For a moment he and Madeline simply stared at each other

She waited for him to say something. What? What the hell could he say? He didn’t even know what to think right now.

The snow was melting into her hair, dampening it, making it start to curl. And then, when he was about to go back to the house—to a nightmare, no doubt—she said softly, “Have you ever heard of forgiveness, Ty?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer. He turned and walked away, leaving Madeline alone in the snow.

Dear Reader,

New York professor Madeline Blaine is a woman on a mission. The Nevada ranch she inherited two years ago isn’t making money and she’s determined to discover the reason why. Madeline doesn’t know the first thing about ranching, but she fully intends to educate herself—on site. Ty Hopewell, her inherited ranching partner, has no idea how greatly his life is going to change once by-the-book Madeline arrives at the Lone Summit Ranch.

I love taking characters out of their comfort zones, and when Madeline arrives at the ranch, she not only has to learn about the realities of ranching—she has to learn how to manage without electricity for several hours a day, since the ranch generates its own power. This is a circumstance with which I am familiar, having lived off the grid for sixteen years. There are definite pluses to generating your own power, but there are also a few minuses. Generators, like automobiles, break down at the most inopportune moments. I’ve celebrated every major holiday without power because of generator malfunction—no lights, no water and, on one occasion, no turkey. On the plus side, my kids spent more time playing in the creek than watching television while growing up.

I had a great time writing about Madeline and Ty, and I hope you enjoy reading their story. I love to hear from readers, so please drop me a line at jeanniewrites@gmail.com or visit my website, www.jeanniewatt.com.

Happy reading,

Jeannie Watt

Maddie Inherits a Cowboy
Jeannie Watt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jeannie Watt lives off the grid in the heart of Nevada ranching country. She and her husband share their acreage with horses and ponies, a dog, a cat and a wide assortment of wildlife. When she first moved to her off-the-grid locale she knew nothing about generators, but because the ancient propane-powered beast always acted up while her husband was at work, she learned. Before long she could change the oil and swap out points, plug and condenser in less than twenty minutes and was the family generator expert—the one the kids called when the generator sounded “funny.” Now she has a new, more dependable generator, which she has wisely refused to learn about, leaving maintenance and care solely to her husband. So far, so good…but she dreams of solar power.

To my kids,

who grew up with the power going off whenever their parents decided to go to bed.

To Roger,

who would drop everything and come to my mechanical rescue when I got in over my head.

Thank you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER ONE

IT CAME UPON A midnight clear…

As soon as Ty Hopewell heard the familiar voice and recognized the opening bars of the song, he made a conscious effort to focus on his breathing, on the people passing in front of where he sat in the lobby of the Nugget Hotel and Casino. On anything except that song. He hadn’t lived in the boonies for so long that he’d forgotten the day after Thanksgiving was the kickoff of the Christmas season. But he’d forgotten that every public place in Reno seemed to play music.

That glorious song of old…

Ty swallowed and then drew in a breath. He could do this. He could sit here and wait for his appointment. Or he thought he could, until he made the mistake of closing his eyes.

From angels bending near the earth…

Instantly he was lying on the frozen ground, disoriented and in pain. The truck was on its side, the cab caved in, the headlights cutting through the darkness at an angle that was just plain wrong.

The truck’s front wheel slowly spun.

Bing Crosby sang.

For a moment it had been too much to process, and then he’d realized that the radio in the demolished truck was still playing. Somehow. Bing’s rendition of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” was the only sound in the cold desert night, so out of place in the aftermath of a violent wreck.

And then there had been another sound—his own voice screaming for his friend, demanding that Skip answer him….

Ty opened his eyes and got to his feet. He’d go outside, away from the music, to collect himself. Great plan, but he hadn’t taken more than two steps when he saw her crossing the casino lobby. Madeline Blaine. Skip’s sister.

It had to be her, since the time was exactly ten and she was wearing black slacks, a short red jacket and a black-and-white-checked scarf, exactly as she’d described on the phone the day before. She zeroed in on him, although she had no way of knowing what he looked like, and made a beeline toward him. Ty took off his hat as she approached.

“You must be Mr. Hopewell,” she said briskly, extending her hand before he had a chance to speak. He took it briefly, knowing his own hand was probably ice-cold. It was the first time he’d met any of Skip’s relatives. The funeral had taken place back east, where Skip had grown up.

“Yes. I’m Ty.”

“Madeline.”

He was struck by how little she looked like Skip. Her hair was straight and dark, while Skip’s had been light brown and wavy. Her eyes were green; his had been brown. And Skip had been a big guy. His sister was on the small side, her features delicate. The only similarities he could see were the distinctive high cheekbones and fair skin. Skin that tended to fry under the Nevada sun. Skip had been forever sunburned.

She gestured at the chair where he’d been sitting a few seconds before. Ty obligingly sat and she took the chair kitty-corner to his, so they could face each other. Obviously Ms. Blaine was going to run this meeting. Ty just wanted it to be over. Hell, he wished he knew what it was about—and he wished Bing would shut up already, but the singer geared up for another verse.

Peace on the earth, goodwill to…

Ty ran a finger around the inside of his collar and Madeline Blaine tilted her head as she appraised him, a slight frown drawing her dark eyebrows together. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Except for the guilt that was crushing him as Bing sang. Technically, Skip’s death had been an accident, but one that clearly could have been avoided if Ty hadn’t been so damned stubborn.

He’d reached the point after twenty-three months where he didn’t think about it as much—sometimes he could go several oblivious days at a time. But when he did think about Skip’s death, it ate at him.

He looked into Madeline Blaine’s clear green eyes, having no doubt about what had triggered him today. He hadn’t been looking forward to this meeting with Skip’s sister, and Bing hadn’t helped matters.

He cleared his throat. “Ms. Blaine—”

“Dr. Blaine.”

Oh-kay. She was a professor of anthropology at a small university somewhere in New York, but he hadn’t realized he had to use her title. “Dr. Blaine.”

“Madeline.”

Ty took a deep breath. “I hope you didn’t fly out here just to meet with me.”

“Why else would I have come?” She spoke quickly, with unexpected defensiveness. Ty was a guy who watched people and picked up signals. The signal he was getting here he didn’t quite understand.

“I thought you might have plans to do something else, to have some fun while you’re here.” Fun. Shit. Yeah, she should have fun while on a trip to settle her brother’s estate. “What I mean is that there’s stuff to do here in Reno.”

Madeline sat a little taller. “I came to meet with you,” she said, clasping her hands together. “About the ranch, as I’m sure you’ve surmised. The reasons we’re losing money.”

“We broke even this quarter,” Ty pointed out. And they’d had this same discussion on the phone more than once. He understood her impatience, but the cattle market wasn’t exactly booming right now—although organic beef was doing better than regular beef.

What he didn’t understand was how flying across the country to meet with him face-to-face was going to help. To use the guilt factor perhaps? No matter how guilty he felt, it wouldn’t make the cattle sales rebound any faster than they were.

But…whatever.

“The market is better than it was six months ago, yet that’s not reflected in the ranch profits,” Madeline said.

