# The Winter Soldier

Diana Palmer

The Winter Soldier Everyone in Jacobsville, Texas, steered clear of taciturn Cy Parks–everyone but the spirited Lisa Monroe, who electrified the formidable loner with her tantalizing kisses. Their fiery passion escalated when the soldier returned from the line of duty–and claimed Lisa as his bride, to shield her from a revenge-seeking desperado. Clearly Cy was getting mighty possessive of this enchanting woman who needed the type of safeguarding only he could provide. But who would protect the beguiling bride from him?

Head back to Jacobsville, Texas, in New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer’s fan-favorite tale, The Winter Soldier!

Most everyone in town steered clear of taciturn Cy Parks. However, lovely young Lisa Monroe wasn’t exactly quaking in her boots at the sight of Cy; instead, she electrified the formidable loner with her sweetly tantalizing kisses. Their fiery passion escalated when the winter soldier returned to the line of duty…and claimed the lovely Lisa as his wife, but only to shield her from a revenge-seeking desperado. Against his own will, Cy found himself getting mighty possessive over this enchanting woman who needed the type of safeguarding only he could provide. But who would protect the beguiling bride from him...?

Originally published in 2001.

## He Could Feel Her Pulse Go Wild Under His Touch.

It had been far too long since Cy had had anyone this close to him. Restraints that had been kept in place with sheer will were crumbling just at the proximity.

He moved a full step closer, so that her body was right up against him. His hands were at the back of her neck now, caressing the silky skin below her nape.

Her vulnerability made him feel taller, more masculine than ever. He wanted to protect the sweet young widow, care for her, watch over her. These were new feelings. Before, his relationships to women had been very physical.

Lisa made him hungry in a different way.

She parted her lips to speak, and he put a thumb gently over them. His free hand went around her waist and drew her slowly closer, pressing her to him.

He lifted an eyebrow at her shocked expression. “Why, Mrs. Monroe, you’re blushing,” he chided softly.

## Dear Reader,

Welcome to the world of Silhouette Desire, where you can indulge yourself every month with romances that can only be described as passionate, powerful and provocative!

The incomparable Diana Palmer heads the Desire lineup for March. The Winter Soldier is a continuation of the author’s popular cross-line miniseries, SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE. We’re sure you’ll enjoy this tale of a jaded hero who offers protection in the form of a marriage of convenience to a beautiful woman in jeopardy.

Bestselling author Leanne Banks offers you March’s MAN OF THE MONTH, a tempting Millionaire Husband, book two of her seductive miniseries MILLION DOLLAR MEN. The exciting Desire continuity series TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS continues with Lone Star Knight by Cindy Gerard, in which a lady of royal lineage finds love with a rugged Texas cattle baron.

The M.D. Courts His Nurse as Meagan McKinney’s miniseries MATCHED IN MONTANA returns to Desire. And a single-dad rancher falls for the sexy horsetrainer he unexpectly hires in Kathie DeNosky’s The Rough and Ready Rancher. To cap off the month, Shawna Delacorte writes a torrid tale of being Stormbound with a Tycoon.

So make some special time for yourself this month, and read all six of these tantalizing Silhouette Desires!

Enjoy!


Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

## The Winter Soldier. Diana Palmer


www.millsandboon.co.uk

For J. Nelson

## CONTENTS

COVER

BACK COVER TEXT

Dear Reader

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

## CHAPTER ONE

It was Monday, the worst day in the world to try to get a prescription filled. Behind the counter, the poor harassed male druggist was trying to field the telephone calls, fill prescriptions, answer questions from patrons and delegate duties to two assistants. It was always like this after the weekend, Cy Parks thought with resignation. Nobody wanted to bother the doctor on his days off, so they all waited until Monday to present their various complaints. Hence the rush on the Jacobsville Pharmacy. Michael, the pharmacist on duty, was smiling pleasantly despite the crush of customers, accustomed to the Monday madness.

That group putting off a visit to the doctor until Monday included himself, Cy mused. His arm was throbbing from an encounter with one of his angry Santa Gertrudis bulls late on Friday afternoon. It was his left arm, too, the one that had been burned in the house fire back in Wyoming. The angry rip needed ten stitches, and Dr. “Copper” Coltrain had been irritated that Cy hadn’t gone to the emergency room instead of letting it wait two days and risking gangrene. The sarcasm just washed right off; Coltrain could have saved his breath. Over the years, there had been so many wounds that Cy hardly felt pain anymore. With his shirt off, those wounds had been apparent to Coltrain, who wondered aloud where so many bullet wounds came from. Cy had simply looked at him, with those deep green eyes that could be as cold as Arctic air. Coltrain had given up.

Stitches in place, Coltrain had scribbled a prescription for a strong antibiotic and a painkiller and sent him on his way. Cy had given the prescription to the clerk ten minutes ago. He glanced around him at the prescription counter and thought he probably should have packed lunch and brought it with him.

He shifted from one booted foot to the other with noticeable impatience, his glittery green eyes sweeping the customers nearest the counter. They settled on a serene blond-haired woman studying him with evident amusement. He knew her. Most people in Jacobsville, Texas, did. She was Lisa Taylor Monroe. Her husband, Walt Monroe, an undercover narcotics officer with a federal agency, had recently been killed. He’d borrowed on his insurance policy, so there had been just enough money to bury him. At least Lisa had her small ranch, a legacy from her late father.

Cy’s keen eyes studied her openly. She was sweet, but she’d never win any beauty contests. Her dark blond hair was always in a bun and she never put on makeup. She wore glasses over her brown eyes, plastic framed ones, and her usual garb was jeans and a T-shirt when she was working around the ranch her father had left her. Walt Monroe had loved the ranch, and during his infrequent visits home, he’d set out improving it. His ambitions had all but bankrupted it, so that Lisa was left after his death with a small savings account that probably wouldn’t even pay the interest on the loans Walt had obtained.

Cy knew something about Lisa Monroe because she was his closest neighbor, along with Luke Craig, a rancher who was recently married to a public defender named Belinda Jessup. Mrs. Monroe there liked Charolais, he recalled. He wasn’t any too fond of foreign cattle, having a purebred herd of Santa Gertrudis cattle, breeding bulls from which made him a profitable living. Almost as prosperous as his former sideline, he mused. A good champion bull could pull upward of a million dollars on the market.

Lisa had no such livestock. Her Charolais cattle were steers, beef stock. She sold off her steer crop every fall, but it wouldn’t do her much good now. She was too deeply in debt. Like most other people, he felt sorry for her. It was common gossip that she was pregnant, because in a small town like Jacobsville, everybody knew everything. She didn’t look pregnant, but he’d overheard someone say that they could tell in days now, rather than the weeks such tests had once required. She must be just barely pregnant, he mused, because those tight jeans outlined a flat stomach and a figure that most women would covet.

But her situation was precarious. Pregnant, widowed and deeply in debt, she was likely to find herself homeless before much longer, when the bank was forced to foreclose on the property. Damned shame, he thought, when it had such potential for development

She was clutching a boxed heating pad to her chest, waiting her turn in line at the second cash register at the pharmacy counter.

When Lisa was finally at the head of the line, she put down her heating pad on the counter and opened her purse.

“Another one, Lisa?” the young female clerk asked her with an odd smile.

She gave the other woman an irritated glance as she dug in her purse for her checkbook. “Don’t you start, Bonnie,” she muttered.

“How can I help it?” the clerk chuckled. “That’s the third one this month. In fact, that’s the last one we have in stock.”

“I know that. You’d better order some more.”

“You really need to do something about that dog,” Bonnie suggested firmly.

“Hear, hear!” the other clerk, Joanne, seconded, peering at Lisa over her glasses.

“The puppy takes after his father,” Lisa said defensively. He did, she mused. His father belonged to Tom Walker, and the mostly German shepherd dog, Moose, was a local legend. This pup was from the first litter he’d sired—without Tom’s knowledge or permission. “But he’s going to be a lot of protection, so I guess it’s a trade-off. How much is this?”

