Chapter One

      Jack DeMoise watched his eighteen-month-old son bang a block against the doctor’s desk drawer.

      “He’s going to need as much attention and support as you can give him,” Dr. Rutherford said. “We’re learning more and more about this condition. His best odds would be to get a TSS—therapeutic support staff—team on board right away. Hope your wife is organized!”

      Jack drew in a breath and let it out slowly before meeting the other man’s eyes. “There’s no reason you should remember this from the intake papers, but I’m a widower.”

      The doctor’s face fell, just a little. Most people wouldn’t even have noticed, but Jack was accustomed to reading emotions carefully, from small tells. It had been a crucial skill with his wife. “Do you work full-time yourself?” the doctor asked.

      Jack nodded. “My job can be flexible, though.” Except when it isn’t. “I’m a small-town veterinarian. I’ve had several good babysitters, but I’m not sure any of them are up to...” He reached down and squeezed his son’s shoulder. “To helping me manage Sammy’s care the right way.”

      The doctor frowned. “You need someone experienced with kids, someone who connects well with him. Ideally, a person with special-needs experience, though that’s not a requirement. A full-time nanny would be ideal.”

      And where was he supposed to find such a person in his small Colorado town?

      The doctor stood and smiled down at Sammy. “Cute little guy. You can see the people in the front office to schedule his next appointment.”

      As the doctor left the exam room, Sammy lifted his arms, and Jack knelt to pick him up and held him close.

      Autism.

      The diagnosis didn’t shock him—he’d had suspicions—but the reality of figuring out a coping strategy was hitting him hard.

      Two hours later, back at their new home at Redemption Ranch, Jack had just gotten Sammy down for a nap when the sound of a loud, mufflerless car broke the mountain silence. He hurried to close Sammy’s window, glanced back at the crib to make sure his son was still sleeping and then looked outside.

      From this angle, all he could see was a tangle of red curls emerging from a rusty subcompact.

      Arianna. He’d heard she was in town.

      He took another deep breath before double-timing it down the steps to anticipate his former sister-in-law’s loud knock on the door. Once Sammy was asleep, you didn’t want to repeat the complicated process that had made it happen.

      He opened the door just as Arianna was lifting her hand to knock. Under her other arm, she held a giant painting, done in her trademark primitive style.

      “When I heard you’d moved, I wanted to bring a housewarming gift,” she said. “And a treat for Sammy. Sorry I didn’t call first.