When Justin picked up Winona for dinner, he was so close to a shambling mess that he wanted to laugh at himself. He’d never been a nervous type. Couldn’t be. In his work, he had to do hours of intricate surgery without hesitation or allowing emotions to fluster his judgment. Yet tonight, his stomach was flip-flopping, his heartbeat galloping like a clumsy colt’s, his palms sticky-damp, and the extremely small package in his suit pocket seemed to weigh five tons.

He counted on feeling better when he saw her—only it didn’t work out that way.

For a few minutes she stood in the doorway, giving Myrt instructions and talking about the baby. And while she was standing there, she tugged on a coat, which she was definitely going to need, since the January night was frigid, the stars colder than diamonds against a black felt sky. Still, he’d caught a look at her in the black silk and heels. Even when Win dressed up, she never wore show-off clothes, nothing to toot her figure or draw attention to herself. But something had gotten into her. Something dangerous. Something worrisome. He didn’t know what to make of it all—the dipping-to-trouble bodice and the smoky thing she’d done to her eyes and the subtly lethal scent she wore.

His blood pressure had been in trouble before he picked her up. Now it was threatening stroke levels.

He was tugging on his tie even before he’d parked and walked her into Claire’s. The restaurant was on Main Street, past the bustling new town, past the shopping district, past the old, historic Royalton Hotel. Possibly five crystal snow flakes fell from the sky—no more, just enough to add atmosphere and magic to the night—and they stepped inside.

Although Royal was a wealthy town because of its oil, the town’s personality had never been formal. Claire’s was the exception. Just inside the door, there was almost an audible hush. The tables were decked with white linen, each center-pieced with a fresh rosebud. No prices showed up on the menus. The carpet was a luxurious wine, the wallpaper some type of velvet flocking in ruby-red. In the far corner, a piano player wearing a tux played muted love songs.

Once he’d taken her coat, Winona half turned to whisper in his ear, “All right. This is scary. I’ve been here before. You know how it is. The Gerards used Claire’s for special celebrations like everyone else does—at least everyone who can afford it. But I always wondered…exactly what happens if someone trips? Or burps?”

In spite of the five-ton weight of the package in his pocket, Justin started relaxing. How could he have forgotten? Win was as natural to be with as his own heartbeat. Even if that dip in her dress was affecting said heartbeat with drumroll enthusiasm. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “Nothing bad is allowed to happen in here, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Ah. Is that how it works? I always have the feeling that I’m going to get a run in my stocking the minute I walk into this place. Or, more to the point, that I’ll be the only woman in Claire’s with a noticeable run.”

“Well, that could be. But if that happens, you could take off the stocking and hand it to me to hide—along with anything you’re wearing under that slinky black dress.”

“Justin! This dress is not slinky!”

“It sure is. On you.” Again, he yanked on his tie. “Maybe we should go straight home. You’re not that hungry, are you? I am. But not for food anymore.”

Winona crackled the menu. “You are a bad, bad man and an even worse influence,” she said severely, and then smiled like a saint for the waiter.

“I think we want to start out with the most decadent bottle of wine you’ve got in the cellar,” Justin said, only to have Win bat her eyes at him.

“You mean those grapes went out and misbehaved? Created a scandal on their own?”

“You bet. You just can’t trust those grapes. Some of them grow up just praying for a chance to raise hell….” And to the waiter, he said, “Don’t mind us. We’re out of our minds. And in the meantime—we want the best steaks you’ve got in the back—and I don’t mean the ones you shipped in from Kansas. We want Texas steaks or nothing—and cooked more rare than a politician’s promises.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter had a hard time not cracking up, but then he was gone.

“Slip off your shoes, Win. You’re just with me. We’re going to do the gluttony and decadent relaxing thing tonight or die trying. No thinking about work or babies or worries or anything else, okay?”

Her smile was so sweet he was damn near tempted to sing her love songs. In public, yet. She raised a hand, matching his, touching fingertips to fingertips as if there wasn’t another soul in the restaurant. How he’d lived without her this long confounded Justin. And that he could help ease her nerves made him feel sky high…although that moment of private peace didn’t last, unfortunately.

Her soft smile suddenly seemed to wax still. “Darnit, Justin, I was really hoping to talk to you…but there are two men sitting over at a corner table by the window. They can’t be local, because I’d have seen them before, and there’s something a little odd about their clothes. The thing is, though, that they keep staring at you….”

Justin didn’t glance over his shoulder. He’d already noticed the two men when they’d first been ushered in. “Yeah. Their names are Milo and Garth. Quite a pair, aren’t they? They remind me of a poodle and a pug.”