Bonnie told her, waited while she wrote the check, accepted it and processed it. “Here you go,” she told the customer. She glanced down at the other woman’s flat stomach. “When are you due?”

“Eight months and two weeks,” Lisa said quietly, wincing as she recalled that her husband, away from home and working undercover, had been killed the very night after she’d conceived, if Dr. Lou Coltrain had her numbers right. And when had Lou ever missed a due date? She was uncanny at predicting births.

“You’ve got that Mason man helping you with the ranch.” Bonnie interrupted her thoughts. “You shouldn’t need a dog with him there. Can’t he protect you?”

“He only comes on the weekends,” Lisa replied.

Bonnie frowned. “Luke Craig sent him out there, didn’t he? But he said the man was supposed to spend every night in the bunkhouse!”

“He visits his girlfriend most nights,” Lisa said irritably. “And better her than me! He doesn’t bathe!”

Bonnie burst out laughing. “Well, there’s one bright side to it. If he isn’t staying nights, you only have to pay him for the weekends…Lisa,” she added when she saw the guilty expression on the other woman’s face, “you aren’t still paying him for the whole week?”

Lisa flushed. “Don’t,” she said huskily.

“Sorry.” Bonnie handed her a receipt. “It’s just I hate the way you let people take advantage of you, that’s all. There are so many rotten people in the world, and you’re a walking, talking benevolence society.”

“Rotten people aren’t born, they’re made,” Lisa told her. “He isn’t a bad man, he just didn’t have a proper upbringing.”

“Oh, good God!” Cy said harshly, glaring at her, having kept his mouth shut as long as possible without imploding. The woman’s compassion hit him on a raw spot and made him furious.

Lisa’s eyes were brown, big and wide and soft through the plastic frames of her glasses. “Excuse me?”

“Are you for real?” he asked curtly. “Listen, people dig their own graves and they climb into them. Nothing excuses cruelty.”

“You tell her!” Bonnie said, agreeing.

Lisa recognized her taciturn neighbor from a previous encounter, long ago. He’d come right up to her when she’d been pitching hay over the fence to her cattle one day and told her outright that she should leave heavy work to her husband. Walt hadn’t liked that comment, not at all. It had only been a few days after he’d let her do the same thing while he flirted with a pretty blond parcel delivery employee. Worse, Walt thought that Lisa had encouraged Cy’s interference somehow and they’d had a fight—not the first in their very brief marriage. She didn’t like the tall man and her expression told him so. “I wasn’t talking to you,” she pointed out. “You don’t know anything about my business.”

His eyebrows rose half an inch. “I know that you over-pay the hired help.” He looked pointedly at her flat belly. “And that you’re the last person who should be looked upon as a walking benevolence society.”

“Hear, hear!” Joanne said again from behind Bonnie.

Lisa glared at her. “You can be quiet,” she said.

“Let your erstwhile employee go,” he told her. “I’ll send one of my men over to spend nights in the bunkhouse. Bonnie’s right about one thing, you don’t need to be by yourself after dark in such a remote place.”

“I don’t need your help,” she said, glowering at him.

“Yes, you do. Your husband wouldn’t have liked having you try to run that ranch alone,” he added quietly, even though he didn’t mean it, and he hoped that his distaste for the late Walt Monroe didn’t show. He still recalled watching Lisa heft a huge bale of hay while her husband stood not ten paces away flirting with a pretty blond woman. It was a miracle she hadn’t miscarried, the way she hefted heavy things around. He wondered if she even knew the chance she was taking…

She was looking at him with different eyes now. The concern touched her despite her hostility. She sighed. “I guess you’re right,” she said softly. “He wouldn’t have.”

He hated the way that softness made him feel. He’d lost so much. Everything. He wouldn’t admit, even to himself, how it felt to have those dark eyes look at him with tenderness. He swallowed down the ache in his throat.

She let her gaze fall to his arm, the one that had just been stitched, and her soft gasp was audible. “You’ve been hurt!”

“Two prescriptions, Mr. Parks,” Bonnie said with a grin, holding up a prescription sack. She bent to pick up the package, a strand of her short blond hair falling around her pretty bespectacled face. “And Dr. Coltrain said that if you don’t take this pain medication, he’ll have me flogged,” she added impishly.

“We can’t have that, I guess,” Cy murmured dryly.

“Glad you agree.” She accepted his credit card as Lisa turned to go.

“You drive into town?” Cy asked the widow.

“Uh, well, no, the car’s got a broken water pump,” she confessed. “I rode in with old Mr. Murdock.”

“He’ll be at the lodge meeting until midnight,” he pointed out.

“Just until nine. I thought I’d go to the library and wait.”

“You need your rest,” Cy said curtly. “No sense in waiting until bedtime for a ride. I’ll drive you home. It’s on my way.”

“Go with him,” Bonnie said firmly as she waited for Cy to put his credit card back into his wallet and sign the ticket. “Don’t argue,” she added when Lisa opened her mouth. “I’ll phone the lodge and tell Mr. Murdock you got a ride.”

“Were you ever in the army?” Cy asked the young woman with a rare twinkle in his green eyes.

She grinned. “Nope. But it’s their loss.”

“Amen,” he said.

“Mr. Parks…” Lisa began, trying to escape.

Cy took her arm, nodded to Bonnie and herded Lisa out of the pharmacy onto the street where his big red Ford Expedition was parked. On the way they ran into the second pharmacist, a dark-eyed woman with equally dark hair.

“Hi, Nancy!” Lisa said with a grin.

Nancy gave a gamine smile. “Don’t tell me, the line’s two miles long already.”

“Three. Want to go home with me?” Lisa asked.

Nancy sighed. “Don’t I wish. See you!”

Nancy went on toward the pharmacy and Lisa turned back to let Cy open the door of the Expedition for her. “Imagine you with a red vehicle,” she said dryly. “I would have expected black.”

“It was the only one they had in stock and I was in a hurry. Here.” He helped her up into the huge vehicle.

“Gosh,” she murmured as he got in beside her, “you could kill an elephant with this thing.”

“It’s out of season for elephants.” He scowled as she fumbled with the seat belt. “That’s hard to buckle on the passenger side. Here, like this…” He leaned close to her and fastened it with finesse despite his damaged left hand and arm. It required a closeness he hadn’t had with a woman since his wife and son died in the fire. He noticed that Lisa’s eyes were a very soft dark brown and that her complexion was delicious. She had a firm, rounded little chin and a pretty mouth. Her ears were tiny. He wondered what that mass of dark gold hair looked like at night when she took the hairpins out, and his own curiosity made him angry. With compressed lips, he fastened the seat belt and moved away to buckle his own in place.

Lisa was relieved when he leaned back. He made her nervous when he was that close. Odd, that reaction, she thought, when she’d been married for two months. She should be used to men. Of course, her late husband hadn’t been that interested in her body. He didn’t seem to enjoy sleeping with her, and he was always in such a rush that she really didn’t feel any of the things women were supposed to feel. She recalled that he’d married her on the rebound from the woman he really wanted, and the only thing about Lisa that really appealed to him had been her father’s ranch. He’d had great ideas about starting an empire, but it was only a pipe dream. A dead dream, now. She stared out at the small town as they drove through it on the way out to their respective ranches.

“Do you have anyone managing the ranch for you?” he asked when they were on the lonely highway heading out of town.

“Can’t afford anyone,” she said wistfully. “Walt had big plans for the place, but there was never enough money to fulfill them. He borrowed on his salary and his life insurance policy to buy the steers, but he didn’t look far enough ahead to see the drought coming. I guess he didn’t realize that buying winter feed for those steers would put us in the hole.” She shook her head. “I did so want his plans to work out,” she said wistfully. “If they had, he was going to give up undercover work and come home to be a rancher.” Her eyes were sad. “He was only thirty years old.”