“There are things you need to understand.” Things he’d thought he’d explained before, but for some reason Madeline wasn’t getting it. “I’ve had to sink money into the ranch—money Skip would have had to sink into the ranch—to keep the infrastructure intact.” He’d refenced the property and reroofed the barn, eradicated weeds, worked on the roads. The ranch wasn’t in bad shape, but that was only because of the hours he’d put in after the accident, trying to forget the unforgettable.

Madeline nodded. Old news.

“Feed costs are up.” Which was a double killer when cattle prices were down.

“I thought you raised your own hay,” she said coolly.

“Not enough to feed the entire herd over the winter,” Ty replied, still wondering why they were having this discussion in the lobby. Yet another carol played in the background. But at least this way they could get the meeting over with and Madeline could go about her business, whatever it might be. There was no way she’d flown across the country only to meet with him in a casino lobby.

“Then perhaps you need to plant more hay,” Madeline said reasonably, as if pointing out a solution that had escaped him. But there was something in the tone of her voice that made Ty shift in his chair.

“The fields can only be irrigated during the spring because of the power and water situation, so that limits the amount of hay we can grow. And living off the grid, generating our own power, is expensive, what with ongoing generator maintenance and repairs and fuel.”

She leaned back, studying him for a moment before saying, “I want to see the ranch.”

Ty frowned. If he had known that, he would have sent photos. Real photos. The ones Skip had posted on his social websites had been misleading. They hadn’t exactly shown anything except a spectacular view and cattle in the field. He’d probably sent his family the same pictures.

“In person,” she added, reading his mind.

If Ty’s teeth hadn’t been clenched so tightly, his jaw would have dropped. “It’s a five-hour drive.”

“I’ve leased a car.”

Leased? As opposed to rented? He felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “Look, Ms…. Dr….” Ty gave up. “It’s your right to come look at it, but I don’t see how it’s going to help. It’s a long trip and then you’ll just have to turn around and drive another hour and a half back to the closest town for the night.”

“I plan to stay on the ranch.”

Somehow he managed to say, “Why?” rather than “Are you nuts?”

Madeline pulled her shoulders back, making her posture even more upright. “Because I want to know exactly what’s going on. I want to see how the operation runs and try to figure out why it isn’t making money. Skip was no fool. If he went in with you, then the business, the property, must have had merit.”

She was correct. Skip was no fool. But he’d been a romantic and thoroughly swept up in the cowboy mystique. Organic beef raised in an isolated environment off the grid appealed to him. “The property is good for what we wanted.”

“Yet according to you, the property itself is part of the reason you’re not making money.”

“That and the market,” he said grimly. He rested his forearms on his thighs, holding the brim of his black felt hat between his fingers as he met her eyes.

“The problems you’ve outlined are all problems Skip was dealing with when he was alive, and yet the ranch made money…then.”

It was the way she emphasized the word then that finally clued Ty in.

“The ranch will make a profit again,” he replied in a low voice, his expression stony.

Madeline drew in a breath through her nose, the action eloquently conveying her feelings on the matter, and Ty’s back went up. He wasn’t used to being treated as if he was trying to pull a fast one. A guy who’d caused an accident that had killed his friend, yes, but not a con artist.

He twisted his mouth as he debated, then he looked straight into her eyes and asked, “Did you fly here to accuse me of cheating you out of your half of the profits?”

She eyed him coolly. “Either that or mismanagement.”

“Your accountant has the books.”

She said nothing, but he could practically hear her asking, “Which set?”

He stood then, his hat in his hand. Reminding himself of her loss, of his culpability, he tried to hold in his temper. But Madeline Blaine didn’t appear to be suffering over the loss of Skip. She seemed a lot more concerned about getting cash from the ranch. Well, that was her right. He owed her.

He also didn’t like her.

“I’m not ripping you off.”

She ignored the edge to his voice, which was a mistake.

“Unlike my brother, I tend to see the reality of situations without romanticizing them. I’m going to the ranch. I’m going to spend some time there and when I’m done, I’ll know whether I need to audit, sell or hire someone to run my part of the business. Efficiently.”

“Good luck with that,” he said abruptly. Ty wasn’t easily insulted, but this woman was taking wild swings at his integrity. “Keep me posted.” Then he started for the stairs to the parking garage.

“Wait.” He stopped and turned back. She was still standing next to the leather chairs. “You need to show me how to get there.”

Ty stared at her for a second, then shook his head and started walking again. “You may as well show me,” she said, catching up to him. “I’m going to spend the next several weeks there.” She spoke as if he were foolish to ignore obvious logic.

“Then you’d better bring some food, lady, because I’m not sharing.”

CHAPTER TWO

MADELINE WATCHED Ty Hopewell walk away, every inch the cowboy in his jeans, boots and burgundy wool jacket. And how appropriate that he wore a black hat over his dark hair. She didn’t trust him. Not for one minute.

Skip had thought the world of him, but there was something fishy going on here. Why would the ranch make a decent profit right up until Skip’s death? Her accountant had pointed out the vast amount of money Ty was pouring back into the ranch, which cut the profits down to nothing, but neither of them knew whether the expenditures were necessary…or even happening.

Madeline lived two thousand miles away. Ty could say he was doing a lot of things, but whether or not he was—that was the question. If he was benefiting from her brother’s death and cheating her in the process, it was going to stop. If he merely stank at managing the place, that had to be addressed as well, and thanks to an unfortunate twist of fate, she was free to look into the matter.

At least some small bit of good would come from her suspension.

Her temples throbbed at the thought. Madeline was a consummate rule-follower, and being suspected of illegally misappropriating data in her boss’s groundbreaking study was killing her. There was nothing she could do until the formal investigation was completed, except to drive her legal counsel, Everett, crazy, so here she was. With Everett’s blessing and wishes of Godspeed, she’d decided to channel her considerable energies into understanding exactly why her inheritance was no longer making money.

And…if she chose to take the chicken’s way out, to lie low at the ranch until this brouhaha at work was over, so what? She owned half the blasted property. She was entitled.

She stalked back through the lobby, past the Starbucks with green metallic garlands strung along the counter, past the reception desk with the tasteful winter floral arrangements. Christmas music played over the speaker system, music that always made her feel closer to Skip. He’d died on Christmas Eve, and sometimes it was almost as if he was speaking to her through the songs.

Tidings of comfort and joy…

She didn’t feel much joy, but she did feel comfort.

Or she had until her confrontation with Ty.

Where was he now? Leaving the parking garage on his way to “the ranch”? The place didn’t even have a name, as far as she knew. Having been born and raised in Syracuse, she wasn’t all that ranch savvy, but didn’t all ranches have names? The Lazy M or the Flying L or some such thing?

Skip would have known. Skip had not only thrown himself into studying the West, he’d thrown himself into the culture. He’d been bound and determined to be a cowboy.

Madeline swallowed a lump in her throat as the elevator doors slid open. She pushed the key card into the slot and then punched in her floor number. Every now and then grief still hit her, but she’d been expecting it this time because of the circumstances. She wished for the zillionth time that Skip had never met Ty Hopewell, had never gone into the cattle business with him.

At first she’d blamed Ty for Skip’s death, but after studying the accident report had concluded, as had the highway patrol, that it was simply an unfortunate accident involving a cow on a dark highway. Eventually she’d shoved her feelings of blame aside. Skip was gone. She could honor him best by enjoying the memories she had of him.