“A poodle and a pu….” Again, she glanced at the two men, and then her soft mouth worked as she tried to control a giggle. “Justin, that’s terrible!”

“But true, isn’t it?” Once the waiter brought the open bottle, Justin motioned him away and poured the pinot noir into her glass.

“Well, I take it you know them? Oh shoot, they’re coming this way.”

Well, hell. There were only two human beings on the planet Justin really wanted to see tonight—one was the baby, and the other—the only one he really wanted—was Win. But now he was forced to look up. And as Winona had warned, bad news seemed determinedly bearing down on them.

Milo, the tall one, really did resemble a standard poodle. He was ultralean, with fairly broad shoulders but no butt or body and reedlike legs. A head full of springy, wiry curls framed an angular face with small eyes and a long nose. His sidekick, Garth, was a total contrast. Built short and squat, he had a pug’s flat nose and ornery expression. When Justin had first noted them eating, Garth had been shoveling in food as if he feared never getting another meal.

Both now approached their table with courteous smiles. “Doctor Webb, it’s nice to see you again. We don’t want to interrupt your dinner, but when we recognized you across the room, we thought we should say hello.”

“I’m glad you did,” Justin lied smoothly, and promptly introduced Win—although there was a limit to manners. There was no way he was asking the two boys to sit down. “Milo and Garth are here from Asterland, Winona—”

Milo turned an extra-watt smile on her. “Yes, we just arrived yesterday.”

“—and they’re here to investigate the difficulties with the plane. Hopefully, by pooling American and Asterland resources together, we’re going to find some solid answers soon, right, gentlemen?”

“We all hope.” Milo bobbed his head. “Since you happen to be here, Dr. Webb, Garth and I have been going over the passenger list. Do you happen to be familiar with a Ms. Pamela Miles and a Ms. Jamie Morris?”

Justin felt Win’s gaze leaping to his face. His ankle brushed hers, hoping that she would pick up the message that he wanted to handle this alone. “Yes. Both young women live locally. Although I would certainly hope that you would be studying the entire passenger list, and not just the two individuals who happen to be American.”

“Of course, of course. It was just that, naturally, the Americans are the ones who are the least familiar to us.”

And it would be far handier to find an American to blame for the plane crash than one of their own countrymen—although Justin took care not to voice that thought. “Well, to be truthful, I am in no position to answer any personal questions about either woman. And neither will Ms. Raye. But both Ms. Miles and Ms. Morris have lived in Royal their whole lives, and I believe you’ll find there’s no problem with them in any way.”

“I’m sure. Thank you for your time.” Garth’s flat, shiny eyes acknowledged first him, then Winona.

When they’d finally walked out of earshot, back toward their table, Winona turned to him with a frown. “The little guy gave me the willies, Doc.”

Justin shrugged. “I’m not surprised the Asterlanders sent someone to investigate their plane trouble. I don’t think there’s anything weird about that. But they hit on me for information right after they got here. I had a feeling they thought they could get more from a doctor than the law. Which just struck me as off base, not the normal chain of questioning…but it’s not like it matters. We’re going to completely forget about them now, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How’s my baby today?”

“Your baby started out this morning by charming the entire juvenile court. I swear, the only time she ever fusses is when she’s alone with me. In a crowd she never fails to live up to her name.”

“Myrt’s going to be really unhappy to hear that. She was counting on you needing a nanny more during the day, couldn’t wait to baby-sit for us tonight…” They both kept up a light chatter over dinner. The waiter served steak with Béarnaise sauce, snow peas and whipped potatoes. When he got around to taking those plates away, he showed back up offering crème brûlée, which was enough to make Win moan.

“Honestly, I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” He motioned to the waiter to bring two servings.

“You don’t understand. I have a weakness for certain desserts. I can’t give into it or I’ll be fat as a tub.”

He heard her protests, but when the dessert arrived, all he heard was “Oh, my,” followed by more “Oh, my, my, mys.”

He said, “I’m not positive, but I’m almost sure that they generally discourage customers from having orgasms in front of the other restaurant clientele.”

“Tough. That’s their problem.” Now that she’d quit being nervous, Win was back to being herself. Full of devilment and fearless—at least fearlessly diving into his dish of crème brûlée. She’d finished her own. “You did bring a wheelbarrow to cart me out of here, didn’t you?”

“No. But I did happen to bring something else.” He pushed a hand in his right pocket, and geezle beezle, realized his dad-blasted fingers were shaking again.

