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He kept walking, his cup of coffee from Java Time—which he found he liked better than the big chain stuff—offering a welcome warmth on this chilly morning. He’d made himself leave after dropping Jeremy off with Mrs. Baylor for his day’s lessons, to be followed by his reward of riding lessons on Pie with Nic. He was doing so well that after the first couple of days, Mrs. Baylor had said he should quit hovering. So he fought the urge to stick around and just watch the running of the ranch, the way real cowboys worked—and the way one particular cowgirl worked.

So instead he’d set out to learn this place where they’d landed. He’d been walking the side streets today. The ones that paralleled Hickory, where Tris’s duplex was, were all tree names. The cross streets that paralleled Main Street seemed to be mostly flower names, including the somewhat whimsically named Yellow Rose Road. He’d always known Texans were proud of their home state, he’d just never quite realized how deep it went.

He was passing the hardware store—namedNailed It, which made him smile—when the door opened and a boy careened into him. He managed not to spill the hot coffee on him, but barely.

“Sorry, mister,” the boy said quickly, nearly dropping the bag from the store. Jackson grabbed it with his free hand and kept it from hitting the sidewalk, which could have been a mess because he saw then it was full of nails and fasteners and other bits of hardware.

“Hey, you’re that guy! TheStonewallguy.”

The boy looked fourteen or so, maybe a little older. Not exactly the audience they aimed at, but the show had gotten so huge, who knew where the audience pool ended anymore?

“Sorry,” the boy repeated. “I know we’re not supposed to bother you.”

“You didn’t,” Jackson assured him. He looked at the bag. “Building something?”

“Yeah,” the kid said eagerly, looking up at him with a pair of big brown eyes. “A house for my new dog. He’s out in the truck. Keller—he’s pretty much my dad—is going to help me.”

Pretty much my dad?

“Lucas?”

The call came from inside, and the boy turned quickly. “Right here.”

The man who stepped outside the store then looked like his horse should be tied up out front. Head to toe, all six-plus feet ofhim—the man had about an inch on him, Jackson guessed—was powerful, muscled cowboy. From the well-used boots up to the black felt cowboy hat. A pair of dark-green eyes looked at him assessingly, then flicked to the boy standing there.

“Going to introduce us?” the man asked.

“Oh, sorry,” the boy said, like a kid suddenly reminded of manners he’d been taught. “This is Keller Rafferty, and I’m Lucas Brock.” Which probably explained the “pretty much my dad” part. Adopted? Stepdad? Whatever, it was clear they had a good relationship, because the boy smiled up at him happily. “And you already know who this is, since Sydney loves the show. She’s gonna be jealous we met you.”

“Sydney’s my wife,” the man explained. “And his cousin,” he added, nodding at the boy. At Jackson’s expression, he grinned. “It’s complicated, as they say.”

“But good,” the boy added.

“Yeah, it is,” Rafferty said, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s already tousled hair. Then he looked back at Jackson. “Welcome to Last Stand.”

“It’s quite a place.”

“It’s a good place.”

“I’m getting that feeling. Lots of history here.”

The other man chuckled. “You want that, you need my mom. She’s a walking encyclopedia of Last Stand history. And she can tell it in a way that makes it come alive.”

“You should come meet her,” Lucas said eagerly. “Mrs. R is great.”

“It’s really my son who’s interested.”

Lucas started to speak again, then stopped. He glanced at Rafferty, who nodded. Then the boy started again. “She told me your son’s mom was killed in a car crash.”

Jackson tensed a little, although he told himself it was hardly surprising they all knew. But the boy’s next words shocked him.

“So were my mom and dad. It was awful. Still is, sometimes.” He hesitated again, then said, “Mrs. R said maybe, if I ever met him, I could talk to him about it. How it never goes away, but it does get better. She knows, because her husband was KIA. Keller’s dad, I mean.”

Jackson’s gaze shot to the man standing beside this rather amazing kid. So his parents were dead, this man had lost his father, was married to the boy’s cousin, and Lucas apparently lived with them. It made sense now. A joining of people who understood loss.

“It’s up to you,” Rafferty said quietly. “But if you ever think it would help, the offer’s there.”

“Thank you,” he said. “It just might.”