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reminding people of the blonde he’d been with last night and asking if anyone knew her. Unfortunately, no one he spoke with, including Gary, the bartender, had ever seen Charlie before. Hoping she might return to the honky-tonk, Hank left his name and phone number so Gary could contact him.
    As Hank left the bar, he paused just inside the door to look back at the room. For months now, this place had been like a second home to him. Now he wondered why he’d come there so much. It was strange how quickly a man’s tastes could change.
    As he stepped outside and moved past the light of the overhead sign into the darkness, he stopped to stare at the sky. Like diamonds on black velvet, thousands of stars twinkled down at him. As a boy, he’d liked to sit on the porch with his grandfather McBride to stargaze. The old man had often challenged Hank to choose the brightest star, look away, and then try to find it again. That endeavor had always ended in failure.
    Hank feared that finding Charlie again might prove to be just as difficult. Crystal Falls and the outlying areas had a population of 150,000. Without a last name to go on, he had no idea how to even start searching for her. To complicate matters even more, Charlie might be a nickname.
    Hank’s only hope was that she would return to Chaps, and that was a long shot. It was up to Fate from this point forward, he guessed. He’d done everything he could to find her.

Chapter Three
    T hat night, Hank dreamed he was an old man, still working on the Lazy J ranch. In the beginning, it was a nice dream. He was forking hay into a stall, and morning sunlight poured in from the adjoining paddock to warm his shoulders. The smell of horses was all around him. The shuffling of hooves and the soft blowing of the mares soothed him.
    As is often the way in dreams, Hank had no recollection of his life, only a sense that he was old and that he’d lived it well, working with horses, as he’d been born to do. He had a wonderful sense of rightness and peace.
    Then he heard a car pull up outside. Straightening from his work, he cocked an ear and listened. An awful sense of dread filled him. He didn’t know why. He leaned the pitchfork against the wall and walked up the center aisle, his trepidation mounting. On some level, he knew he was dreaming, and he told himself to wake up, but his mind insisted on playing out the scene.
    Outside the stable, Hank saw a tall, dark-haired young man standing by a dusty red car. At the sound of Hank’s shuffling footsteps, he turned and blasted Hank with blazing blue eyes. Coulter eyes . Hank had never seen the younger man, but somehow he knew this was his son. Hank judged him to be in his mid-twenties. That was about right. Twenty-five years had passed since that fateful night at Chaps when Hank had deflowered a virgin and passed out before he could learn her last name.
    “Can I help you?” Hank asked.
    The younger man ran a searing gaze from Hank’s soiled boots up to his face. “I’m looking for Hank Coulter.”
    Hank sensed the young man’s anger and knew it would be unleashed the moment he identified himself. “You’ve found him.”
    The kid knotted his fists and stepped forward. “You son of a bitch !”
    Hank saw the blow coming, but he wasn’t fast enough to deflect it. When he hit the dirt, he lay there, blinking and trying to see, thinking stupidly that his son threw a hell of a punch. A regular chip off the old Coulter block, sure as hell.
    “I thought I’d stop by and introduce myself. My name’s Hank. My mother named me after the bastard who sired me and never gave me his last name.”
    Hank jerked awake and bolted upright. A dream, only a dream . But it had seemed so real. His body was drenched with sweat. He fought his way free of the clinging sheets and sprang from the bed. Gulping for breath, he stood at the center of the room, his heart pounding wildly.
    Slowly reality closed in around him. He sank onto the edge of the bed and