The doors opened and she walked down the hall to her room to gather her bags and check out. The only reason she wasn’t hot on Ty Hopewell’s tail right now was because she wasn’t the type who left her key in the room and had her invoice emailed to her. No. She liked to check out in person, examine the bill and then leave with a hard copy in her hand. No mistakes that way.

She sat on the edge of the bed, then after a few seconds lay back on the brocade bedcover, her feet still hanging over the side, toes dangling above the floor. Her no-mistakes era was over. She stared up at the ceiling, not caring for once if she wrecked her perfectly flatironed hair. She’d tried so hard not to make errors in any area of her life. To cross her t’s and dot her i’s. To cover her ass and more than that, to make certain she never had anything to cover her ass for. And what happened?

Her trusted mentor was accused of academic misconduct that threatened federal funding to Wilcox University, that’s what. And, as Dr. Jensen’s former associate, she was being sucked into the undertow.

Madeline hadn’t been involved—she’d known nothing about the blood samples Dr. Jensen had used without permission for research into the origins of indigenous peoples—but she’d worked so closely with him on his previous projects that she had to be investigated, too. Or at least that was the explanation given when she’d been put on leave. Madeline didn’t buy it for a second.

It was obvious to her that the new anthropology department head, Dr. Vanessa Mann, was indulging in revenge, since Madeline had the unfortunate tendency to speak out when she disagreed with policies and procedures. As soon as she’d taken over the department, Dr. Mann had begun emphasizing research over education. Research brought in money, but the college was supposed to educate, for heaven’s sake. It was absolutely wrong to have the majority of classes taught by graduate students and teaching assistants while the tenured professors holed up in their offices….

Madeline stopped herself.

She’d felt safe speaking out since she’d had justified concerns. The result? Well, she was living the result. Someone else was teaching her classes. Someone else was guiding her graduate students. And Dr. Mann had made it look like a necessary action that had been taken as part of an important investigation.

Madeline squeezed her eyes shut, felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Even after two weeks she was so damned embarrassed.

She forced her eyes open again.

She needed to pack. She needed to figure out how to get to this ranch with no name. She had a full day ahead of her and no time to feel sorry for herself.

EVERY NOW AND THEN Ty found himself glancing into the rearview mirror and checking the traffic behind him on the freeway to see if he was being followed. Which was ridiculous, since he’d been on the interstate within five minutes of leaving the annoying Dr. Blaine in the lobby of the Nugget. There was no way she was on his tail, and even if she was, he had no idea what she was driving, so he couldn’t have spotted her, anyway.

I’m going to stay on the ranch…. His lips twisted. For a night maybe. Until reality set in. She didn’t look like the type who would embrace life off the grid. He’d made a tactical error, though, by letting his anger get the best of him, and walking away. He should have let her follow him to the ranch, see what the property was like, assure herself that there was a ranch—that he wasn’t embezzling funds or equipment or pretending to buy things he hadn’t.

But when she’d pretty much said he was either dishonest or stupid, with those Christmas carols playing in the background…well…he wasn’t at the top of his game. So what now? They were still business partners. He couldn’t exactly go back and find her. But he could call her. Apologize for being insulted by her unfounded insinuations. Try to do some damage control.

Hell. Whatever it took to get this issue settled. He fumbled for his phone as he drove, but when he dialed her number, there was no answer. He dropped the phone back on the seat beside him. Oh, well. He’d tried. Ty glanced in the mirror again, caught himself, cursed and focused on the road ahead.

The turnoff to Fallon was coming soon. Three more hours and he’d be home. Hell of a long drive to make, only to be pissed off. Now he had to consider what he was going to do when Madeline showed up, because, barring a blizzard—which to his disappointment wasn’t in the offing—he had no doubt she’d find her way to the ranch.

Skip had often spoken of his sister’s tenacity in a fond way. Ty was going to experience that tenacity up close and personal.

AFTER A FEW MINUTES on the internet, using the geographical coordinates from the legal documents, Madeline had both a map and the name of the road the ranch was on. Lone Sum Road. She stared at the screen, wondering if she was looking at a typo or if this was Western cleverness. Lone Sum. Lonesome?

Whatever.

She printed the map on her portable printer and then loaded her bags on the folding luggage dolly she never traveled without. Some of her associates teased her about the tubular steel device on wheels—but never when they were battling their own luggage.

Madeline’s larger suitcases were still in the car. She hadn’t bothered to bring them in, since she’d assumed she’d be following Ty Hopewell to the ranch. After making her suspicions known, she hadn’t expected him to be enthusiastic, but she hadn’t expected him to simply drive away, either.

Which left the question of whether he’d merely been insulted by her direct approach or did he have something to hide?

She’d soon find out.

As she traveled east, her cellular service popped in and out, mostly out, so she was surprised when she got a call. It was Connor, her research assistant and the only person, according to Skip, who was more of a tight ass than she was—which was why Madeline was glad she had him. If she forgot some detail, she was certain Connor would catch it.

“Where are you?”

Madeline took in the barren landscape. “Quite liter ally in the middle of nowhere. I’m driving to the ranch.

It’s more than four hours from Reno.”

“I tried to call three times.”

“Bad service here. You should see this place. Mountains and flat. That’s it. I’ve driven for more than thirty miles without seeing a house.” Madeline shifted the phone to her other ear. “What’s happening there?”

“Nothing on the professional front, but I went to visit your grandmother.”

“How is she?”

“Rambunctious.” Madeline felt a surge of relief.

Rambunctious meant no bronchial relapse. “There’s been complaints from the apartment next door. Loud music—”

“She’s losing her hearing.”

“Parties.”

“Give me a break.” Connor might be a detail guy, but he had a sense of humor.

“I tried to talk her into the iPod again, but no luck. She refuses to wear headphones.”

“Well, as long as she doesn’t get kicked out.” Grandma Eileen, also a professor of anthropology, lived in a retirement complex that catered to the academic set. She was seventy-two years old and very active. Madeline’s many cousins made sure she was never lonely, but it was Madeline and Skip that had a special bond with Eileen, who’d taken them in when their parents divorced and went to find themselves on different continents. Her grandmother was also the reason Madeline had been able to make peace with what had happened to her brother.

Grieve now or grieve later, Eileen had said, but she wanted Madeline to understand that she wasn’t going to escape the process. She hadn’t escaped, but after a year she had reached acceptance. The stage where she could remember Skip without sharp pain.

“Thanks for taking my visit,” Madeline said. Connor, who had next to no family of his own, considered him self one of the grandkids, so she knew it was no chore. “Are you sure there’s no news on the Jensen front?”

“Noth—” A sharp beep cut off Connor’s reply. No signal. Madeline snapped the phone shut.

An hour later she pulled into Winnemucca for gas. It was hard to believe she was still in the same state and that she’d passed through only two towns of any size since leaving Reno. The emptiness, the vastness of this land, was daunting. Not only that, it was damned cold and snowy. This was not the desert she’d envisioned from her brother’s enthusiasm about his new home. The mountains were pretty, much more rugged and barren than the ones she was used to, but other than that, what had Skip seen in this country?

Madeline adjusted her collar against the wind and screwed the gas cap on. According to the GPS, she had another hundred and eighty miles—and two more towns—to go before reaching her target destination.