“Manuel Lopez is a vindictive drug lord,” he murmured. “He doesn’t stop at his victims, either. He likes to target whole families. Well, except for small children. If he has a virtue, that’s the only one.” He glanced at her. “All the more reason for you to be looked after at night. The dog is a good idea. Even a puppy will bark when someone comes up to the door.”

“How do you know about Lopez?” she asked.

He laughed. It was the coldest sound Lisa had ever heard. “How do I know? He had his thugs set fire to my house in Wyoming. My wife and my five-year-old son died because of him.” His eyes stared straight ahead. “And if it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll see him pay for it.”

“I had…no idea,” she faltered. She winced at the look on his face. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Parks. I knew about the fire, but…” She averted her eyes to the dark landscape outside. “They told me that Walt only said two words before he died. He said, ‘Get Lopez.’ They will, you know,” she added harshly. “They’ll get him, no matter what it takes.”

He glanced at her and smiled in spite of himself. “You’re not quite the retiring miss that you seem to be, are you, Mrs. Monroe?”

“I’m pregnant,” she told him flatly. “It makes me ill-tempered.”

He slowed to make a turn. “Did you want a child so soon after your marriage?” he asked, knowing as everyone locally did that she’d only married two months ago.

“I love children,” she said, smiling self-consciously. “I guess it’s not the ‘in’ thing right now, but I’ve never had dreams of corporate leadership. I like the pace of life here in Jacobsville. Everybody knows everybody. There’s precious little crime usually. I can trace my family back three generations here. My parents and my grandparents are buried in the town cemetery. I loved being a housewife, taking care of Walt and cooking and all the domestic things women aren’t supposed to enjoy anymore.” She glanced at him with a wicked little smile. “I was even a virgin when I married. When I rebel, I go the whole way!”

He chuckled. It was the first time in years that he’d felt like laughing. “You renegade.”

“It runs in my family,” she laughed. “Where are you from?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Texas.”

“But you lived in Wyoming,” she pointed out.

“Because I thought it was the one place Lopez wouldn’t bother me. What a fool I was,” he added quietly. “If I’d come here in the first place, it might never have happened.”

“Our police are good, but…”

He glanced at her. “Don’t you know what I am? What I was?” he amended. “Eb Scott’s whole career was in the Houston papers just after he sent two of Lopez’s best men to prison for attempted murder. They mentioned that several of his old comrades live in Jacobsville now.”

“I read the papers,” she confessed. “But they didn’t mention names, you know.”

“Didn’t they?” He maneuvered a turn at a stop sign. “Eb must have called in a marker, then.”

She turned slightly toward him. “What were you?”

He didn’t even glance at her. “If the papers didn’t mention it, I won’t.”

“Were you one of those old comrades?” she persisted.

He hesitated, but only for a moment. She wasn’t a gossip. There was no good reason for not telling her. “Yes,” he said bluntly. “I was a mercenary. A professional soldier for hire to the highest bidder,” he added bitterly.

“But with principles, right?” she persisted. “I mean, you didn’t hire out to Lopez and help him run drugs.”

“Certainly not!”

“I didn’t think so.” She leaned back against her seat, weary. “It must take a lot of courage to do that sort of work. I suppose it takes a certain kind of man, as well. But why did you do it when you had a wife and child?”

He hated that damned question. He hated the answer, too.

“Well?”

She wasn’t going to quit until he told her. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Because I refused to give it up, and she got pregnant deliberately to get even with me.” He didn’t stop to think about the odd way he’d worded that, but Lisa noticed and wondered at it. “I curtailed my work, but I helped get the goods on Lopez before I hung it up entirely and started ranching full-time. I’d just come back from overseas when the fire was set. It was obvious afterward that I’d been careless and let one of Lopez’s men track me back to Wyoming. I’ve had to live with it ever since.”

She studied his lean, stark profile with quiet, curious eyes. “Was it the adrenaline rush you couldn’t live without, or was it the confinement of marriage that you couldn’t live with?”

His green eyes glittered dangerously. “You ask too damned many questions!”

She shrugged. “You started it. I had no idea that you were anything more than a rancher. Your foreman, Harley Fowler, likes to tell people that he’s one of those dashing professional soldiers, you know. But he isn’t.”

The statement surprised him. “How do you know he isn’t?” he asked.

“Because I asked him if he’d ever done the Fan Dance and he didn’t know what I was talking about.”

He stopped the truck in the middle of the road and just stared at her. “Who told you about that? Your husband?”

“He knew about the British Special Air Services, but mostly just what I told him—including that bit about the Fan Dance, one of their rigorous training tests.” She smiled self-consciously. “I guess it sounds strange, but I love reading books about them. They’re really something, like the French Foreign Legion, you know. A group of men so highly trained, so specialized, that they’re the scourge of terrorists the world over. They go everywhere, covertly, to rescue hostages and gather intelligence about terrorist groups.” She sighed and closed her eyes, oblivious to the expression of the man watching her. “I’d be scared to death to do anything like that, but I admire people who can. It’s a way of testing yourself, isn’t it, so that you know how you react under the most deadly pressure. Most of us never face physical violence. Those men have.” Her eyes opened.

“Men like you.”

He felt his cheeks go hot. She was intriguing. He began to understand why Walt had married her. “How old are you?” he asked bluntly.

“Old enough to get pregnant,” she told him pertly. “And that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

His green eyes narrowed. She was very young, there was no doubt about that. He didn’t like the idea of her being in danger. He didn’t like the idea of the man Luke Craig had sent over to look out for her, either. He was going to see about that.

“How old are you, if we’re getting personal?” she asked.

“Older than you are,” he returned mockingly.

She grimaced. “Well, you’ve got scars and lines in your face, and a little gray at your temples, but I doubt you’re over thirty-five.”

His eyebrows arched almost to his hairline.

“I’d like you to be my baby’s godfather when he’s born,” she continued bluntly. “I think Walt would have liked that, too. He spoke very highly of you, although he didn’t say much about your background. I was curious about that. Now I understand why he was so secretive.”

“I’ve never been a godfather,” he said curtly.

“That’s okay. I’ve never been a mother.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, the baby hasn’t been a baby before, either.” She looked down at her flat belly and smiled tenderly, tracing it. “We can all start even.”

“Did you love your husband?”

She looked up at him. “Did you love your wife?” she countered instantly.

He didn’t like looking at her belly, remembering. He started down the road again, at a greater speed. “She said she loved me, when we married,” he said evasively.

Poor woman, Lisa thought. And poor little boy, to die so young, and in such a horrible way. She wondered if the taciturn Mr. Parks had nightmares, and guessed that he did. His poor arm was proof that he’d tried to save his family. It must be terrible, to go on living, to be the only survivor of such a tragedy.

They pulled up in front of her dilapidated ranch house. The steps were flimsy and one of the boards was rotten. The house needed painting. The screens on the windows were torn, and the one on the screen door was half torn away. In the corral, he could hear a horse whinny. He hoped her fences were in better shape than the house.

He helped her down out of the truck and set her gently on her feet. She was rail-thin.

“Are you eating properly?” he asked abruptly as he studied her in the faint light from the porch, scowling.

“I said you could be the baby’s godfather, not mine,” she pointed out with an impish smile. “Thank you very much for the ride. Now go home, Mr. Parks.”

“Don’t I get to see this famous puppy?”

She grimaced as she walked gingerly up the steps, past the rotten one, and put her key in the lock. “He stays on the screen porch out back, and even with papers down, I expect he’s made a frightful mess… That’s odd,” she said when the door swung open without the key being turned in the lock. “I’m sure I locked this door before I… Where are you going?”

“Stay right there,” he said shortly. He opened the truck, took out the .45 automatic he always carried and cocked it on his way back onto the porch.

Her face went pale. Reading about commandos was very different from the real thing when she saw the cold metal of the pistol in his hands and realized that he was probably quite proficient in its use. The thought chilled her. Like the sight of the gun.

