CHAPTER 6

C HAPTER 6

Dean sat with the others when they went back in for the last few segments of the workshop. All around him were reminders that Christmas was coming. Stockings hung on garlands of fir and holly interspersed. A Christmas tree, highly decorated, in the corner of the room. Happy things. Reminders of wonderful holidays.

But not for him. His holidays had been filled with fear and apprehension. His poor father, after she'd fooled him into believing she was the perfect woman, became terrified of her. She tortured him.

He'd thought that surely one day his father would stand up to her, divorce her, leave her. He'd begged him to, especially when he went to college. He came home on holidays, and those were agonizing. She laughed as she tormented the older man, called him names, belittled him. She did the same to her stepson, dared him to do anything about it. All through college she'd made him feel worthless, despite his high scores on tests and his successes. She couldn't even grasp the basics of what he did, so she belittled that, too. But most of the attacks were personal. He was ugly, she said, he'd never find a woman who wanted him. He'd be alone forever. He was too stupid, too lacking, too disgusting. Over and over and over again, almost his whole life, he'd had to listen to such things.

Outside the house there was an unmarked grave. He knew. She hadn't realized that he knew who and why it was there. But when he found the second one, just a few months ago, he'd poured out all his fury and hurt and vengeance on her. She'd laughed. He was just like his father, she'd taunted. He wouldn't do anything except cower in the corner and complain. She was still laughing when he saw the baseball bat that his father had kept, a souvenir of his childhood. He was barely aware of picking it up . . .

The lecturer had raised his voice. Dean caught his breath. He'd been lost in the horror of the past. He was almost sweating with the fear. He felt the most intense sense of guilt.

He couldn't escape the guilt. It was running down his sweating face like tears. Tears. He couldn't bear to remember. So many tears. He wanted to tell someone. He wanted it more than anything. But it would require a kind of courage he didn't have. She had seen to that. She, with her screams and taunts and dares and humiliation over so many bleak years.

He thought of her, saw her face, and was sickened by what she'd done to him. Things so horrible that he could never share them with a single soul. His poor father had suffered as well, every single day until . . .

But he couldn't think about that. Not yet. Essa and Mellie made him feel differently. They gave him hope. They made him feel that he wasn't worthless. If he could just have them close for a little while longer, just a few days. Then, he decided, he'd do what he had to do. Surely he could work up the nerve by then.

They gathered in the lobby to say goodbye.

"I thought I might detour by the hotel in Benton on my way back to Denver," Dean said to the others. "Maybe we could go to the dig one more time," he added with a smile at the females.

"Oh, yes!" Mellie exclaimed.

"That would be very nice!" Essa seconded.

Duke just smiled, as if in agreement.

"Then it's a date," Dean said, pleased. "So, I'll see you in a day or two perhaps?"

"In a day or two," Essa agreed.

Mellie nodded.

They both smiled.

Dean said his goodbyes and went up to his room to make everything ready for the trip. He hoped he could outrun his guilt for just a little while longer. He phoned his lawyer and made some changes to his will. Just in case.

* * *

"You two did great!" Duke told them on the way back to the hotel.

"Yes, but now what?" Essa asked. "You've already told us not to go anywhere with him."

Mellie nodded.

"I'll think of something," he promised.

"Oh, Daddy, you always say that." Mellie laughed.

He wrinkled his nose and smiled at her. "It gives me time to think up excuses." He chuckled.

Essa listened to the byplay. She was still in the dark about what Duke wanted them to do and why. He knew things that he wasn't sharing. She wondered what they were.

* * *

Duke dropped them off at the hotel and went on to Sheriff Jeff Ralston's office in town.

"Any news?" Jeff asked with a smile.

"Lots. He's coming back here. He wants to take Essa and my daughter out to the dig site again," Duke told him.

Jeff grimaced. "Bad idea. Very bad."

"Yes, I know. But I don't have any evidence that would hold up—just a sec," he excused himself as his phone rang.