She was nearing the town of Battle Mountain when it began to snow, and during the sixty mile drive to Elko what should have been an hour’s drive turned into an hour and a half.

Ty might have been angry when he’d told her to bring food, but Madeline took him at his word. As soon as she hit Elko, she stopped and bought a bag of groceries—mostly cereal and cookies. Carbohydrates fed the brain.

When she left the store, she was glad to see that the skies were clearing, although there was a good six inches of unplowed snow on the road. She loaded the groceries into the car and wearily got back in. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to reaching the ranch, but she was looking forward to not driving anymore. It had been one long day. And it was only half over.

THERE WAS NO WAY in hell that a car, even one with all-wheel drive, should have made it up Lone Summit Road after a snowfall. But damned if Madeline Blaine didn’t climb out of a Subaru Outback and wade through the drift to the gate at the end of the driveway.

Ty tipped back the brim of his black felt hat and watched from the corral where he’d just fed the bulls. A full minute later he knew he had to go help her. What kind of a person could navigate that road and then not be able to figure out a gate latch? Apparently one with a doctorate in anthropology.

He muttered a curse and trudged down the snowy drive with Alvin, his border collie, at his heels, walking in the same track Ty created. She was obviously het up to see the ranch, so see the ranch she would. He had a feeling when she was done that she was going to wish she’d believed him.

Madeline did not give up on the latch. She continued to wrestle with it right up until he stopped on the opposite side of the gate.

“Need help?” he asked mildly.

“What do you think?” she snapped.

You don’t want to know what I think…. “I’m surprised you made it,” he said after he pulled the mechanism that released the latch—the mechanism that Madeline had been pushing for all she was worth. She lifted her chin slightly when she saw how easily the latch sprang open.

“What do you mean?”

“The snow, the ruts, the road.”

She made a face. “I grew up in New York. I can drive in the snow and I don’t need one of those to do it.” She pointed at his four-wheel-drive pickup truck parked next to the barn a hundred yards away.

“Bully for you,” he muttered as she trudged back to her car and got inside. He and Alvin stood clear as she drove past, and then Ty shut the gate. Madeline had parked next to the truck and was out of the car, standing in the snow, when he and Alvin caught up with her.

“I’ll show you Skip’s house.”

“Thank you.”

She followed him as he broke trail through the calf-deep snow to the double-wide closest to the barn. Skip had lived in the newer of the two prefab ranch houses. Both were roomy, with three bedrooms and two baths and, under normal circumstances, quite comfortable. These were not normal circumstances, though. Skip’s place had been uninhabited for almost two years and Ty had a feeling Madeline wasn’t going to find the place all that inviting. Oh, well. He’d told her not to come.

Ty walked up the stairs and opened the door.

Madeline stalled out at the bottom step. “I assume there are no mice inside? It has been empty for some time.”

He had managed to keep the mice out so far—no small feat in the country—with a lot of caulk and steel wool. He figured that if he ever expanded to the point that he could hire help, or if he got another partner to buy into the operation, he’d need to keep the house up.

Perhaps that had been a mistake.

“No mice. I check frequently.” It was still hard for him to go inside Skip’s place, and cleaning it out had been a hell he never wanted to have to repeat.

Madeline slowly climbed the stairs with a suitcase in each hand. Her concern about mice only reinforced his belief that she wasn’t going to last long at the ranch, but he had to give her credit for not flinching at the amount of fine silt that had worked its way in through the edges of the windows and settled. One of the joys of desert life—even in the high country.

The only furniture in the two front rooms was a leather sofa that pulled out into a bed—in case Ty had company who wanted privacy, which was laughable because Ty never had company—and a small kitchen table with two chairs. The other rooms were empty.

Everything had been shipped home or sent to charity.

“I sent the bedding and towels and stuff to Goodwill.”

“I know,” she said briskly. She walked through the house, the floor squeaking beneath her steps. “I brought a sleeping bag.”

“You’re really staying.”

Her eyebrows lifted, as if in surprise, but the reaction seemed forced—quite possibly because of where she would be staying. The house was not inviting. “I told you I was.”

“Suit yourself.” The sooner she saw that everything was on the up-and-up, the sooner this walking, talking reminder of Skip would be out of his life.

“I will.” She glanced around and from the way she moistened her lips he had a feeling she was fighting to keep her placid expression. She brought her eyes back to his face.

“Not much to do here,” Ty explained. “No TV or anything.”

“I plan to use any free time I might have to work on a book I’m writing.”

Ty stared at her. “How long do you plan to stay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Three and a half weeks.”

Oh, shit. Why didn’t she just take out a gun and shoot him?

This went beyond not wanting to be reminded about Skip. Ty enjoyed his solitude. Hell, he embraced it. When he wanted company he went to town. He did not want it forced on him.

Madeline squared her shoulders. “Well, I guess I’ll go and get the rest of my luggage. I have a busy afternoon.”

Ty nodded and headed for the door. There wasn’t much else he could do.

CHAPTER THREE

GOOD HEAVENS, SKIP, what were you thinking when you bought this place?

He’d said it was isolated, but Madeline couldn’t believe how far she’d driven on that darned Lone Sum Road before finally seeing the driveway and gate. Beyond the gate she’d recognized the view from the photos Skip had sent, but when Skip had talked of a ranch, she’d envisioned a big wooden barn and sheds and lots of board fences and corrals. Well, the barn was there. It was big and metal and ugly. The smaller buildings all looked as if they were a couple hundred years old, and the fences were made of wire. Wire.

She thought he’d sent pictures of the view because it was so spectacular. She hadn’t realized there was nothing else to photograph.

Ty had disappeared and was hopefully hooking up the electricity, while Madeline carried her belongings into the frigid house, which was larger than she had expected. Skip had called it a trailer, but it was the size of a regular house with a woodstove on a ceramic-tiled hearth.

She made three trips through the snow between her car and the house, leaving the door propped open. The last trip was the easiest because she’d beaten the snow into a path. Then she took another look at her living quarters.

She should have bought more cleaning supplies.

And a bucket.

Madeline pulled a pad out of her purse and started a list, then went to the sink and turned the tap. Nothing.

So she wouldn’t be cleaning and she wouldn’t have heat until Ty got around to turning on the power. Perhaps Mr. Hopewell needed a nudge. Madeline had no intention of disturbing him any more than she had to during her stay, but she also had no intention of freezing to death.

She stepped outside, debating whether it was warmer inside or outside, then followed Ty’s tracks to the barn.

When she opened the door, Ty looked up from the contraption he was working on. He had a smudge of oil across his cheek and he seemed none too happy to see her. Or maybe he was ticked off at the machine…which was probably the generator.

Madeline had a feeling it was.

Ty shifted his scowl back to the machine. “It hasn’t been started in a while.”

“Will it start?” Because if not, she was on her way back down the mountain to the little town at the bottom. Except that she hadn’t seen anyplace to stay there.

“Hope so.”

“Does it have fuel?” Madeline asked.

No answer this time, so she concluded it was a stupid question. But she’d also learned during the course of her academic career at the university never to overlook the obvious.

Ty replaced the metal cover and tightened a wing nut. He put his finger on a toggle switch next to a gauge, then paused a second.