He put her gently to one side. “I’m not going to shoot anybody unless I get shot at,” he said reassuringly. “Stay there.”

He left her on the porch and went carefully, quietly, through the house with the pistol raised at his ear, one finger on the trigger and his other hand, in spite of its injury, supporting the butt efficiently. He swept the house, room by room, closet by closet, until he got to the bedroom and heard a sound inside. It was only a sound, a faint whisper. There was a hint of light coming from under the door, which was just slightly ajar.

He kicked the door open, the pistol leveled the second he had a clear view of the bed.

The man’s face was a study in shock when he saw the expression on Cy Parks’s dark face and the glitter in his eyes. Bill Mason, Luke Craig’s erstwhile cowboy-on-loan, was lying on the bed in his shorts with a beer bottle in one hand. When Cy burst in the door, he sat up starkly, his bloodshot eyes blinking as he swayed. He was just drunk enough not to realize how much trouble he was in.

“You’re not Mrs. Monroe,” he drawled loudly.

“And you’re not Mr. Monroe. If you want to see daylight again, get the hell out of that bed and put your clothes on!”

“Okay. I mean yes, sir, Mr. Parks!”

The man tripped and fell, the beer bottle shattering on the floor as he sprawled nearby. “I broked it,” he moaned as he dragged himself up holding onto the bedpost, “and it was my…my last one!”

“God help us! Hurry up!”

“Okay. Just let me find…my pants…” He hiccuped, tripped again and fell, moaning. “They must be here somewhere!”

Muttering darkly, Cy uncocked the pistol, put the safety on, and stuck it into the belt at his back. He went to find Lisa, who was standing impatiently on the porch.

“I saved you a shock,” he told her.

“How big a shock?”

“The great unwashed would-be lover who was waiting for you, in your bed,” he said, trying not to grin. It wasn’t really funny.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, not again,” she groaned.

“Again?”

She was made very uncomfortable by the look on his face. “Don’t even think it!” she threatened angrily. “I’m not that desperate for a man, thank you very much. He gets drunk one night a week and sleeps it off in Walt’s bed,” she muttered, oblivious to both her phrasing and his surprised look. “I lock him in, so he can’t cause me any trouble, and I let him out the next morning. He’s got a drinking problem, but he won’t get help.”

“Does Luke Craig know that?”

“If he did, he’d fire him, and the poor man has no place to go,” she began.

“He’ll have a place to go tomorrow,” he promised her with barely contained fury. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know you,” she pointed out. “And Luke meant it as a kind gesture.”

“Luke would eat him with barbecue sauce if he knew what he was doing over here!”

There was a muffled thud and then the tipsy man weaved toward the front door. “So sorry, Mrs. Monroe,” Mason drawled, sweeping off his hat and almost going down with it as he bowed. “Very sorry. I’ll be off, now.” He hesitated at the top step with one foot in the air. “Where’s my horse?” he asked blankly. “I left him out here somewhere.”

“I’ll send him to you. Go back to Craig’s ranch.”

“It’s two miles!” the cowboy wailed. “I’ll never make it!”

“Yes, you will. Get in the truck. And if you throw up in it, I’ll shoot you!” Cy promised.

The cowboy didn’t even question the threat. He tried to salute and almost fell down again. “Yes, sir, I’ll get…get right in the truck, yes, sir, right now!”

He weaved to the passenger side, opened the door and pulled himself in, slamming the door behind him.

“I’d sleep on the sofa,” Cy advised Lisa. “Until you can wash the sheets, at least.”

“His girlfriend must be nuts. No woman in her right mind would sleep with him,” she murmured darkly.

“I can see why. I’ll send a man over to the bunkhouse. And he won’t get drunk and wait for you in bed,” he added.

She chuckled. “That would be appreciated.” She hesitated. “Thanks for the ride home, Mr. Parks.”

He hesitated, his narrow green eyes appraising her. She’d taken her husband’s death pretty hard, and she had dark circles under those eyes. He hated leaving her alone. He had protective feelings for her that really disturbed him.

“I’ll want to meet that pup when I come back again.”

She managed a smile. “Okay.”

“Go in and lock the door,” he instructed.

She clutched her heating pad and her purse to her chest and glared at him, but he stared her down. Oh, well, she thought as she went inside, some men just didn’t know the meaning of diplomacy. She’d have to make allowances for that little character flaw.

He waited until she got inside and locked the door before he climbed into his truck. He wondered why she’d said Walt’s bed and not their bed. The question diverted him as he drove the intoxicated but quiet cowboy over to Luke Craig’s house and showed him to Luke. The blond rancher cursed roundly, having closed the door so that his new wife, Belinda, wouldn’t overhear.

“I’m very drunk,” the cowboy said with a lopsided grin, swaying on the porch.

“He was stripped to his shorts, waiting for Lisa in her bed,” Cy said, and he didn’t grin. “I don’t want this man sent over there again.”

“He won’t be. Good God, he’s hidden it well, hasn’t he?”

“I’m very drunk,” the cowboy repeated, and the grin widened.

“Shut up,” Cy told him. He turned back to Luke. “I’m sending one of my own men over to sleep in the bunkhouse. Can you handle him?”

“I’m veerrryy drunk,” the cowboy interjected.

“Shut up!” chorused the two men.

Belinda Jessup Craig opened the front door and peered out at the tableau. “He’s very drunk,” she pointed out, and wondered why they looked so belligerent. “You’d better bring him inside, Luke. We can sober him up in the kitchen. You can’t leave him stumbling around like that. I’ll phone the Master’s Inn and see if they’ve got room for him.” She glanced at Cy’s puzzled expression. “It’s a halfway house for alcoholics. They offer treatment and continued support.”

“She wants to save the world,” Luke muttered, but he grinned at her.

“And he wants to control it,” she shot back with a wink. “Care to come in for coffee, Mr. Parks?”

“No, thanks,” he replied. “I have to get home.”

“I’m sorry about the trouble,” Luke said.

“Your heart was in the right place. She’s special,” he added in spite of himself.

Luke smiled slowly. “Yes. She is.”

Cy cleared his throat. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Luke answered.

“Good night!” the cowboy echoed before Luke propelled him firmly into the house.

## CHAPTER TWO

Cy took his medicine and had the first good night’s sleep he’d enjoyed in days. He’d sent a capable, older cowboy over to Lisa’s ranch the night before to sleep in the bunkhouse and keep an eye on things. He’d also arranged covertly for sensitive listening equipment to be placed around her house, and for a man to monitor it full-time. He might be overly cautious, but he wasn’t taking chances with a pregnant woman. He knew Manuel Lopez’s thirst for revenge far too well. The drug lord had a nasty habit of targeting the families of people who opposed him. And Lopez might not know Lisa was pregnant. Cy wasn’t willing to risk leaving Lisa out there alone.

The next day he drove over to Lisa’s house and found her struggling with a cow in the barn, trying to pull a calf by hand. He couldn’t believe she was actually doing that!

He’d barely turned off the engine before he was out of the big sports utility vehicle and towering over her in the barn. She looked up with a grimace on her face when she realized what a temper he was in.

“Don’t you say a word, Cy Parks,” she told him at once, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “There’s nobody but me to do this, and the cow can’t wait until one of my part-timers comes in from the lower pasture. They’re dipping cattle…”

“So you’re trying to do a job that you aren’t half big enough to manage. Are you out of your mind?” he burst out. “You’re pregnant, for God’s sake!”

She was panting, sprawled between the cow’s legs. She glared up at him and blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Listen, I can’t afford to lose the cow or the calf…”

“Get up!” he said harshly.

She glared at him.

For all his raging temper, he reached down and lifted her tenderly to her feet, putting her firmly to one side. He got down on one knee beside the cow and looked at the situation grimly. “Have you got a calf-pull?”

