Chapter One

Ethan Ramsey didn't raise his head. He twisted the beer in his hand, felt the coolness of the glass against his fingers and wondered what would happen if he took a swallow. Would he want another? Then another?

Travis glanced at his brother and noticed his preoccupation with the beer. "Why'd you order the damn thing? You know you're not gonna drink it."

"A test, I suppose," he answered solemnly.

"Damn, Ethan, you beat anything I've ever seen. You have the strongest willpower of anyone I know. You went through a bad spell with liquor, but you had good reason. Under the circumstances, any man would've lost it."

Ethan didn't answer. He kept twisting the glass, trying to decide if any man had a good enough reason to obliterate the world from his mind.

"Check out the stripper, Ethan. You won't regret it."

Ethan wasn't interested in the stripper. He was more interested in getting Travis out of the strip club. He didn't want to be here in the first place and would never have come on his own. Unfortunately he'd allowed his younger brother to make their evening plans and -

"Ethan!" Travis called above all the jeers and yells.

Ethan turned toward the girl. She was beautiful, stunning, actually, with long legs, a tiny waist, full breasts, creamy skin and hair the color of rich copper. It hung down her back and she tossed it around her in seductive movements. She was taking off the few clothes she had on and the men were going wild. Ethan focused on her face and the blue of her eyes. They were blank, desolate, a look he'd seen many times in the course of his career. He'd been an FBI agent until he was injured in the line of duty. Victims, especially the abused, had that look. The girl hated being on stage in front of all these men. She was being forced to strip. He knew that without a doubt, and anger surged through him.

He told himself it was none of his business. But that didn't work. He kept staring at the girl's face and realized he had to get out of there or he'd do something stupid.

He stood abruptly. "Let's go."

Travis's head jerked toward him. "What? We've only been here thirty minutes."

"Let's go," Ethan repeated in a voice Travis clearly recognized. Moodily he followed Ethan outside to the truck.

Ethan got behind the wheel and Travis crawled into the passenger side. "You have a way of ruining my whole day," Travis complained. "I forgot that annoying little habit of yours."

"It's two in the morning," Ethan reminded him as he backed out and pulled into traffic.

"So what?"

"So you're thirty-eight years old and still going to strip joints. When the hell are you gonna grow up?"

"Whenever I damn well please," Travis returned, leaning his head back. "I'm not like you and Pop. I don't want a life that's so structured you're old before your time. I have to be myself."

Ethan rolled his eyes at the tiresome cliché. "Fine," he muttered, "but that also comes with a price."

"Oh, God," Travis groaned. "Don't preach to me."

Ethan didn't say anything else because he knew they'd get into a full-blown argument. That was the last thing he wanted, especially when Travis had had too much to drink. Not only that, Ethan couldn't shake his feeling about the stripper. It still bothered him, and he was taking it out on Travis. His brother could make his own decisions - even if he didn't like them - and Ethan had to respect that.

As they drove up to Travis's apartment, Ethan couldn't resist asking, "Did you notice the redhead's eyes?"

Travis sat up straight. "The stripper?"

"Yeah."

Travis laughed. "Her eyes? No, I wasn't looking at her eyes and if you were, you're getting as stodgy as Pop."

Ethan turned off the engine, letting that last remark slide. "Someone's forcing her to strip."

"What?"

"Didn't you see how scared she was and how she hated the men yelling and leering at her?"

"No, I didn't see any of that. Shut off your FBI radar. You're imagining things."

Was he? He didn't think so, but he had to forget it. He wasn't an agent anymore. He was a rancher; he did P.I. work on the side, but only when people asked for his help, and the only people who needed his help right now were his family.

He'd spent years working all over the country; that time away had come with personal casualties - a divorce, not being home when his mom died, a bullet to his hip and ... the loss of a son. Even now, he had to stop before he'd let himself think those words. That pain would never leave him. Sometimes ... He stopped his thoughts and glanced at Travis, who was lounging in the seat, head nodding. These days, family was his top priority. He had to find a way to talk to Travis without arguing.

He'd come to Dallas for that reason - to try to get Travis home for a visit. Their father and Travis had been at odds for years. It was time for family unity. Their sister, Molly, had just gone through a bitter divorce and she needed family around her, but getting Travis home was proving to be a more difficult task than he'd figured.

When Ethan had arrived in Dallas early that evening, Travis was preparing for a gig. He played in a local nightclub three nights a week. Travis grew up strumming his guitar and singing anywhere he could. He didn't like ranch work, which was a constant source of contention between him and Pop. After high school, Pop had wanted him to go to college, but Travis headed for Nashville to become a country music star. When it didn't happen, his pride wouldn't let him come home. They didn't hear much from him after that, but Ethan had ways of keeping tabs on him. Travis now worked as a foreman for a construction company. He was staying in one spot finally, and Ethan knew it was time to talk.

After the gig, Travis had insisted on the strip club, which certainly wasn't to Ethan's taste. He'd gone along, trying to be patient, but his patience was wearing thin.

They reached the apartment building and Travis unlocked his door. "You can have my bed," Travis said as they went inside. "I'll use the sofa bed."

Ethan removed his hat and placed it on the coffee table next to an empty pizza box and some beer cans. Travis wasn't much of a housekeeper. "Sleep in your own bed," he replied. "I'm not an invalid." He hated when people treated him differently because of his hip injury. "Besides, I'll be up early," he added in a softer tone.

Travis rubbed his chin. "I don't have to work tomorrow, so I ain't getting up early."

"I'll probably be gone before you wake up."

"Damn, Ethan, what's the rush?"

"It's hard for Pop to handle the ranching chores by himself."

"He does it when you're off on one of your cases," Travis reminded him.

"I always get Roy Dawson to help him," he told him.

"Pop's sixty-five, Travis, and he's slowing down."

Travis shoved both hands through his hair. "You want me to come home. That's why you're here."

Ethan pushed a mound of clothes aside and sat on the sofa. "Yes, for a visit. Is that so bad? Molly's having a rough time and she could use your support."

"Bruce is a bastard, leaving her for a twenty-year-old girl. The man must be going through a midlife crisis."

"Yeah." Ethan stood and stretched. "That's Bruce's problem. I'm not sure what yours is. Your whole life has been a midlife crisis." The words came out before Ethan could stop them. He had a habit of speaking his mind, and sometimes that wasn't good.

Travis bristled. "Don't think that because of your injury I won't punch you, Ethan."

"And don't think that because of my injury I won't punch you back."

(Continues...)