He answered it and went to the other end of the room. He listened to the arrogant, prideful voice on the other end of the line.

"You've spent enough time lazing around that hick town and producing nothing of note," his boss said. "So you either come back now or you're fired."

Duke was barely able to hold his temper. "I've been following leads. The man is dangerous. He's already killed three people . . ."

"You have no proof of that," came the icy reply. "You have a theory."

"The same killing method on three corpses and you think it's a coincidence," Duke said through his teeth.

"You're chasing shadows. You're supposed to be getting evidence in a burglary, not tracking down phantom killers!"

"The man is a serial killer," Duke said shortly. "I know what I'm talking about. I worked forensics for the FBI."

"Obviously their recruiter was desperate when they hired you," came the reply. "As I've just told you . . ."

"Fine. Take your job and shove it," he said. "I'll send you my new address. You can forward my severance pay."

"You can't quit! This case . . . !"

"Is now your problem." Duke hung up. The phone rang again. He ignored it and went back to Jeff, his face taut, his dark eyes blazing.

Jeff studied him. "Lost your job, I'll wager."

"I quit," he replied. "The damned idiot wouldn't listen. He wants me to investigate a burglary! There's a serial killer on the loose, I'm this close to nailing him, and my boss wants me to throw away the investigation for a burglary!"

"Your boss is an idiot. Come work for me. My investigator got married and moved to Denver. I need an investigator, and you need a job. The pay's probably about the same, except that I'm a dandy boss. You can have holidays free and even an occasional free meal when we go to meetings at our local gun club—I'll nominate you for membership." He grinned.

Duke laughed. "Well!"

"How about it?" Jeff asked.

"I'm hired," Duke said.

"You'll need a place to live," Jeff continued.

"Got it covered," Duke replied. He became somber. "Now, let me tell you what I know about this man, and why I want to deal with him right now . . ."

They spoke for several minutes, during which Jeff winced as he realized just how much danger Essa was in. He knew her, having lived in Benton all his life. She was a sweet woman.

"One slip," he began uneasily.

"There won't be one," Duke said firmly.

Fate laughed.

* * *

The next morning, Dean was in the lobby very early when Essa came down with Mellie. It was Essa's second day off in a week, and she'd already apologized to her boss for having to ask for it. But he, a forensics buff himself, was eager to be a part of the investigation, even on the fringes.

Essa started. She hadn't expected Dean this early. Nothing was ready. Duke had gone by the sheriff's office to make sure he had all his support people in place.

"I only have a few minutes," Dean apologized with an easy smile as he looked from Essa to Mellie. He checked his watch. "I have to be in Denver in two and a half hours, so this will be a very quick trip."

Essa calmed a little. That didn't sound like a man with nefarious plans, although she'd never been able to get Duke to tell her exactly why he was investigating Dean. He'd mentioned a burglary case once. That might be it, but why was Mellie involved at all?

"So, can you come with me?" He chuckled. "I've already phoned the head of the team to clear it with him. He said they'd made some very interesting finds yesterday."

Essa relaxed. This wasn't going to be anything worrisome. She and Mellie could drive out to the dig site and call Duke from there. He could meet them at the excavation.

She glanced at Mellie, who looked a little more concerned than she did.

"Dad said not to leave the hotel," Mellie said uneasily. "He had someplace he was going to take us first. He said you probably wouldn't be ready to go until later this morning . . ."

"It's barely eight thirty," Dean said easily, concealing his dismay. "I'll have you back here by no later than nine fifteen. How's that?" he added, smiling at them.

"Well, that should be okay," Mellie said. "But if he starts yelling, I'm hiding behind you!" she added to Dean with a chuckle.

"Fair enough," he said. "Shall we go?"

They ran into one of the two day receptionists on the way out. "Essa, you still off, you lucky devil?" he teased.

She grinned. "Yes, I am! Dean's taking us to look at old dead things," she said with mock drama. "Eat your heart out!"