She ground her teeth together. “No. It broke and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

He said a few words under his breath and went out to his truck, using the radio to call for help. Fortunately one of his men was barely two minutes away. Harley, his foreman, came roaring up beside Cy’s truck, braked and jumped out with a length of rope.

“Good man, Harley,” Cy said as he looped the rope around the calf’s feet. “If we can’t get him out ourselves, we can use the wench on my truck. Ready? Pull!”

They were bathed in sweat and cursing when they managed to get the calf halfway out.

“He’s still alive,” Cy said, grinning. “Okay, let’s go again. Pull!”

Three more firm tugs and the calf slipped out. Cy cleared his nose and mouth and the little black-baldy bawled. The cow turned, gently licking away the slick birth membranes covering her calf.

“That was a near miss,” Harley observed, grinning.

“Very near.” Cy glowered at Lisa. “In more ways than one.”

“Excuse me?” Harley asked.

“It was my cow,” Lisa pointed out. “I thought I could do it by myself.”

“Pregnant, and you think you’re Samson,” he said with biting sarcasm.

She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “Go away!”

“Gladly. When I’ve washed my hands.”

“There’s a pump over here,” Harley reminded him, indicating it.

“You go ahead, son,” Cy muttered, glancing at his stitched arm. “I’ve got a raw wound. I’ll have to have antibacterial soap.”

Harley didn’t say anything, but his face was expressive. He thought his poor old crippled boss was a real basket case, barely fit to do most ranch work.

“Antibacterial soap, indeed. The germs would probably die of natural causes if they got in you!” Lisa muttered.

“At least my germs are intelligent! I wouldn’t try pulling calves if I was pregnant!”

Lisa almost doubled over at the thought of a pregnant Cy Parks, which only served to make him angrier.

“I’ll get back to your place and start the men culling cattle for the next sale, boss man. I can wash up there!” Harley called, and didn’t wait for an answer. The amused expression on his face was eloquent—he wanted to get out of the line of fire!

“Craven coward,” she muttered, staring after the cloud of dust he and the truck vanished in. “Are all your men like that?”

He followed her into the kitchen. “He’s not afraid of me,” he said irritably. “He thinks I’m pitiable. In fact, he has delusions that he’s soldier of fortune material since he spent two weeks having intense combat training with a weekend merk training school,” he added with pure sarcasm. “Have you got a hand towel?”

She pulled one from a drawer while he lathered his arms, wincing a little as the water and soap stung the stitches.

“You don’t want to get that infected,” she said, studying the wound as she stood beside him with the towel.

“Thanks for the first-aid tip,” he said with failing patience. “That’s why I asked for antibacterial soap!” He took the towel she offered, but his eyes were on her flat belly even as he dried away the wetness. “You take chances,” he said shortly. “Dangerous chances. A lot of women miscarry in the first trimester, even without doing stupid things like heavy lifting and trying to pull calves. You need to think before you act.”

She studied his quiet, haunted face. Discussing pregnancy didn’t seem to make him feel inhibited at all. “You must have been good to your wife while she was pregnant,” she said gently.

“I wanted the baby,” he replied. His face hardened. “She didn’t. She didn’t want a child until she was in her thirties, if then. But I wouldn’t hear of her terminating the pregnancy,” he added, and there was an odd, pained look in his eyes for an instant. “So she had the child, only to lose him in a much more horrible way. But despite everything, I wanted him from the time I knew he was on the way.”

She felt his pain as if it were tangible. “I won’t have anyone to share this with,” she said, her voice husky with remembered loss and pain. “I was over the moon when they did the blood test and said I was pregnant. Walt wouldn’t even talk about having children. He died the night after I conceived, but even if he’d lived long enough to know about the baby, he would have said it was too soon.” She shrugged. “I guess it was.”

She’d never told that to another soul. It embarrassed her that it had slipped out, but Cy seemed unshockable.

“Some men don’t adjust well to children,” he said simply. It went without saying that he wasn’t one of them. He didn’t know what else to say. He felt sorry for her. She obviously took pleasure in her pregnancy, and it was equally obvious that she loved children. He sat down at the table with her. Maybe she needed to get it out of her system. Evidently she could tell him things that she couldn’t tell anyone else.

“Go on,” he coaxed. “Get everything off your chest. I’m a clam. I don’t tell anything I know, and I’m not judgmental.”

“I think I sensed that.” She sighed. “Want some coffee? I have to drink decaf, but I could make some.”

“I hate decaf, but I’ll drink it.”

She smiled. She got up and filled the pot and the filter and started the coffeemaker while she got down white mugs. She glanced at him with pursed lips. “Black,” she guessed.

He gave her an annoyed look. “Don’t get conceited because you know how I take my coffee.”

“I won’t.”

She poured the coffee into the cups and sat back down, watching as he cupped his left hand around it. “Does it still hurt?” she asked, referring to the burns on his hand.

“Not as much as it used to,” he said flatly.

“You don’t have anyone to talk to, either, do you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not much for bars, and the only friend I have is Eb. Now that he’s married, we don’t spend a lot of time together.”

“It’s worse when you hold things inside,” she murmured absently, staring into her coffee. “Everybody thinks I had a fairy-tale marriage with a sexy man who loved danger and could have had any woman he wanted.” She smiled wryly. “At first I thought so, too. He seemed like a dream come true. Boy, did my illusions leave skid marks taking off!”

“So did mine,” he said flatly.

She leaned forward, feeling daring. “Yes, but I’ll bet you weren’t a virgin who thought people did it in the dark fully clothed!”

He burst out laughing. He hadn’t felt like laughing since…he couldn’t remember. Her eyes bubbled with joy; her laugh was infectious. She made him hungry, thirsty, desperate for the delight she engendered.

She grinned. “There. You look much less intimidating when you smile. And before you regret telling me secrets, I’d better mention that I’ve never told anybody what my best friend did on our senior trip to Florida. And I won’t tell you now.”

“Was it scandalous?”

“It was for Jacobsville.” She chuckled.

“Didn’t you do anything scandalous?”

“Not me,” she popped back. “I’m the soul of propriety. My dad used to say that I was the suffering conscience of the world.” Her eyes darkened. “He died of a stroke while he was using the tiller out in the garden. When he didn’t come in for lunch, I knew something was wrong. I went out to find him.” She moved her coffee cup on the table.

“He was sitting against a tree with his thermos jug of coffee still in his hands, his eyes wide-open, stone dead.” She shivered. “Mom had died when I was in sixth grade, of cancer. Dad loved her so much. He loved me, too.” She lifted her sad eyes. “I suppose I’d rather have had him for a short time than not to have had him at all. Walter felt sorry for me and asked me to marry him, because I was so alone. He’d just lost the woman he loved and I think he wanted to marry me just to spite her. The ranch was a bonus. I was really infatuated with him at first, and he liked me and loved this ranch. I figured we had as good a chance of making a marriage work as people who were passionately in love.” She sighed again. “Isn’t hindsight wonderful?”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her for a long time. “You’re a tonic,” he said abruptly. “You’re astringent and sometimes you sting, but I like being around you.”

“Thanks. I think,” she added.

“Oh, it’s a compliment,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t offer you anything except the truth.”

“That really is a compliment.”

“Glad you noticed.”

“What happened to the drunk cowboy?” she asked.

“Luke’s wife is getting him into a halfway house,” he mused. “A real crusader, that lady. She is a bleeding heart.”

“She likes lost causes,” she countered. “I’ve heard a lot about her, and I like what I’ve heard. If I can get this ranch back on its feet, I’d like to help her.”

“Another latent crusader,” he teased.

“A lot of people need saving, and there aren’t a lot of reformers around,” she pointed out.

“True enough.”

“Thanks for sending that other man over to keep a lookout. He’s very nice. Did you know that he likes to do needlepoint?” she asked matter-of-factly.

