles and some had sewn crystal beads. Big difference.”

      Justin had to give it to James—he considered himself the absolute authority on just about everything, from bioenvironmental engineering down to the trimmings on a child’s dress.

      Sofia and his ma exchanged amused glances, and Justin’s throat constricted. What did happy feel like exactly?

      He couldn’t remember.

      “Yeah, big difference,” exclaimed Jewel as she swept down the open spiral staircase from the loft above the living room. She’d freshened up some from this morning’s cattle drive, her hair tucked back into her usual braid and her dusty Wranglers swapped for a cleaner pair. “Don’t know why you’re trying to ruin your daughter with all this girly-girl stuff. Good thing she’ll have her aunt Jewel to set her straight.”

      “Oh, her father’s going to spoil her rotten.” Sofia sighed.

      “Am I spoiled?” Javi, wearing his glowing Batman mask, bumped into his miniature village then tumbled to the wide-planked pine floor.

      Justin snatched him close before he hit the ground, protecting Jesse’s son the way he should have shielded Jesse. “Never. You care too much about everybody.”

      Javi pushed up his mask and peered at Justin. “How come you don’t?”

      Justin shook his head, feeling his family’s judgmental eyes on him. “I do.”

      “Then how come you’re gonna break Grandma’s heart and go to jail?”

      “Javi,” Sofia warned again.

      “You told Daddy that,” Javi huffed.

      “The decision might be out of his hands anyway.” James settled on the couch beside Sofia and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Heard the town’s holding a meeting next week to discuss revoking the facility’s conditional charter. Place might close.”

      “Why?” An image of Brielle flashed in his mind’s eye. He could tell she was committed to Fresh Start, and it bugged him that she’d lose it. Darned if he could say why exactly, but it did.

      “Just what we read in the paper. Folks are worried property values will go down, and crime rates will rise from attracting the wrong kinds of people.” James dropped his ear to Sofia’s belly.

      Javi joined them and placed a hand next to his father’s cheek. “What makes people the wrong kind?”

      Sofia slid her fingers through Javi’s hair. “Some people don’t like drug addicts or people going through tough times.”

      “We had bad times, and the shelters let us stay. Why won’t they let them stay?” The color blanched from Javi’s normally tan skin. “Does that mean people don’t like Mama and me?”

      Justin felt a lasso cinch his chest and squeeze. Javi had a point. “Everyone loves you, bud.”

      James pulled Javi onto his lap. “You have a home now. A family. No more troubles.”

      “But Mama was an addict,” Javi continued, his voice rising. “And my first daddy, too. They needed help. How come people won’t help them like they did for Mama and me?”

      “Because they’re idiots,” Justin bit out. He wanted no part of the facility personally, but the idea of the town shutting it down irked him. Places like Fresh Start gave people hope, a second chance, a refuge. Jesse had sobered up before he’d been gunned down for an unpaid drug debt. Who knew how long he would have stayed clean that time? Each period of sobriety extended Jesse’s life. If not for the murder, he might be here today, setting up a train set with his son... Of course, that’d mean James and Sofia wouldn’t have a baby on the way, but...

      Did it mean Jesse’s death was one of those “meant to be” curveballs life threw at you? He’d bet the godly chaplain Brielle Thompson would think so.

      “Thought you hated clinics like that,” Jewel drawled. She passed him a beer on her way back from the kitchen.

      “Hate’s a strong word.” His thumb traced the tab’s sharp, metallic outline. “Just don’t see it helping me.”

      “They’re dragging Jesse’s name into this,” James put in, grim.

      “What? How?” his mother exclaimed.

      “Javi, go to your room,” Sofia ordered.

      “But—” he protested.

      “Now.” James pointed at the stairs, and Javi scurried up them.

      When they heard his bedroom door shut, James said, “They blame Jesse for bringing those murderers to town and claim the Fresh Start residents might do the same.”

      Justin swore a blue streak, finishing with, “Of all the small-minded, hypocritical, overreactionary talk I’ve ever heard. We need to stop this.” His thumb twitched over his beer’s tab, but didn’t bend it back. It felt like a grenade—pull the pin and boom.

      He needed to be alert for this conversation. Not numb.

      “We’ll speak at the meeting.” James swept Sofia’s swollen feet onto his lap and rubbed them.

      “That might help, but I’m not sure it’ll be enough,” worried Ma. “The lady who’s running it—what’s her name?”

      “Brielle Thompson,” Justin supplied, thinking of the saintly warrior he’d gone toe to toe with days ago. She was a fighter. He set the beer down on the coffee table.

      “Right.” His mother pulled off her glasses and polished them with the bottom of her yellow shirt. It coordinated with the polka dots in her headband and on her socks. Some people collected dolls. Some were into antique cars. His mother obsessed about matching her outfits, her furnishings, even her car accessories right down to the ocean-blue air freshener in the same shade as her sedan. She called it a lifestyle choice. “As a stranger,” she continued, “and a city girl, I’m not sure our neighbors will listen to her.”

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