He made a face at her. "I love forensics, you know that. Couldn't I go instead of her?" he asked Dean, pointing at Essa. "I know how to use a trowel and a toothbrush!" he added hopefully.

Dean forced a laugh. "Sorry. The head archaeologist only gave permission for Essa and Mellie. Maybe another time," he added.

"Thanks anyway. Have fun!" he called as they went out the door.

* * *

Dean already had the car in the front parking lot. He settled Essa in the front seat and Mellie in the back.

"I should call Daddy," Mellie said, pulling out her cell phone.

"Not just yet," Dean said, smiling. "I have a surprise first."

"A surprise?" Mellie asked, diverted, putting away the phone. "For me?"

"Yes, for you. Something special." He pulled out of the parking lot. "Essa, seat belt, please," he said gently.

"As if I need it," she teased. "You're one of the best drivers I know."

He flushed a little. "You make me feel so good about myself," he said, almost to himself.

"You're a nice person," she replied, puzzled. "Surely I'm not the only one who tells you that."

"You're very nice," Mellie seconded. "And we'll fight anybody who says you aren't!" She grinned.

He was breathing uneasily. His hands on the steering wheel were white from the pressure. Essa and Mellie were such unique people. Kind. Generous. Empathetic. He wanted to keep them with him forever, to forget the past, to have a future that included them. Never had anyone made him feel so good about himself, made him want to make amends. But then, there was only one way he could make amends. And he couldn't take these kind people with him. He didn't know where he might end up. It might be a very bad place, and then what? He'd have sacrificed his kind friends on a whim. A sad whim. He couldn't just go out and collect kind people and make them stay with him. What had he been thinking?

He drove on to the dig site while Essa and Mellie talked back and forth about the previous day's forensic workshop, with Mellie asking a dozen questions.

"That's right, isn't it, Dean?" Essa asked suddenly.

"Wh . . . what?" he stammered, trapped in his thoughts.

"The speaker said that one grain of pollen found on a suspect's clothing had matched with a flower in the lapel of the victim, and that it had been prime evidence in the conviction."

"Pollen." He was blank, caught in the fever of what was coming. "Yes. Pollen. That's right."

"Are you okay?" Essa asked softly. "Dean, you look terrible. If you don't feel like taking us out here . . ."

He wiped at his forehead, where beads of sweat had formed. "I didn't have breakfast," he said dimly. "And I didn't sleep well. I'm all right. Really. Really I am."

Essa drew in a breath. "Well, we wouldn't have complained if you hadn't felt like doing it, you know," she said with a gentle smile.

Knives. Knives in his heart.

"Of course we wouldn't!" Mellie agreed.

They were so kind. Possibly the kindest females he'd ever known. Definitely not like his stepmother! He hated himself for what he'd thought. They were so innocent. They had no idea what he planned for them.

But Mellie's father suspected him. He was a detective. Did he suspect him of what he'd actually done, or was it just some sort of apprehension that had no name, a detective's hunch that there was something not right about Dean?

"There it is," Essa said, noting the dig site just off the main highway on a dirt road, but visible from the highway. She frowned. "I don't see anybody . . ."

Dean ground his teeth together. He sped up to the dig site and stopped the car. "Get out of the car, both of you."

They stared at him, shocked.

"Please," he ground out, eyes shut tight. "Please!"

"Dean, what's wrong?" Essa asked. "Can we help?"

"No. Nothing can help me now." He took a shuddering breath. "Please. Get out. You have your phones. You can call . . . for help." He looked at Essa with wild, unseeing eyes. "Please! Hurry!"

She didn't understand, but she felt a darkness in him suddenly—a vicious, cold darkness that was beyond anything she'd experienced.

"Get out, Mellie," she told the child as she unfastened her seat belt and opened the door.

"What is it" she asked Dean when they were standing beside the car.