He nodded. “Nels does some exhibition-quality handwork. Nobody teases him about it, either. At least, not since he knocked Sid Turpen into the water trough.”

She chuckled. “He looked like that sort of man. I knit,” she said. “Not very well, but it gives me something to do when I’m by myself.”

“You’re always by yourself,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you come home with me one or two evenings a week and we can watch television after I’ve finished with the books. I could come and fetch you.”

Her heart jumped. She didn’t need telling that he’d never made that invitation to anyone else. He was like a wounded wolf in his lair most of the time. “Wouldn’t I be in the way?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m alone, too. You and the baby would be good company; before and after he’s born. You don’t have a husband anymore. I don’t have a family,” he said bluntly. “I’d like to help you through the next few months. No strings,” he added firmly. “And absolutely no ulterior motives. Just friendship.”

She was touched. He made her feel welcome, warm and safe. She knew that a lot of people were intimidated by him, and that he was very standoffish. It was a huge compliment he was paying her. “Thanks,” she said genuinely. “I’ll take you up on that.”

He sipped his coffee and put the cup down. “It might be good for both of us to spend less time alone with the past.”

“Is that what you do, too, thinking about how it might have been, if…” She let the word trail away.

“If,” he agreed, nodding. “If I’d smelled the smoke sooner, if I’d gone to bed earlier, if I’d realized that Lopez might send someone after me even from prison…and so forth.”

“I kept thinking, what if I hadn’t got pregnant so soon after I married,” she confessed. “But I’m not sorry I did, really,” she added with a tiny smile. “I like it.”

He searched her dark eyes for longer than he wanted to and dragged his attention away. All at once, he glanced at his watch and grimaced. “Good Lord, I almost forgot! I’ve got a meeting at the bank this morning that I can’t miss—refinancing a loan so that I can replace my combine.” He got to his feet. “No other problems except for drunk cowboys in your bed?” he asked whimsically.

She glared at him. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t put him there!”

His eyes roamed over her and he smiled slowly. “His loss.”

“You get out of here, you fresh varmint,” she said, rising. “And there’s no use trying to seduce me, either. I’m immune.”

“Really?” he asked with raised eyebrows and a twinkle in his green eyes. “Shall we test that theory?” He took a step in her direction.

She flushed and backed up a step. “You stop that,” she muttered.

He chuckled as he reached for his hat. “Don’t retreat. I’ll keep to my side of the line in the sand. Keep that door locked,” he added then, and not with a smile. “I’m having you watched, just in case Lopez does try something. But if you need me, I’ll be as close as the telephone.”

“I know that. Thank you.”

“Your car has a busted water pump,” he added, surprising her that he remembered. “I’ll have one of my men come get it and overhaul it for you.”

She was all but gasping. “But, you don’t have to…!”

“I know I don’t have to,” he said, eyes flashing. “You can’t be stuck out here without transportation, especially now.”

She didn’t want to accept what she knew was charity, but the temptation to have her little red car fixed and running again was too much. She couldn’t afford an extra spark plug. “Thank you,” she said a little stiffly. It hurt her pride to know that he was aware of her financial situation.

He searched her face quietly. “No need for thanks. I’ll take care of you. And the baby.”

She stared at him while confusing sensations washed over her like a gentle electric current. She’d never felt such a surge of emotion, with anyone.

“I don’t have any ulterior motives, Lisa,” he said, speaking her name for the first time. It sounded soft, mysterious, even beautiful in his deep, measured tones.

“Then thanks, for seeing about my car,” she said gently. “And if you get sick, I’ll take care of you. All right?”

His heart ran wild. He’d never had anybody offer to look after him. His wife hadn’t been compassionate. It hit him right in the gut that Lisa thought of him with such kindness. He searched for an answer and couldn’t find one.

“I’m sure you never get sick,” she said quickly, a little intimidated by his scowl. “But just in case.”

He nodded slowly.

She smiled, reassured.

He turned and went out the door, speechless for the first time in recent memory. He couldn’t have managed a single word to save his life.

Lisa went onto the porch and watched him drive away with confused emotions. She shouldn’t let things intensify. She was a recent widow and he hadn’t been widowed all that long ago. People would gossip, if for no other reason than that Cy Parks was the town’s hermit. On the other hand, she was lonely and a little afraid. She remembered what Walt had told her about Manuel Lopez and the men who worked for him in the narcotics underworld. She knew what they did to people who sold them out. A shiver ran down her spine. They’d killed Walt and they might not stop until they wiped out his whole family—that was the reputation that Lopez had. She wasn’t going to put her baby at risk, regardless of what people thought. She touched her flat belly protectively.

She smiled. “I’m going to take such wonderful care of you.”

The smile remained when she thought how Cy would care about the baby, too. He wasn’t at all the sort of man he seemed on first acquaintance. But, then, who was? She went back inside to work in the kitchen, careful to make sure the doors were locked.

* * *

Cy used his cell phone to have a local wrecker service take Lisa’s small car over to his ranch, where he had one of his two mechanics waiting to fix it. Harley was good with machinery, but he had the mechanic do the work instead. For reasons he didn’t understand, he didn’t like having his good-looking foreman Harley around Lisa.

He went to the meeting with his banker and then on to Ebenezer Scott’s place, careful to phone ahead. There were men on the gate who didn’t like unexpected company and might react instinctively.

Eb met him at the front door, more relaxed than Cy had seen him in years.

“How’s it going?” he asked the newly married man.

Eb grinned. “Funny how nice a ball and chain can feel,” was all he said, but his eyes were twinkling with delight. “How’s it going on your end?”

“Let’s go inside,” Cy said. “I’ve found out a few things.”

Eb took him into the kitchen and poured coffee into mugs. “Sally’s teaching. I don’t usually do more than grab a sandwich for lunch…”

Cy held up a hand. “I haven’t got time, thanks. Listen, they’ve got the beehives on site around that new warehouse on the land adjoining mine. There’s a lot more activity there, panel trucks coming and going and deliveries after dark. I’ve spotted a number of unfamiliar faces. They don’t look like beekeepers to me. Besides,” he added curtly, “I saw a couple of Uzis.”

“Automatic weapons at a honey plant,” Eb murmured thoughtfully. “They must have armed, militant bees.” He grinned at his own whimsy. “I’d hoped that Lopez might hesitate after his failed attempt on Sally’s family.” Sally, along with her aunt Jessica and Jessica’s young son, Stevie, were targeted for vengeance by the drug lord. Luckily Lopez hadn’t succeeded in his mission.

“We knew that Lopez had mentioned to one of his slimy followers that he needed a new distribution center. What better place than a little Texas town not far from the Gulf of Mexico, with no federal officers around?”

“He knows we’re around,” Cy pointed out.

“He only knows about me,” came the reply. “Nobody locally knows about you. And he thinks I won’t do anything because he’s backed away from harming Sally’s family. He figures the two guys who are taking the fall for him will keep the wolves from his door.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, but unless we can prove he’s channeling drugs instead of honey through here, we can’t do anything. Not anything legal,” he added slowly.

“I’m not going up against Uncle Sam,” Cy said firmly. “This isn’t the old days. I don’t fancy being an expatriated American.”

Eb sighed. “We’re older.”

“Older and less reckless. Let Micah Steele go after him. He lives in Nassau and has connections everywhere. He wouldn’t be afraid of getting kicked out of the States. He doesn’t spend much time here anyway.”

“His stepsister and his father live here,” Eb pointed out. “He isn’t going to want to put them in harm’s way.”

“From what I hear, his father hates him and his stepsister would walk blocks out of her way to avoid even passing him on the street,” Cy said curtly. “Do you think he still cares about them?”

“Yes, I do. He came back with the express purpose of seeing his father and mending fences, but the old man refused to see him. It hurts him that his father won’t even speak to him. And I’ve seen the way he looks at Callie, even if you haven’t.”

“Then why does he live in Nassau?”