Madeline thought he was probably praying it wouldn’t start, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He flipped the switch and the machine began to shake as it chugged to life. And then the chug turned into a roar and the shaking turned into a steady vibration. Madeline automatically placed her hands over her ears and retreated out of the building. Ty followed, closing the door behind him and muting the sound. A little.

“Loud,” Madeline said as she dropped her hands.

“Welcome to life on a generator.” He started for Skip’s house and she followed. He stepped inside and went to the hallway, where he opened the furnace door and started banging around. A few seconds later a blast of heat shot out of the register next to Madeline. She stepped on top of it, sighing as the warmth blew up her pant legs.

“How about the water?”

“I’ll turn it on and get the hot-water heater going. Then…you’re on your own, although I have no idea what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to clean this place up tonight, and tomorrow we’re going to meet.”

“What if it doesn’t work into my schedule?”

“Then you’d better fit me in, unless you do have something to hide.” Madeline said it without thinking, then instantly regretted it when Ty slowly turned back to her.

“You’re not much like your brother, are you?” Madeline opened her mouth to reply but before she could say anything, Ty added, “I never saw Skip go for the jugular like you do.”

She was not going for the jugular. She was being truthful.

“Maybe if Skip had been more like me, he wouldn’t have been in business with you and he wouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off. Ty swallowed—she saw his Adam’s apple move—then left the house without another word.

Madeline stared at the door. She wasn’t sure what exactly had gotten into her, but was beginning to suspect, now that she’d met Ty, that she still wanted to blame him for Skip’s death.

SHE WASN’T THE LEAST BIT like her brother in temperament or in coloring, true, but there were similarities. Facial expressions, the cadence of her speech, the faint accent.

Except, regardless of what she said, Ty was right. She did go for the jugular. She pinpointed his weakest point and then thrust in the knife. She’d done it twice now—stabs at his honesty and stabs at his integrity. He had no doubt she’d twist the knife, too, if he gave her the chance. She looked the type, all high-and-mighty and so sure she was right.

Alvin followed him to the house, then glanced up at him when Ty opened the door.

“Yeah, you’re sleeping inside.”

Alvin preferred to sleep outside, but Ty wanted the company tonight. His house was equipped with a cabin kit, a switch inside for his generator, which was newer, quieter, more fuel efficient than the one powering Skip’s place.

It rumbled to life in its shed behind his house and the lights came on. Ty went over to his desk and turned on the computer. He had to turn down that specialty-foods company toeing into the organic market. He wouldn’t be able to supply as much beef as they wanted. Because of the demand for hormone-free, antibiotic-free beef—despite a market recession—he was actually doing all right. But he wasn’t able to supply volume. Yet. That’s why the money went into his herd, equipment and ranch improvements. He needed to expand. Skip’s idea, really. Skip had been a financial whiz kid and a good business partner.

Madeline, not so much.

But she was fully within her rights being here, taking a look at the property, living in Skip’s house. Hell, she could live there forever. But Ty was within his rights not to work on that damned antique generator when it went down. That was her concern.

Ty pulled a cast-iron pan out from under the stove and flicked on a burner, trying not to look out the window at the lights in Skip’s house. Lights that hadn’t been on for almost two years. If he’d known how all this was going to work out, he would have bought two cows, ten acres and continued to work at the feedlot.

IT TOOK ALMOST AN HOUR for the hot-water tank to do its job. Madeline was too impatient to wait, so she started cleaning with paper towels and water, pretty much making mud on the silty counters during her first swipes, and then after rinsing the thankfully strong paper towels, eventually getting the surfaces clean.

Once the counters were done, Madeline regarded the floors, also silt-covered. When she’d first set foot in the house, she’d wondered why there was no carpeting. She didn’t wonder anymore. Carpet would be a commando dust trap, even with a supervacuum.

Right now she wished she had a SuperVac. Or a broom.

Madeline pressed a hand to her forehead, then went to the counter where her cell phone was plugged in, for all the good it would do. She turned it on and found that it was still searching for a signal. Crap. She knew there’d been a signal at the turnoff for Lone Sum Road, because she’d talked to her grandmother, fending off questions about why she wasn’t finishing the semester at the college. Eileen knew about Dr. Jensen, but Madeline hadn’t yet broken the news that she, too, was under investigation. Connor and her cousins were under strict orders not to let it slip. Madeline didn’t want her grandmother worrying about her, so she’d intimated that she had a grad student who needed teaching experience, thus freeing her to take care of business at the ranch. Eileen had more questions, but fortunately Madeline lost the signal as she started up Lone Sum Road. It had been a good thing, too, since the last few miles had required all of her attention.

She turned off the phone, set it back on the counter. Apparently if she wanted to make a call to Connor for moral support, she was going to have to drive to the bottom of the mountain to do it. Not tonight. She walked over to where her suitcases sat on the dusty floor. She didn’t want to open them for fear of getting dust on everything in them, so instead she paced to the curtainless window and stared out at the lights of Ty’s house, a hundred yards away. The ranch was set up so that they had their privacy. Skip’s house was close to the barn and Ty’s close to the gate.

And both houses close to nothing else. The only sound was the generator, the source of her power, chugging away. How was she supposed to sleep with that noise?

Skip? Explanation, please? How did you handle this? Why did you handle this?

She probably wouldn’t be sleeping, so she might as well be cleaning. To do that she needed a few things Ty probably had. Madeline pulled on her coat and headed for the door.

The generator was louder outside. She didn’t have a flashlight, and the ranch had no yard light, so she made her way to Ty’s house by moonlight reflecting off the snow. When she got there, she knocked and was greeted by loud, serious barking.

A second later Ty opened the door, his dog regarding her suspiciously from behind the man’s long legs.

Madeline tilted her chin up. “May I please borrow a broom?”

Ty’s mouth tightened and then he nodded. He left the door open as he crossed to a utility closet in the kitchen. Madeline hesitated, then stepped inside, keeping her eye on the less-than-friendly-looking dog. Weren’t collies supposed to be friendly?

“And a dustpan?” she called when Ty pulled out a broom.

He reached back into the closet, pulling out a dustpan, along with a mop and bucket. He set the bucket on the floor and thrust the cleaning implements at her.

“Anything else?” he asked in an expressionless voice.

“Cleaner?”

He didn’t say a word as he went to a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a bottle of 409. He walked back to where she stood, guarded by his dog, and dropped the bottle in the bucket. It landed with a small thunk.

Madeline squared her shoulders. The guy did not like her. The message was oh-so clear in his closed-off body language, his refusal to speak. Well, she had invaded what he probably, erroneously, thought of as his turf. In a way, she understood his reaction, but it wasn’t going to have any effect on her behavior toward him.

After she had gathered the cleaning supplies and stepped back out onto the porch, he finally said, “If you’re going to clean tonight, you’d better hurry.”

She turned back with a frown. “Why?”

“You have half an hour before I turn off the generator.”

“I have what?” She really hoped her jaw didn’t drop.

“Half an hour. We don’t have enough fuel to run your generator full-time, and frankly, it’s too old to run full-time.”

“Does your power go off, too?” she demanded. Over his shoulder she noticed a computer sitting on the desk, a search-engine screen clearly visible. He had internet. She couldn’t even get a cell signal.