“Justin…” Maybe Win sensed that something momentous was coming, because she suddenly launched into a nonstop talking fest. “Let’s talk about some problems, okay? I don’t know what might be bothering you, but it occurred to me that one thing could be the house. You know what I mean. Which house we’re going to live in? And it doesn’t really matter to me, but my place is so small that your house seems to be obviously the best choice.”

“Well, your house is too small for the three of us, but that doesn’t have to limit us, Win. If you don’t like my place, we could either go house shopping or build from scratch.”

“Do you really want to do that?”

“I want to do whatever works for you. And the baby.”

“Well…I love your house. So unless you actually want to move, I think it’s ideal. Although…”

It wasn’t going to work. Trying to talk about anything normal. Not while the box in his pocket was burning a hole in his mind. So when she lifted another spoonful of crème brûlée, he slipped the small black box on the table. When she lowered the spoon, she saw it.

Even though she hadn’t leveled all of his dessert yet—and was obviously still hungry for it—she dropped the spoon. She dropped her hands, too. Her eyes met his, softer than lake water and more vulnerable than a spring night.

“Can I…open it?” she asked softly.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack if you don’t. Not that you have to like it, Win. I wanted to give you a surprise, but in the long run, I want you to have something that you really love and want to look at every day. The best jeweler I know is in Austin. We could fly up there, and he could either make you something specific to—”

Since she was paying no attention to his monologue, he quit talking. By then she’d opened the box. It was just a ring. Not a diamond, because once he’d become part of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, he’d become exposed to the value and meaning of certain gems. The sapphire not only matched her eyes, but a sapphire was supposed to be a stone for a woman who valued her individuality, a one-of-a-kind, as she was. And because he couldn’t choose a huge gem, because Win was mightily against ostentation, he’d opted for a priceless one. The hue was unusual for a sapphire, not the dark blue of midnight, but the clear, deep blue of her eyes, the limitless blue of…love.

He’d prepared a speech to communicate all that, partly because he wanted to tell her…but also because he was desperate to have something to say so that she couldn’t change her mind. But as it happened, he never had a chance to worry about any of that.

She hurled herself at him. Arms raised. Head tilted. She knocked over a spoon, then a saucer, making enough of a clatter to have heads swiveling from all over the restaurant to witness her throwing herself in his arms. He saw her eyes glistening and almost died to realize she was crying.

And then she kissed him.

Or he kissed her. By then, who could tell? The only thing that mattered was meeting her exuberant kiss halfway…and then more than halfway. Lips touched, and all that rough, fast hurling around was suddenly over. The kiss turned soft and silent and secret. Reverent.

The whisper of her taste was a promise. The texture of her lips a vow. God, she won his heart all over again. Every time she came to him, he felt this horrible melting from the inside. A changing. An instinctive understanding that his life could be bigger with her, his heart could be stronger, the whole universe richer—if she just loved him.

And man, he did love her. From the inside, from the outside, to hell with where they were or who was watching. Nothing mattered but telling her how he felt, what he wanted for her, for them. Love shimmered between them like liquid gold that coated both of them in its warmth and power. And yeah, sexual desire loomed between them, too. Hot and wicked and needy. Craving her was good, too. He couldn’t wait to get her out of here, get her naked, wearing nothing but the blasted ring…but it was funny. Just kissing her that instant was all he ever wanted, too.

Finally she eased away, both of them out of breath, their gazes still locked tight on each other.

“I’ll be damned. I’m getting the craziest feeling you like the ring,” he murmured.

“Don’t you try to tease me now, Doc. I couldn’t handle it.”

He dropped the smile instantly. “I love you, Win. No teasing. No nothing. That’s always been what this is about. Not the baby, not anything else in our lives. Just love.”

“And I love you. Set a date. Any date you want, Justin.”

In the middle of the warmest, most important moment of his entire life, Justin suddenly froze.

Two nights later, as Justin drove to the Cattleman’s Club, the roads were empty of traffic—and for good reason. Everybody that could be was tucked inside their houses. Sleet poured down in silver sheets; the asphalt was icy-slick and a fierce wind buffeted and blustered around every corner.

Still, when Justin parked and climbed out of the Porsche, he trudged toward the Club’s front door as if he didn’t give a damn if the sleet soaked him or not. And the truth was, he didn’t.

Win was wearing the sapphire engagement ring. And they’d gone home that night to make love until the wee hours. But he’d also jerked awake around four in the morning from a nightmare, and nothing had been the same since. Something was wrong. Bad wrong. With him.