Eb glanced around warily. “He’s over here doing a job for me, so watch what you say,” he cautioned. “I don’t want him on the wrong side of me.”

Cy leaned back in his chair and sipped coffee. “I suppose we all have our crosses to bear.” He narrowed one eye at his oldest friend. “Do you think Lopez will make a try for Lisa?”

“It’s possible,” he said flatly. “Down in Mexico, a ‘mule’ crossed him. He killed the man’s whole family except for one small child.”

“That’s what I thought. I sent Nels Coleman over to her ranch to stay nights in the bunkhouse. He used to work for the Treasury Department back in the late seventies.”

“I know him. He’s a good man.”

“Yes, but not in Lopez’s class. Your guys are.”

Ebenezer nodded. “I have to have good people. The government and I are more than nodding acquaintances, and I run a high-tech operation here. I can’t afford to let my guard down, especially now that I’ve got Sally to think of.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had to consider a woman,” Cy replied, his green eyes quiet and thoughtful.

“Lisa Monroe is sweet,” Ebenezer said. “She’ll love that child to death.”

“She’s like that,” Cy agreed, smiling. “I wish she wasn’t so bullheaded. I went by to see her this morning and found her out in the barn, trying to pull a calf all by herself with her bare hands.”

Ebenezer chuckled. “I won’t turn your hair white by mentioning some of her other exploits, before she got pregnant.”

“This isn’t the first time she’s done something outlandish?”

“Let’s see.” Ebenezer pursed his lips, recalling gossip.

“There was the time she stood in the path of a bulldozer that was about to take down the huge live oak in the square that a peace treaty with the Comanche was signed under. Then she chained herself to a cage in the humane society when they were going to put down half a dozen dogs without licenses.” He glanced at Cy. “The Tremayne brothers suddenly developed dog fever and between them, they adopted all six. Then there was the time she picketed the new chain restaurant because they refused to hire immigrants…”

“I get the idea,” Cy murmured dryly.

“We were all surprised when she married Walt. He was a real man’s man, but his job was like a religion to him. He didn’t want anything to tie him down so that he couldn’t advance in the agency. If he’d lived, that baby would have broken up the marriage for sure. Walt said often enough that he wasn’t sure he ever wanted children.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t much of a husband to her, at that. Most of us felt that he married her on the rebound from that model who dropped him. He felt sorry for Lisa when her dad died and she was left all alone. Even after the wedding, he flirted with every pretty woman he saw. Lisa went all quiet and stopped staying home when he was around. He wasn’t around much of that two months they were together, either. He volunteered for the undercover assignment the day they married. That shocked all of us, especially Lisa, and he got killed the same day he was introduced to Lopez.”

“They knew who he was,” Cy guessed.

“Exactly. And it was Walt’s first undercover assignment, to boot. The only reason Rodrigo hasn’t been discovered infiltrating Lopez’s distribution network is that he’s still a Mexican national and he has at least one cousin who’s been with Lopez for years. The cousin would never sell him out.”

“Lucky man,” Cy remarked. “I hope we don’t get him killed.”

“So do I,” Eb said with genuine concern. “Rodrigo’s been in the business for a lot of years and he’s the best undercover man I know. If anybody can help us put Lopez away for good, it’s him. But meanwhile, we have to keep Lisa safe.”

Cy went thoughtful. “She’s a kind soul.”

“Kind and naïve,” Eb replied. “People take advantage of her. That baby will wrap her right around its finger when it’s born.”

“I love kids,” Cy said. “I miss mine.”

“Lisa will love hers,” came the quiet reply. “She’ll need a friend, and not only because of Lopez. She can’t run that ranch by herself. Walt was good with horses, and the men respected him. Lisa can’t keep managing those two cowboys who work part-time for her, and she can’t get a foreman because she hasn’t enough capital to pay the going rate. Besides all that, she doesn’t know beans about buying and selling cattle.”

“Didn’t her father teach her?”

“Not him,” Ebenezer chuckled. “He didn’t think women were smart enough to handle such things. He ran the ranch until the day he died. She was kept right out of it until then. Walt proposed to her at her father’s funeral and married her shortly after.”

“She loved her father, I gather.”

“Of course she did, and he loved her. But he was a nineteenth-century man. He would have fit right in after the Civil War.” He shook his head. “That ranch isn’t solvent. Lisa’s going to lose it eventually. She needs to go ahead and put it on the market and get the best price she can.”

“I might see if she’ll sell to me. I could rent her the house and have my own men work the ranch.”

Ebenezer grinned. “Now, that’s constructive thinking.” He leaned forward, emptying his coffee cup. “As for those so-called beehives, I think we’d better send somebody over to have a quiet look after dark and see if there are really any bees in them.”

“Good idea. Then we can start making plans if it looks like Lopez is sending drugs through here.” Cy got to his feet. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime. Watch your back.”

Cy smiled. “I always do. See you.”

* * *

When Cy got home, Harley was out in the front yard having an animated conversation with a foreigner in an expensive pickup truck. He turned as Cy drove up in front of the house. He cut off the engine and eyed the newcomer’s vehicle with knowing eyes. Here was an opportunity not only to meet one of Lopez’s executives, but to throw them off the track about him as well.

“Hey, boss, this is Rico Montoya,” he said with a grin. “He’s our new neighbor with the honey export business. He just dropped by to say hello.”

Sure he did, Cy thought, but he didn’t reply. He got out of the utility vehicle slowly and deliberately favored his left arm as he moved to the pickup truck.

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Montoya,” Cy said with a carefully neutral expression. “My men noticed the warehouse going up.” He tried to look worried. “I don’t really like bees close to my purebred Santa Gerts,” he said without preamble. “I hope you’re going to make sure there aren’t any problems.”

The man’s eyebrows rose, surprised at Cy’s lack of antagonism. Surely the rancher knew who he was and whose orders he was following. Or did he? His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Parks was holding his crippled left arm in his right and he had the look of someone who’d seen one tragedy too many. Lopez had been worried about interference from this rancher, but Montoya was certain there wouldn’t be any. This wasn’t an adversary to worry about. This was a defeated man, despite his past. He relaxed and smiled at Cy. “You’re very straightforward,” he said with only a trace of an accent. He was wearing a silk suit and his thick hair was not only cut, but styled. There was a slight bulge under his jacket. “You have nothing to fear from our enterprise,” he assured Cy. “We will be meticulous about our operation. Your cattle will be in no danger. I give you my word.”

Cy stared quietly at the other man and nodded, as if convinced. Near him, Harley was gaping at the lack of antagonism that Mr. Parks showed to most visitors. It wasn’t like him to favor that burned arm, either.

“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Parks,” Montoya said with a grin. “I hope that we will be good neighbors.”

“Thank you for taking the time to stop by and introduce yourself,” Cy said with a noticeable lack of animation. He got a firmer grip on his injured arm. “We don’t get many visitors.”

“It was my pleasure. Good day, Señor.” Montoya smiled again, this time with faint contempt, and pulled his truck out of the driveway. Cy watched him go, arrow-straight, his mouth making a firm line in his lean, taut face.

“Mr. Parks, you are the oddest man I know,” Harley said, shaking his head. “You weren’t yourself at all.”

Cy turned to him. “Who do you think that was?”

“Why, our new neighbor,” Harley said carelessly. “Nice of him to come over and say howdy,” he added with a scowl. “Your arm bothering you?”

“Not in the least,” Cy said, both hands on his lean hips as he studied the younger man. “What did you notice about our new hardworking neighbor?”

The question surprised Harley. “Well, he was Latin. He had a bit of an accent. And he was real pleasant…”

“He was wearing a silk suit and a Rolex watch,” he said flatly. “The truck he was driving is next year’s model, custom. He was wearing boots that cost more than my new yearling bull. And you think he makes that kind of money selling honey, do you?”

Harley’s eyes widened. Once in a while, his boss threw him a curve. This was a damned big curve. He frowned. How had Cy noticed so much about a man he only saw for a minute or two when Harley, a trained commando he reminded himself, hadn’t?