“Of course,” he said, and although his expression remained passive, she had a feeling he was enjoying this.

“When do you turn the power back on?”

“In the morning for a few hours. Do you have a flashlight?”

“In my car,” Madeline said in a faint voice as she weighed the ramifications of this new and unexpected information.

“Don’t plan on using a lot of water while the gen’s off. No power, no pump.”

Her eyes flashed up to his face. “Excuse me?”

“You have a water storage tank, but it’s not huge. Don’t take a shower or anything.”

For the second time that night Madeline was left staring at a closed door.

Was he being serious? Or inventing rules to make her miserable?

If he was… If he was, Madeline had no way of finding out. She was in over her head here, but damned if she was going to cry uncle.

She lifted her hand and pounded on the door. For a second she didn’t think he would answer, but he did, swinging it open, a harsh expression on his face.

“What?” he asked in a deadly voice.

“Would you give me some warning before you turn off the electricity?” Madeline said calmly, making Ty feel like a jerk for growling at her. But damn it, he wasn’t used to having other people around, insulting his integrity, then knocking on his door and borrowing cleaning supplies.

The sane thing to do would be to teach her how to operate the generator so she could turn the power on and off herself. It was hers, after all, but no one within sixty miles worked on the machines, so if it went down, it could be down for days. In the dead of winter. That wasn’t an option. He didn’t want her trying to move in with him.

“I’ll knock on your door. You don’t need to answer.

Just get into bed before the lights go out.”

“Thank you.” Madeline gathered her supplies and trudged off down the path through the snow to Skip’s house, the mop bobbing as she walked. Ty watched her for a moment before closing the door.

When he went back to his work—a rural development grant for pasture improvement—he couldn’t concentrate.

He doubted he’d be able to focus as long as Skip’s sister was on the property, and that wasn’t good, since she appeared to be putting down roots.

Ty waited until he couldn’t stay awake any longer before letting himself out into the cold to turn off Madeline’s generator. The porch steps clunked under his boots as he climbed. He gave two loud raps, then turned and retraced his steps, hands thrust deep in his pockets. He hadn’t bothered to put on gloves. He didn’t want to talk to Madeline and he didn’t trust her not to open the door and either ask a question or make an observation. Sure enough, he heard the door open behind him, but pretended he didn’t. A second later, it closed again. Bullet dodged.

He waited in the barn for a couple minutes to give her time to settle, then flipped the toggle on the generator. The house went dark. He hoped Madeline had gone straight to bed, as he’d suggested. But he had a sneaking suspicion, given the flashlight beam arcing through the interior of the house, that she hadn’t.

Welcome to life off the grid.

CHAPTER FOUR

OKAY, SKIP. I WANT ANSWERS.

Madeline burrowed deeper into the sleeping bag she’d laid out on the leather sofa. She hadn’t folded the couch out into a bed, for fear of the amount of dust she might find inside. She hadn’t started cleaning, either, not wanting to suddenly find herself in the dark. But for some reason, Ty had waited almost an hour before turning off the electricity. Wasted time.

She wasn’t sure what exactly she’d expected when she got to the ranch, but it wasn’t this—a dusty, empty double-wide with intermittent electricity. When Skip had said they generated their own power on the ranch, she’d had a romantic vision of solar panels and twenty-four-hour-a-day electricity.

Madeline was tough. She had generations of Yankee blood flowing through her veins. But over those generations, the Yankees had become accustomed to showering whenever they pleased and lighting rooms with a flip of a switch. She was slightly ashamed for needing those things when she prided herself on being up to any challenge, but it was the twenty-first century. Native American tribes at the bottom of the Grand Canyon had electricity and internet.

She’d certainly be talking to Ty about the power situation. Why didn’t the ranch have solar power? Or wind generators instead of these diesel monstrosities? Cost was undoubtedly an issue, but had he even looked into it before spending so much money on the ranch? Was he unaware of the benefits of twenty-four-hour electricity?

If Madeline had been able to see, she would have made a note.

A melancholy moan from somewhere outside the double-wide brought Madeline upright in her sleeping bag, hands clutched to her chest. Her eyes, which had been drifting shut, were now wide-open as she stared into the darkness, listening.

What on earth…?

The plaintive bawl came again, sending a shiver up her spine before she realized the sound had to be coming from…a cow? Of course. Ranch. Cow.

That sound was nothing like a moo. Not even close, but it had to be a cow.

Madeline slowly settled back down into the bag, her heart still beating a little faster. The house was cooling off at warp speed now that the heat source was gone, so she pulled the soft nylon up to her cheekbones and thought about putting on her ski hat. She’d have to see about getting wood.

Or go home.

The thought shot from out of nowhere and Madeline quickly dismissed it. She’d made plans and she was following through. Besides, her lawyer was glad to have her on the other side of the country and not calling every day with a new angle of attack for her defense.

She flopped over and pulled the bag up over her head, risking a headache from lack of fresh air, but her nose was getting cold.

Toughen up.

If Skip could handle living this way, then so could she…. Although when they were kids, Skip’s idea of a good time was camping in the swampy area behind the house and coming back cold, wet, dirty and tired. She’d preferred to curl up with a book and lose herself in another world while the rain beat on the windows.

The thought of being out in the rain, battling the elements, had never appealed to her, just as living in the middle of nowhere didn’t appeal. She had a fiscal responsibility, however, to herself and to her grandmother, so she would muscle through the unexpected physical discomfort and learn something about this ranch she owned half of.

She’d also…hopefully…keep her mind occupied and stop driving herself crazy with what-ifs about her career.

TY WOKE UP SHORTLY BEFORE dawn. He stared into the darkness for a moment, letting his eyes adjust, before rolling onto his back and flopping an arm over his face. He felt like shit. The cold hopelessness that had engulfed him for so many months after the accident was back. In spades.

No. He was wrong. It wasn’t the same. There was a sense of foreboding mixed in with the usual guilt and darkness. Ty ran a hand over the back of his neck, which was about as stiff as it had been for two weeks after the wreck, when he hadn’t been able to turn his head.

Damn it, Skip, I’m sorry. I know you were fond of her, but I just can’t warm up to your sister.

Alvin poked his cold nose against Ty’s shoulder and he automatically ruffled the dog’s silky fur before shoving the blankets aside and getting out of bed. He shivered as he walked naked into the kitchen to turn on the generator and get some heat flowing. He went to the door and let Alvin out, realizing only as he was shutting it that perhaps he shouldn’t do that naked anymore—at least not while Madeline was on the property. Not that she could see much at that distance, but no sense taking chances or prompting complaints.

How long was she going to stay? For real, that was, after she became acquainted with the actuality of life on Lone Summit Ranch. Days, he hoped. He should be so lucky.

The smartest thing for him to do would be to give her whatever information she needed. Answer her questions, weather her insults, show her whatever she wanted to see and do it ASAP. Starting this morning. Then maybe she’d leave.

That was the plan, anyway, but after eating a quick breakfast of coffee and toast with peanut butter, he couldn’t bring himself to knock on Madeline’s door and ask her when she wanted to go over whatever it was she wanted to go over. Instead he walked past the doublewide to the barn, where he started the tractor. Once it was running and he was ready to pull out and drive to the hay shed, he turned on her generator, holding his breath as always. The ancient machine coughed and chugged, then took hold.