"You'll know. You will. Forgive . . . me," he choked, his eyes going from one of them to the other. "I was once . . . a kind person. It was the shock. I didn't think she'd do it. Of course, it wasn't the first time. He didn't stop her then. Maybe it was . . . fated. But when I saw what she'd done, I . . . I just went crazy. I loved my father! Please don't . . . hate me."

"Of course we don't hate you . . ."

"Close the door," he said through gritted teeth.

No sooner had Essa done that than he turned the car with furious speed and jetted out onto the highway, spinning dirt and gravel everywhere.

* * *

Duke had just contacted the sheriff of another county in Colorado, and now he had enough evidence for reasonable suspicion to make an arrest. It had taken some quick work by Sheriff Jeff Ralston, but he had a warrant, signed by a local judge.

Now all he had to do was get his girls and ensure their safety before he arrested Dean. He walked into the hotel and stood very still.

They weren't in the lobby where he'd sent them before he left the hotel. His heart stopped. His blood ran cold. Surely Dean hadn't come early . . . ?!

"Hi, there," the desk clerk called gaily. "If you're looking for your little girl, she and Essa went out to that dig site with Dean Mr. . . . Marston?!" he exclaimed, because Duke's face was white. Sheet white.

He was punching in numbers like a wild man with hands that were unsteady. Please, God, he prayed silently as he waited for his daughter's phone to ring. Please, God . . . !

It rang once. Twice. Three times. He groaned out loud, holding up a hand to ward off the desk clerk, who was asking questions. Four times!

Mellie , he thought with horror. Please, God, spare Mellie. Spare Essa . He couldn't bear to lose them; either of them!

Five times . . . !

"Hello? Daddy?" Mellie asked.

He almost staggered with relief. "Baby, where are you?" he asked at once.

"We're at the dig site, but there's nobody here," the child said. "And Dean . . . what? Oh, sure, here."

"Duke," Essa said, "Dean left us out here at the dig site. There's nobody here. He was acting very oddly, and he drove away like a madman! What's going on?"

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

"It's a twenty-minute drive . . . Hello? Hello?"

Mellie looked up at her. "Daddy drives like a maniac sometimes," she explained. "But he's a really good driver. He used to race cars," she added with a grin. The smile fell. "Did he say what was wrong with Dean?"

"No." She handed Mellie back her phone. It was cold out here, and lonely. "I wish I knew what was going on," she added.

Mellie pressed close to her. "Me, too. I hope Dean is all right. I like him a lot."

"So do I," Essa said. She hugged the child close.

* * *

It was more like twenty minutes before Duke showed up, and he was followed by an ambulance and a sheriff's car with sirens going and lights blazing.

Duke stopped by Essa and Mellie, but the other vehicles kept going.

Duke didn't hesitate. He scooped up the most important females in the world and hugged them close.

While Mellie pressed close, his head bent, and he kissed the breath out of a shocked Essa. She melted.

"I can't remember the last time I was this frightened," Duke said, kissing Essa's eyes shut.

Mellie pulled back and looked up at him. He was very pale. "I don't understand, Daddy. Dean brought us out here to see something the archaeologist found, but there was nobody here. He told us to get out of the car and then he took off."

"Like a bat out of hell," Essa added, meeting Duke's eyes and still disconcerted by that very passionate and unexpected kiss. "He said a lot of things I didn't understand, about what his stepmother had done and he saw his father and went crazy and did something. He was very upset about it. He asked us not to hate him . . ."

Duke just looked at her. He looked down at his daughter. "I thought I told you two to stay in the lobby," he said in a choked tone.

"We're sorry," Essa replied. "But Dean came very early and said the crew had found something exciting. He promised we'd only be gone for about a half hour." She shrugged and smiled. "So we went with him. After all, he wasn't really dangerous, was he? I mean, you were investigating a burglary for your detective agency. Most burglars wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Let's get in the car," he said gently.

When they were situated, he started to speak, but a sheriff's car pulled off the highway onto the dirt road and stopped beside them at the dig site. Jeff Ralston, somber and quiet, got out of his car and came to Duke's window, which was powered down.