The crazy thing was, everything was right for him for the first time in his entire life. He adored Winona. And the woman he loved more than life itself had freely agreed to marry him. Nine hours out of ten, he was over the moon, feeling as if there was nothing he couldn’t do or conquer or dream. Except that when it came to setting a date for the marriage, he got a lump of ice in his throat the size of an iceberg.

Guys all over the planet were petrified of commitment—but that wasn’t him. Commitment to Win, forever, was exactly what Justin wanted, so this panicked reaction to setting a wedding date made no sense at all. Until he figured it out, though, he was too ashamed and confused to admit to Win that he was having this idiotic problem. Maybe he could hire someone to punch him out? Beat some sense into him? Shake the screw loose from his mind?

“Justin! Good to see you!” Matthew must have been waiting at the door, because he was right there to push it open. But his gregarious welcome changed focus when he saw Justin’s face. “Hell, man. What happened to you?”

“Nothing, just running a little late.” At a glance, he could see that the others were all inside, except for Aaron. Drinks had been served. Typically, Ben had his hands wrapped around a coffee mug while the others had aimed straight for the more serious blood warmers. The familiar scent of whiskey was in the air, as were the smells of leather, wool and a brisk, wood-burning fire. Walking into the Club had always invoked a comfortable male-bonding sort of feeling. It was created to be a place where a man could let down his hair.

But not tonight. Not for him.

Dakota stepped forward with a grin. “Hey, man, sure looks like someone rode you hard and put you up wet.” But like Matthew, when Dakota got a good look at his face, his smile disappeared. “I didn’t mean to joke—you all right? You’re not sick, are you?”

“No. I’m fine, really. Sorry to be so late. Afraid I just had a few days in a row with some grueling long work hours.” That’s what he’d told Winona. He was afraid she hadn’t bought it. And it didn’t appear his friends were buying it, either.

But they had serious issues to contend with tonight, and no one was wasting time on idle chitchat. The first job on their agenda was finding a new hiding place for the emerald and the black harlequin opal. Before the robbery, they’d considered the safe under the historical mission next door to be both symbolic and as secure as any place could be, but obviously they’d been wrong.

Justin fetched a ladder from the back storage room. The others collected a toolbox and the quarter-inch drill and a broom. The job didn’t have to take five minutes, but Justin figured with four men there, it would likely take a good hour.

It took a full hour and a half.

“I’ll do the drilling,” Ben started out by volunteering.

“I can do it.” Matthew stepped forward. “I’m used to doing every type of chore on a ranch. This is nothing.”

Dakota hunched fists on his hips. “Yeah, well, I think we got a good chance of running into trouble. Drilling a hole in the paneling is easy enough, but behind that is straight adobe brick. If we’re not careful, we’re going to end up with a hole the size of a crater.”

If Justin had been in any mood to laugh that night, his friends would have easily induced his sense of humor. All the guys were so literally fearless. Men who’d step up, without hesitation, without expecting thanks or reward, to save a child or an innocent. Each of them had literally pledged to do exactly that as Texas Cattleman’s Club members—and had.

But hell. Get a bunch of guys near a construction project and naturally the four-letter words flew…along with arguments over the right way to do things.

Justin would normally have contributed his useless two cents. Tonight, though, when the small hole had finally been drilled—and the swearing settled down—he climbed the ladder in the front entrance hall. The Club sign—Leadership, Justice and Peace—was lying on its side on the ground. And all of them suddenly turned quiet.

Each took one last look at the black harlequin opal and the emerald, before the two stones were wrapped in white velvet inside a film canister. The drill had made a hole big enough to put the film canister inside, so after that, there was nothing left to do but rehang the sign.

“It couldn’t be more perfect,” Matthew said. “I mean, in the long run, obviously we need to find a more secure vault for the stones. But until we know what happened to the red diamond, this is ideal. Symbolic. Beneath the sign that stands for the stones. We did good.”

“Now if all the other problems connected to the theft and the plane crash were only half this easy to solve,” Dakota said dryly.

They swept, cleaned up, put away the broom and toolbox. Yet all of them ended up back in the front entrance hall. For them the sign had never been a corny symbol, but an echo of the very real vows they’d made to help others when they’d joined the Texas Cattleman’s Club. At the moment, they were all frustrated in fulfilling those vows.

“The more we dive into this mess, the less makes sense,” Dakota groaned.

“Let’s go over what we know,” Matthew suggested. “Nothing’s surfaced to identify Riley Monroe’s killer yet, has it?”