Duty done, he adjusted the scarf around his neck and pulled his earflaps down, then climbed into the driver’s seat. Alvin was already waiting on the empty flatbed trailer. He gave two barks, his way of communicating approval that at long last they were starting the real work of the day. As Ty put the tractor in gear, the little collie braced himself, his sharp gaze darting here and there as he guarded his trailer against any marauders that might try to hitch a ride.

MADELINE’S EYES FLASHED open as the overhead lights came on. Normally she never slept this late—it was almost 8:00 a.m. eastern standard time—but she hadn’t fallen asleep until very, very late. In fact, she’d resigned herself to staring up at the dark ceiling, her nose getting colder as the temperature steadily dropped, and wondering if Skip had truly enjoyed living this way or had been too proud to admit he’d made a mistake.

Somewhere along the line, she’d fallen asleep.

She sat up and then immediately snuggled back into the sleeping bag. The room was even more frigid than when she’d fallen asleep, but the furnace had come on with the power. She would let the heat blow for a few minutes.

Or a few hours.

Madeline compromised and climbed out of the bag ten minutes later and put on her coat. She hurried to the bathroom and shut the door to trap the heat flowing up through the vents. Blessed warmth.

Having no idea how long the electricity would be on—something else to discuss with Ty—she cranked on the shower, grimacing slightly as the water ran rusty. It cleared after a few minutes and she climbed under the wonderfully strong spray, letting it beat on her shoulders and back, warming her.

Madeline stood under the shower until the water started to cool—something she rarely did, but she had a slightly larger water tank back home. She stepped out into the saunalike environment she’d created, cleared the condensation off the mirror with her washcloth, then prepared for the daily battle with the blow-dryer and flatiron.

Once that was done, she would brew a thermos of instant coffee, then sit down with her laptop and write up a plan of attack for the morning and afternoon. She’d spend the evening working on her great-grandmother’s memoir, with a flashlight if necessary.

First on the list—set up a meeting with Ty. She hoped today he was in a mood to cooperate.

Second—a trip back down the mountain. She wanted to talk to Connor, both to touch base and to vent about the state of this alleged ranch, her uncertainties concerning Ty. She needed a sounding board. Someone she could trust.

THE MORNING WAS NOT going well. Fair or not, Ty blamed Madeline. If she hadn’t come to the ranch, he would have been able to concentrate. He wouldn’t have hit the pothole under the snow, shifting his load of hay so that he caught a bale on the gatepost as he drove through.

After he’d restacked the hay, Alvin held the cows off while Ty opened the second gate, the one leading to the cattle pasture, and drove the tractor through. The dog leaped back onto his trailer and Ty started feeding without incident, Alvin happily snapping and barking at the cows to keep them from pulling bales off one side of the trailer while Ty dropped hay off the other. But while Ty usually found a temporary sense of peace in the simple act of feeding, today a dark cloud hung over him.

Were these his only choices in life? To be depressed or to be angry?

Hell of a way to live.

Man up. Madeline was Skip’s sister. His inherited business partner. He had to do his duty and be civil. She was here for answers he owed her, to clear up suspicions that, while insulting and rather tactlessly voiced, were justified. For all she knew, he was a guy who’d taken advantage of her brother.

Would he be able to convince her otherwise?

Was he even going to try? And if he did, would she listen, or was she one of those people who, once her mind was made up, refused to change it? Skip had told him more than once about her stubbornness.

Ty had become grimly comfortable about how he dealt with his guilt. He didn’t need Madeline here, stir ring the pot. Mainly because he didn’t know if he had it in him to come up with yet another coping mechanism.

He dumped one more bale, then got on the tractor to move to the next spot, stringing the cattle out so they had room to eat.

He drove on a few yards, then stopped when he saw a yellowish-brown mound next to the frozen creek. His rotten morning continued.

It’d been easy to blame Madeline for his bad mood and lack of concentration, but it was kind of hard to blame her for the cow lying in the willows. Ty stopped the tractor and left Alvin to keep the cows from destroying the stack of hay on the trailer.

This was one of his feistier cows, but she simply turned her head and blinked when he approached. And then he saw the dead calf. A preemie, but a big one.

“Come on, girl,” he muttered, reaching out to give her a couple pats on her shoulder. She didn’t react. He nudged her with his knee, carefully, since he’d had recurring problems with the joint since the accident, but again, no response.

Shit.

Ty dug under the layers of clothing he wore, pulled his cell out of his pocket and hit lucky number three with his gloved thumb. You know you’re a rancher when you have the vet on speed dial.

“Hey,” he said when Sam Hyatt answered. The crackling connection told Ty the vet was in his truck, probably on the edge of the service area. “Ty Hopewell.” His breath crystallized as he spoke. “Any chance you can make it up to my place this morning? I have a cow down. She’s just aborted a big preemie. Calving paralysis, I’m guessing.”

The best Sam could do was noon, since he was more than a hundred miles away, en route to another emergency call.

“Thanks. See you at noon.” Ty ended the call, then stood for a moment studying the cow. She studied him back. Finally he shook his head and started for the tractor, where Alvin was doing his best to save the load. Ty climbed onto the seat and put the tractor in gear.

He didn’t even want to think about what else might happen today.

TY WASN’T AT HOME. Madeline knocked twice. The collie hadn’t barked, so it followed that Ty was out and about, doing ranch chores or some such thing.

She’d carried her cell on the walk across the wide drive, hoping to step into a service area, but no luck. If she was going to communicate with the outside world, she was going to have to travel or ask Ty if she could use his phone. He’d probably say no and then she’d end up traveling anyway.

She stood for a moment, hands on hips, debating whether to check the barn or the shop first, then caught sight of movement in the field. A tractor, slowly heading away from her. It stopped a few seconds later and Ty got off and walked back to the load of hay, climbing on the trailer to avoid the crush of cows. The collie was snapping at the animals, fending them off.

Ty was feeding, and it looked as if he’d just begun. How long would it take to feed all those cattle? Should she wait?

The sky was darkening, the clouds hugging the top of the mountain range. The last weather report she’d accessed before leaving Reno had promised days of on-again, off-again snowstorms. If she wanted to store up on provisions, such as toilet paper—how on earth had she forgotten toilet paper?—and set up a way to get mail, she needed to take advantage of this window of opportunity. She would catch up with Ty as soon as she got back.

It was wasteful to run the generator while she was gone—Ty had said the fuel was low. So she went to the barn, covering her ears until she reached out with one hand and cautiously flipped the toggle switch he had used to start the machine. After a low drone of protest, it stilled.

The silence that followed was intense and Madeline felt an instant flood of relief.

They were definitely going to look into solar power.

THE COW LOOKED NO BETTER when Ty stopped on his way back from feeding. Four hours until Sam got there… Once again Ty tried to get her to her feet, and once again she refused to budge. It was gearing up to snow again, but at least the cold wasn’t as bitter as it’d been the week before. Ty got on the tractor, feeling helpless. Losing a cow wasn’t in the budget. He’d already lost a calf. He wasn’t up for a double loss.

He parked the tractor in the barn, cocking his head and wondering why things didn’t seem quite right.

