Chapter Eleven

      Travis Stockwell slouched over the counter and fiddled with a limp French fry, using it to draw designs in the ketchup that flooded one side of his plate. He remembered that Peggy didn’t like ketchup on her French fries. She ate the danged things dry. A man just couldn’t have serious feelings about a woman who didn’t know how to eat French fries.

      Worst part was that she’d probably raise those babies to eat French fries wrong, too. That’d be a real shame, especially for T.J. The little wrangler needed someone to teach him real-man stuff, like how to whack the ketchup bottle with a flat palm instead of a fist so the contents wouldn’t glug out all at once. And then there was the fine art of chomping down a burger in four bites or less. None of this nibbling around the edge stuff. Girls nibbled. Men gobbled. Belching was optional.

      It wasn’t that Peggy wouldn’t be a good mother to those babies. She was a wonderful mama. The best. Patient and tender, all cooey and kissy. And the bravest woman he’d ever met. Peggy had given birth to twins in the back of his taxi during one of the worst storms Colorado had ever experienced, and she never complained once. Travis didn’t have a doubt in the world that those sweet babies would be well-loved and happy. It’s just that there were girl manners and boy manners, and Travis hated the idea that T.J. would grow up not knowing the difference.

      Travis pushed away his plate, eyeing his own half-eaten burger with disdain. It looked, well, it looked nibbled. Pitiful, just pitiful. Ordinarily he was a three-bite-man and proud of it. Tonight his stomach wasn’t up to the challenge.

      Maybe it was the peculiar sense of apprehension that had been plaguing him. He’d had trouble concentrating, had even missed a turnoff and found himself heading toward Nebraska. It had taken an extra hour to backtrack. Now he’d be lucky if he made it to Cheyenne by morning.

      Travis took a final gulp of cold coffee, then tossed a two-buck tip on the counter and went to the diner’s cash register to pay his bill. The cashier greeted him with a lukewarm smile, waiting while he eyed the array of gum and mints displayed in the glass counter case.

      “Got any pumpkin seeds?” he asked, handing over a twenty.

      She accepted the currency and gave the display a disinterested glance. “We’ve got sunflower seeds.”

      “I don’t want sunflower seeds.”

      “We’ve got gum.”

      “I don’t want gum. I want pumpkin seeds.”

      She plopped his change on the counter. “Well, cowboy, you can’t have ’em if we don’t got ‘em. How about a breath mint?”

      He narrowed his eyes. “How about some antacids?” he said loudly enough to startle some patrons that had just entered the establishment. “I could use ’em about now.”

      The patrons did a U-turn and left.

      Travis barely noticed, nor did he pay attention to the infuriated cashier’s dark scowl. He was completely overwhelmed by a soft buzz in his skull and the chill skittering down his spine. He shifted, glanced over his shoulder, saw nothing but his own reflection in the diner’s glass door.

      Then he felt it again, a whispered uneasiness, unfocused but intensely compelling. His shoulder tingled as if touched. And he could have sworn he heard someone call his name.

      * * *

      “Why did you leave me, Daddy?”

      “I had to.”

      “Didn’t you love me anymore?”

      “I