"You were right," Jeff said. "I'm going to write a letter to your former boss and tell him what a damned fool he is!"

"Former boss?" Mellie asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Right about what?" Essa asked.

Jeff produced a crumpled, stained note and a pin in a plastic envelope. "I'll transfer this into a paper bag when my deputy gets back, but you can handle it this way without damaging the evidence."

Duke took the bag and read the note. He ground his teeth together. "Dear God," he whispered, and his eyes closed.

Essa and Mellie were very quiet, both consumed with unanswered questions.

Duke turned to Essa and handed her the bag. It contained a karate pin like the one Dean wore on his collar, and a note written hastily on the back of an envelope.

She read the scribbled note locked inside the bag.

"I didn't mean to do it," the note read. "She killed my little brother when I was in grammar school. My father said they'd take me away if I told, that it was an accident, my stepmother hit him accidentally. So I said nothing. She treated my father so badly. I hated to see it. He loved her. He wouldn't leave her. But I came home for Thanksgiving, and I found him. His body was still warm. She laughed. She said she was finally free of him, she could go out and get a real man to marry. I just lost it. There was a bat close by. I picked it up and . . . I can't live with what I've done! Essa and Mellie, they're both so kind. I never had kindness. Not from anybody. My computer is in my room. It will explain everything. I spoke to my attorney last night and signed a document online. You'll see why. Hug the girls for me. Tell them . . . I'm so sorry. So very sorry. I loved them both. I can't live with what I've done. This is what's best for everybody. Take good care of them."

It was signed Dean.

Essa was frowning, oblivious to Mellie in the back seat asking to read the note.

She looked at Duke for an explanation.

He took a deep breath and glanced at Jeff Ralston for help. He was too choked up to speak, the first time he was so affected by a perpetrator.

Jeff looked at Essa. "Dean Sutter's car went over the side of the mountain at a high rate of speed. He wasn't wearing a seat belt, so he was thrown from the car before the gas tank exploded." He swallowed. "They're taking him to the morgue at the hospital pending autopsy."

Essa felt the blood drain from her face. "He's . . . dead?"

Jeff nodded.

Tears ran down her cheeks. They ran down Mellie's, too. Essa reached over the console and gripped Mellie's little hand tight in wordless sympathy.

"Why?" Essa choked on the word.

"I'll tell you when we get back to the hotel," Duke said.

* * *

It was a long story. They pieced it together from what was written on Dean's computer, and there was a lot of information there.

His father had remarried when he was ten years old. His stepmother had been a martial arts expert. She worked at a convenience store part time. She hated her two stepsons. She hadn't wanted children, and she would have insisted that Dean's father give them back to his mother. But his mother had died.

There had been another child, a little boy, Dean's brother. She'd killed him and threatened to tell the police that his father did it if he didn't help her conceal the crime.

Dean's extremely wealthy father was cowardly. He agreed and helped her bury the child. The story went out that he'd wandered off into the woods when his stepmother and father weren't looking. There was suspicion of foul play, but nothing could be proven.

Dean's father, a mousy little man, did whatever his wife told him to. When he wasn't home, she tortured Dean in ways that he only insinuated on his computer. She made fun of him when he wanted to play sports in grammar school, ridiculed him day and night. His father was afraid of her because she did crazy things. The murder of his youngest son cowed him even more. He didn't want to go to prison. She'd threatened to make sure he did if he ever talked. So Dean had no respite from her.

Despite all she did, Dean put up with her until he came home the day after he graduated from college. His father hadn't been at the ceremony, but he'd promised he would be. When he got home, he found his father in a shallow grave next to the place she'd put Dean's little brother the day she killed him. Dean loved his father.

They went back in the house, and she bragged about what she'd done, said she'd have a new life now, one with a real man. While she was talking, Dean's eyes fell on the baseball bat he'd had from playing in Little League, before the evil woman snared his father. He walked toward it like a sleepwalker, picked it up and . . .