“That was one of Lopez’s executives,” Cy told the younger man flatly, nodding at his wide-eyed realization. “I want you to go work cattle over near that warehouse and take a pair of binoculars with you,” Cy told his foreman. “Don’t be obvious, but see who comes and goes for a few days.”

“Sir?”

“You told Eb you wanted to help keep an eye on Lopez’s operation. Here’s your chance.”

“Oh, I see, Mr. Scott told you to send me out there.” Harley grinned from ear to ear. “Sure. I’ll be glad to do it!”

“Just make sure you aren’t caught spying,” Cy told him flatly. “These people are killers. They won’t hesitate if they think they’re being watched deliberately.”

“I can handle myself,” Harley said with faint mockery.

“Yes, I know, you’re professionally trained,” Cy drawled.

The tone made Harley feel uncertain. But he put it down to jealousy and grinned. “I know how to watch people without getting noticed,” he assured his boss. “Does Mr. Scott want tag numbers as well as descriptions of the people?”

“Yes, and pay attention to the trucks that come in.”

“Okay.”

Cy wanted to add more to those instructions, but he didn’t want Harley to know everything. “Be sure you keep your mouth shut about this,” he told Harley. “Eb won’t like it if he thinks you’re gossiping.”

“I wouldn’t want him mad at me!” Harley chuckled. “I’ll keep quiet.”

“See that you do.”

Cy walked back to the house with a quick, sharp stride that reflected his anger. He’d just met a new link in Lopez’s chain, probably one of his divisional managers. It would work to his advantage that he had just convinced the drug lord’s associate that he was a crippled rancher with no interest in the bees except where his cattle were concerned.

Lopez thought he had it made with his “honey business” as a blind, here in little Jacobsville. But Cy was going to put a stick in his spokes, and the sooner, the better.

## CHAPTER THREE

Harley drove the little red car with its new water pump back to Lisa Monroe early the next morning, with Cy following in his big utility vehicle.

Lisa was overjoyed at the way the engine sounded as Harley pulled up at the front porch and reved it before he turned it off.

“It hasn’t ever sounded that good before!” she enthused. “Thank you, Harley!”

“You’re very welcome, ma’am,” he said, making her a mock bow with his hat held against his chest. “But I didn’t fix it. I’m just delivering it.”

She laughed and Cy glowered. She and Harley were close in age, or he missed his bet. The man, despite his bravado, was honest and hardworking and basically kind. Cy wondered how old Lisa was. Well, at least she was young enough to find Harley’s company stimulating—probably much more stimulating than the company of an aging mercenary who was half-crippled and cynical….

“Won’t you both come in for a cup of coffee?” she invited.

“I will,” Cy told her. “Harley, go take a look around and see what needs doing. Then find Lisa’s part-time help and get them on it.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Parks,” he said with a wicked grin and turned to follow the tersely given instructions.

Lisa gave Cy a speaking look.

“Go ahead,” he invited. “Tell me that chores are getting done by people other than you. Tell me that the south pasture is being hayed before the predicted rains day after tomorrow. Tell me,” he added mockingly, “that you’ve got your new calf crop vaccinated and tagged.”

She got redder by the minute. She didn’t want to tell him that she couldn’t get the men to take her suggestions seriously. They were throwbacks to another age, most of them were twice her age, and the madder she got, the more indulgent they became. Once they threatened to quit, they had her over a barrel and she gave up. Hands were thin on the ground this time of year. She could barely afford to pay her employees as it was.

“Harley will get them moving,” he told her.

Her lips compressed and her eyes sparked. She looked outraged.

“I know,” he said helpfully. “It’s a new age. Men and women are equals. You pay their wages and that means they need to do what you say.”

She made a gesture of agreement, still without speaking.

“But if you want people to obey, you have to speak in firm tones and tell them who’s the boss. And it helps,” he added darkly, “if you hire people who aren’t still living in the last ice age!”

“They were all I could find to work part-time,” she muttered.

“Did you go over to the labor office and see who was available?” he asked.

The suggestion hadn’t occurred to her. Probably she’d have found young, able-bodied help there. She could have kicked herself for being so blind.

“No,” she confessed.

He smiled, and that wasn’t a superior smile, either. “You aren’t aggressive enough.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you’re going to hire that type of man, you have to have the whip hand. I’ll teach you.”

“If that means I’ll end up being a local legend like you, I’m not sure I want to learn it,” she replied with a twinkle in her dark eyes.

“Old lady Monroe,” he recited, chuckling, “carries a shotgun and emasculates men in the barn.”

She flushed. “Stop that.”

“Isn’t that a nicer image than sweet little Lisa who hasn’t got the heart to fire a man just because he lies in wait in her bed dead drunk and stinking?”

“Cy!”

He grinned as she curled one hand into a fist. “Much better,” he said. “Now hold that thought when you speak to your lazy hands next time. In fact, don’t smile at them ever again. Be decisive when you speak, and don’t ask, tell. You’ll get better results.”

She had to admit, she wasn’t getting any results at all the way she was. On the other hand, she was still young, and feeling her way through leadership. She wasn’t really a drill sergeant type, she had to admit, and the ranch was suffering because of it.

“I don’t suppose you’d like a ranch?” she asked whimsically, and was startled when he replied immediately that he would.

“Oh.” She stared at him, poleaxed.

“I’ll give you the going market price. We’ll get two appraisals and I’ll match the highest one. You can rent the house from me and I’ll manage the cattle. And the cowboys,” he added wryly.

“It’s not in very good shape,” she said honestly, and pushed her glasses back up onto her nose.

“It will be. If you’re willing, I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers tomorrow.”

“I’m very willing. I’ll be happy to sign them. What about the appraisals?”

“I’ll arrange for those. Nothing for you to worry about now.”

“If only my father hadn’t been such a throwback,” she murmured, leading the way into the ramshackle house. “He thought a woman’s place was in the kitchen, period. I’d much rather be working in the garden or doctoring cattle than cooking stuff.”

“Can you cook?”

“Breads and meats and vegetables,” she said. “Not with genius, but it’s mostly edible.”

She poured black coffee into a mug and handed it to him. When she sat down across the table from him, he noticed the dark, deep circles under her eyes.

“You aren’t sleeping much, are you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I’m still halfway in shock, I guess. Married and widowed and pregnant, and all in less than two months. That would be enough to unsettle most women.”

“I imagine so.” He sipped his coffee. She made the decaf strong and it tasted pretty good. He studied her narrowly. “You haven’t had any more problems at night, have you?”

“None at all, thanks.” She smiled. “And thank you for having my car fixed. I guess if people are going to own old cars, they need to be rich or know a lot about mechanics.”

“They do,” he agreed. “But I’ll keep your little tin can on the road.”

“It’s not a tin can,” she said. “It’s a very nice little foreign car with an—” she searched for the right words “—eccentric personality.”

“Runs when it feels like it,” he translated.

She glared at him. “At least I don’t have to have a ladder to get into it.”

He smiled. “Remind me to have a step put on just for you.”

She didn’t reply, but that statement made her feel warm and safe. God knew why. She was certain he wasn’t really going to modify his vehicle just for her. She’d only been in it once.

“Do you like opera?” he asked out of the blue.

She blinked. “Well, yes…”

“Turandot?”

“I like anything Puccini composed. Why?”

“It’s playing in Houston. I thought we might go.”

She pinched her jean-clad leg under the table to see if she was dreaming. It felt like it, but the pain was real. She smiled stupidly. “I’d really like that.” Then her face fell. She moved restlessly and averted her eyes. “Better not, I guess.”

“You don’t have to wear an evening gown to the opera these days,” he said, as if he’d actually read her mind. He smiled when her eyes came up abruptly to meet his. “I’ve seen students go in jeans. I imagine you have a Sunday dress somewhere.”