No, it hadn’t—and the red diamond was still missing. As yet, the men had no evidence to link the plane crash to the jewel theft—but the jewel thief positively had to be someone on that Asterland plane flight. Klimt, one of the few who might have given them specific answers about what happened on that plane, was still in a coma. Riley Monroe’s killer was obviously their jewel thief, but the cops had no leads or even ideas on Monroe’s killer yet…and one of the most curious issues in the whole mess was that two stones had been recovered, and not the third. All the Texas Cattleman’s Club directly involved with this—except for Aaron—had gone over the plane with a fine-tooth comb. As had the authorities. As had the two investigators, Milo and Garth, sent by the Asterlanders.

“Well, something has to break,” Matthew said. “Part of the problem is that none of us copes well with frustration. We’re all in the habit of going out and doing something to fix things. Having to wait is partly what’s driving us nuts.”

Dakota concurred. “I also doubt that there’s a gem as notoriously unique on the planet as our red diamond. Which means that it can’t surface anywhere without raising news. Even in the blackest of a black market, it’ll raise a flurry when it shows up—if we don’t find another way to find it first.”

“Yes. The red diamond is really the key to solving the rest,” Ben said thoughtfully, and then, “Justin?”

Justin swiftly turned toward them. “I agree with all of you. It’s just going to take a little more time. None of us have ever accepted failure and we’re not about to now.”

The others exuberantly agreed, but Ben was still frowning at him. “Something was on your mind. You were really staring at the sign. Did something occur to you?”

“Yeah, it did.”

Justin couldn’t explain. Not to anyone. But this strange epiphany thing had happened when he’d taken one last look at the precious emerald and opal. Suddenly his heart had started beating like a drum, hollow, anxious, the thud-thud-thud of dread. The missing gem was the reason. The red diamond, for all of them, had always been the true talisman symbol of the group’s cause. Not because it was the most precious and priceless, but because it represented the leadership and honor that a good man really stood for.

And the drumming in his heart kept thundering like a hollow echo. Memories of Bosnia knifed through his mind. He’d had such a heroic goal when he’d volunteered to go there. He’d wanted to help. To save people. And at the time, he’d been egotistical enough to believe that he was an ideal person to do that—that he was one of the best docs in trauma medicine anywhere.

Only he’d flown into a nightmare. Patient after patient had been suffering severe wounds from bombs and guns and shrapnel. But the conditions were petrifying. Sometimes there were no drugs. Sometimes there was no heat, no electricity—hell, sometimes not even running water. He had the skill; he had the heart, but he had no way to save them. And patient after patient died, until Justin had started to feel a breaking sensation on the inside. Maybe it wasn’t his failures that caused the deaths, but it was still failure. It was still unlivable. And when he’d come home, he’d aimed straight for plastic surgery and away from any medicine where patients died.

It made sense to him then.

It made sense to him for a long time.

It had made sense to him until he’d asked Winona to marry him. All these years, he’d prayed that Winona could love him, but now that she’d admitted to those feelings…aw hell, Justin knew exactly why his heart felt hollow. Because it was. Part of him was missing, no different than that damned red diamond was missing. He was afraid of failing her. Afraid of not being the strong, honorable man that she seemed to think he was—the strong, honorable man that Justin was no longer positive he was, either.

Ben’s fingers closed on his shoulder. “Something is wrong. Do you want to sit down somewhere? Find a place to talk?”

Matthew picked up on Ben’s concern. “Justin, hell, you looked like you’d been driving yourself ragged when you first walked in. What’s wrong? Tell us. What can we do?”

“Nothing,” he started to say. He wasn’t sure if he felt more relieved—or more worried—that he’d finally figured out why setting the marriage date had been throwing him for six. At least he was finally getting his mind wrapped more clearly around the problem.

Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that he had a clue what to do about it.

Startling all of them, a telephone suddenly rang. The Club, of course, was closed. A call this late was likely nothing more than a telemarketer or a wrong number. But Justin took the excuse to hike for the phone, relieved to get away from his friends’ searching attention, no matter how well-meaning their concern.

The closest receiver was in the Club office. He reached the phone just as it rang for a fourth time.

“Justin? Oh, thank God I got you. I didn’t know where to track you down….” He heard Winona’s voice, sounding not at all like her. Win kept her cool in a thousand crises, and always for others. Yet her tone was shrill with panic and fear. “I need you. Right now. Oh God, oh God. Angel isn’t breathing right. Something’s terribly wrong. I’m afraid to take her to the hospital, afraid to do anything that could make it worse, I—”

No matter how messed up he was, this was easy. Justin didn’t have to think. Winona needed him. That was cut-and-dried. “I’ll be there in five minutes flat. I promise.”