He didn't bury his stepmother. He left her for the forensics people to go over, to hunt him. But nobody had contacted him, not since the day they'd found her, when the investigating officer asked where he'd been at the time of the crime. Why, in his dormitory, getting ready to come home.

Nobody could disprove it, and the family was wealthy. Very wealthy. So questions that might have been asked of a less-fortunate son weren't asked of him.

He was, of course, the least likely suspect. Dean had graduated with a degree in anthropology and had made straight A's. His paternal grandfather had died his freshman year and left him rich. Filthy rich. His father's death had only added to his fortune. He was rich beyond the dreams of avarice. But he was warped by his childhood. Hopelessly warped.

Other women had been mean—women with smart mouths and spoiled attitudes, but Essa had been gentle and sweet. Like Mellie. The two of them had overwhelmed him with their kind natures.

Mellie had pleaded to come along when he invited Essa to the dig site. The child's obvious, spontaneous affection for him, like Essa's, had knocked him back. Their kindness only heightened the guilt he felt at what he'd done in an instant's passion.

So the only solution had been to take himself out of the picture. He could no longer live with the guilt, no matter how fitting a punishment it was for his coldhearted stepmother. He'd sent the car over the cliff to make sure he could never harm another person.

By the time Duke got through explaining in his hotel room, Essa and Mellie were both in tears.

Sitting on the sofa between them, he hugged them both.

"It's for the best," he told them softly. "I know that you both felt affection for him. But he couldn't have had a normal life in any event, considering what his life had been like. Losing his little brother and then his father to a madwoman's insanity destroyed something inside him. When he killed her, it only added to his desperation. He couldn't bear it."

They were pressed close against his broad chest.

"I felt so sorry for him," Essa said. "He was such a sad person."

"But he was nice to us," Mellie told her father.

"Nicer than you know, yet," Duke replied.

Essa lifted her head. "What do you mean?"

"Dean left a document on his computer. It was signed and notarized, authorizing his estate to be split between the two of you," he explained.

"Why?" Essa exclaimed.

"He probably felt that you showed him the only real affection he'd ever had," Duke said simply. "The document, I'm told, will hold up in court. They can't find a single relative, no matter how distant."

"That's so kind," Essa said. "So at least we can afford to give him a proper funeral, right?"

He smiled at her. "Among other things. His estate is worth ten million dollars."

Essa just stared at him.

Mellie burst into tears. "I just wish he hadn't died," she said. "We could have visited him in jail and sent him mail and stuff."

"It wouldn't have worked out that way," Duke replied. "I'll explain it to you one day. Meanwhile, I have two other announcements."

They pulled back and looked at him from reddened eyes.

"First, I just took a job with our local sheriff's department as their investigator."

"Oh, wow, we don't have to leave Benton?!" Mellie exclaimed. "We can stay here with Essa?!"

He chuckled. "I also bought the ranch where we went riding." He shrugged. "I planned on dedicating my life to paying it off . . ."

"I'll pay it off," Mellie said with a grin. "And we can share it, Daddy!"

"I don't need millions of dollars," Essa began warily.

"Yes, you do," Duke said. "You can marry me and live with us, and we'll fund an outreach program for mental health here," he added. "That was what Dean asked that a portion of the estate be used for—before your mutual bequests were added."

"What a sweet man," Essa said. "I know, he was a killer. But there were extenuating circumstances. And if he hadn't had the upbringing he did . . ."

"We'll never know." He was studying Essa. "I believe I just made you a proposal of marriage . . . ?"

Essa flushed.

Mellie grinned. "You have to marry him!" she told her friend. "Then you can come live on the ranch with us, and we can go riding all the time!"

Essa burst out laughing. "Now, listen here . . ."

Duke got up and pulled Essa into his arms. "Mellie, go play that handheld game of yours in the bedroom. With the door closed," he added. "Now."

Mellie laughed gleefully and went running to obey her dad.

Essa was kissed until her mouth was sore, and then kissed some more. It was the most delicious few minutes of her whole life.

"I love kids," he whispered into her parted lips.

"Me, too," she managed weakly. "And Mellie shouldn't really be an only child."

"So we can get married and raise kids and hell in Benton, Colorado."

"Most definitely."

"Is that a ‘yes'?" he teased.

She pressed closer with her arms around his neck. "I might need just a little more persuading," she whispered. He chuckled.

"No problem at all," he whispered back.

* * *

A small Christmas church wedding, with Mellie as flower girl, poinsettias all around them for decoration, and a passionate wedding night and morning and afternoon and night and morning later, Mellie knocked on the door of their new ranch house. Beside her, one of the receptionists for the sheriff's department, whose family she'd been staying with during the brief honeymoon, grinned, as it seemed to take a long time for someone to answer the door.

Essa opened it, wearing sweats, with her long hair around her shoulders. "Mellie!" she exclaimed, and hugged the young girl, and then hugged her some more. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

"And I'm so glad to have you as my mom!" Mellie exclaimed, hugging her back, hard.

Duke came to the door yawning, also wearing sweats. "I hate jogging," he said to nobody in particular. Mellie ran to him, and he hugged her.

"Jogging?" the receptionist asked.

"Jogging." He sighed. "Our new morning routine. I suggested coffee and toast, but the exercise guru here"—he jerked his thumb at his new wife—"said not until we did a mile. So we did a mile."

"It's great exercise, and we don't want you to go to fat, now do we, sweetheart?" she asked with a purr in her voice.

He just shrugged.

"Thanks for bringing her home," Duke told the visitor with a grin.

"My pleasure. And when Jack and I go to Yellowstone on our vacation, you get to return the favor," she teased. "Except that we've got four kids. You'll be calling us every day to see when we're coming home," she added with glee.

"Don't count on it." Duke chuckled. "I love kids."

"Me, too," Essa said. "You'll have to bring help to get them back." She chuckled.

"Am I going to get brothers and sisters?" Mellie exclaimed, all smiles.

"We'll do our best," Essa said solemnly. She grinned at Duke.

He laughed, too.

"We also think that our chef should retire and work on her profession," he told Mellie.

"Her profession?" the receptionist asked.

"She writes novels," Mellie said enthusiastically. "And she's great! I'll never forget that first amazing line of her novel!" She stood up straight and struck a pose. "It was a dark and stormy night . . . !"

Essa threw a wadded-up paper towel at her.

And two years later to the day she'd met Duke and Mellie, during the Christmas holidays, Essa sold her first novel. She showed the acceptance letter from her editor to Duke while she held their firstborn son next to the Christmas tree. "Told you I could do it," she teased.

He pulled her close. They watched Mellie chase their new German shepherd puppy around the front yard of the ranch with delight. "I think you can do anything you want to," he said softly, and bent to kiss first her, and then the baby.

"I think you can, too," she replied. "Merry Christmas," she murmured.

And the look she gave him was so full of love that he grinned from ear to ear.

* * *

Essa gave a thought to the troubled man who'd paved the way for so many changes in their lives. The mental health outreach program worked hand in glove with local, state, and federal agencies to get help to children with mental issues. It was off to a running start and had plenty of support.

Dean, she decided, as she thought about it, would be pleased with the project he'd outlined and financed with his estate. The children who benefitted were also eligible for scholarships if they decided to go into courses of study that dealt with behavior modification. Mellie had already decided on a career in anthropology when she grew up, inspired by Dean's example. All of this was due to the influence of a tortured boy who had been given no help when he needed it the most. Now, many children would be saved, because of him.

It was a good Christmas legacy, Essa thought as her eyes went from her husband to her new daughter, to the baby. They were all gathered near the Christmas tree with so many colorful presents under it while they looked out at the first flakes of snow.