It took him a second to realize the generator wasn’t running.

Shit.

He climbed off the tractor, wincing as he twisted the knee he’d been so careful of when he’d nudged the cow.

Ty paused for a painful moment, resting his hands on his thighs, knowing from experience that if he waited a few seconds, let his knee recover, there would be no lasting damage. He took a cautious step once the pain subsided, and the knee held. Good. One point for him—his first today. But if the generator engine had seized… It hadn’t.

The engine was cool to the touch. The oil level was fine.

The collar of wires appeared to be all right. No short.

And Madeline wasn’t there in the barn, demanding to know what had happened to her power.

Ty scratched his head, then reached out to flip the switch. The machine started. Ty turned it back off.

Madeline had turned off the power? That seemed odd.

Granted, she seemed a bit odd herself, but still…

Ty didn’t want to initiate contact. Even though he’d come to the conclusion that the smartest thing he could do was to cooperate, the logic part of his brain hadn’t quite conquered the pissed-off part. It turned out, though, that he didn’t need to worry about initiating contact. Her car was gone.

For good?

He doubted it, but he climbed the porch steps to check if her belongings were still there. That plan was squashed when the knob refused to turn in his hand.

Madeline had locked her door.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE DRIVE DOWN THE mountain was more difficult than the trip up had been yesterday, giving Madeline no time to dwell on either the ranch or Dr. Jensen. The ruts in the snow had frozen overnight and kept unexpectedly catching her tires, yanking the car to the side of the road and the snowbanks there. But as she had told Ty, Madeline was no rookie at driving in the snow. Her grandmother, after retiring from her teaching job, had lived at the end of a particularly nasty road in northern Maine, close to where she had grown up.

After a few close calls—closer than Madeline was entirely comfortable with, since she didn’t want to hike back up the mountain and ask Ty to pull her out of the ditch—she arrived at Barlow Ridge. Unable to wait any longer, she stopped at a crossroad and dialed Connor’s number. He didn’t answer, even though it was close to noon back home.

Madeline stared at the phone. Connor always answered. His phone was practically embedded in his palm. Was he not answering on purpose? Was this his way of not enabling her obsession over the investigation?

She tried again, then fired off a text.

I want to talk about the ranch. Pick up.

Nothing.

Madeline ground her teeth, then shoved the phone into her pocket and pulled the car back out onto the road.

She drove from snowy gravel onto cleared pavement as she passed the first houses.

The town was tiny, and while there were many communities this size scattered throughout the northeast, the sheer isolation of this one made it seem even smaller.

Madeline estimated the population at less than five hundred. She had to estimate, since for some reason towns in Nevada didn’t boast population—they announced altitude. So while she was happy to know that the reason she couldn’t breathe was because she was at 5,160 feet above sea level, from an anthropological point of view, population was a much more interesting statistic.

Fields and ranches bordered the paved streets until she reached the nucleus, which consisted of a mercantile, a bar, a post office, a school and a prefab metal building that appeared to be the community center. At the far end of town, on the road leading to civilization, was another metal building, red. Perhaps a fire station?

Madeline parked in front of the mercantile, which had an honest to goodness hitching post in front, festooned with garlands and red ribbons. Sleigh bells hung on the door, jingling merrily as she let herself into the store, which seemed to be deserted. Madeline didn’t mind.

She stood for a moment, studying the wild variety of merchandise crammed into too small a space.

Holy smoke. Where did she begin? The aisle with the small artificial Christmas tree, or the one with the saddle?

Madeline pulled her list out of her jacket pocket and unfolded it. It appeared that whatever she could possibly want—a jar of mustard or a bag of hog chow—was here.

She picked up a plastic basket, since there were no carts, and slowly started down the first aisle, cataloging what was where, since she’d a feeling she would be back.

“Can I help you?”

Madeline nearly jumped out of her skin at the accusing growl from behind her. She whirled and saw a small gray-haired woman at the counter. She hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Where had she been? Crouching down, maybe?

Madeline automatically moistened her lips as the woman glared at her. “I just needed a few things. You are open, aren’t you? The door was unlocked so I assumed—”

“I’m open,” the woman said flatly. “Where’d you come from?”

“New York. A little town near—”

“Here.”

Madeline cocked her head. “Excuse me?”

“Since this town is at the end of the road, you aren’t traveling through. Where are you staying while you’re here?”

“Oh.” Madeline forced the corners of her mouth up even though she didn’t feel at all like smiling at this crabby woman. “I’m half owner of…” Damn. Why didn’t the place have a name? “…that ranch up Lone Sum Road.”

“Lonesome Road?” the woman asked with a mystified expression. “You mean Lone Summit Road?”

“Uh, yes,” Madeline said stiffly. “That’s exactly what I mean. Ty Hopewell is my partner. Actually, he was my brother’s partner, but my brother passed away.”

“You’re Skip’s sister?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be.” She shook her head again, frowning at Madeline as if she were a particularly nasty specimen.

“Why?” Madeline made no further attempt at politeness. She wanted an answer. Why was it so incredible that she was Skip’s sister?

“Skip was laid-back. Not an uptight bone in his body.” The woman’s eyes traveled over Madeline in a way that made her back stiffen. Okay, maybe she was wearing her black pants rather than jeans, but she was saving the jeans to clean in, since without a washer and dryer she had no clothing to spare. And perhaps a tastefully belted, knee-length navy blue wool coat wasn’t the norm in extremely rural Nevada, but it didn’t cry out uptight…unless it revealed a prim white blouse collar beneath it. She should have worn her red sweater.

“Yes. My brother was quite a relaxed individual.” She held up the list. “Would it be all right if I continued to shop?” The woman’s response shouldn’t have stung. Skip had always charmed people, whereas she’d had to resort to dazzling them with logic or impressing them with her academic prowess. The shopkeeper didn’t look as if she would be wowed by either. She made a dismissive gesture and Madeline walked down the nearest aisle with slow, deliberate steps. She would not be intimidated. But if this woman was representative of the local population, she wouldn’t be spending too much time in town, either.

Madeline eventually stacked three loaded baskets on the counter, along with a broom, a mop and two bottles of cleaning solution. She’d be returning a full bottle to Ty.

She’d eventually found everything on her list, with no help from the retailer, who’d sat silently behind her counter as Madeline shopped. It had taken a while to find ketchup that wasn’t laced with hot sauce, and the only wine she could find was red with a homemade label, which seemed to indicate that it, too, was home made. She didn’t think it was legal to sell home brew to the general public, but figured it wouldn’t be for sale if it was a health hazard, so what the heck? Wine helped on those nights when she suffered from insomnia, and given her situation, she may be facing some of those nights in the near future.

“By the way, I’m Madeline Blaine,” she said as the woman started ringing up her purchases.

“Anne McKirk,” the woman snapped.

“…McKirk is an unusual name. I’ve never heard it before.”

“Short for McErquiaga.”

“Basque?” Madeline guessed.

“Bingo,” Anne replied as she waved at the canned goods she’d rung up. “We load our own bags here.”

“Oh.” Madeline shook out a large paper bag and started loading. “Are there many Basque here?”

“Hmm.”

Possibly an affirmative. Madeline had never met a person of Basque descent before. Fascinating culture, though.

After paying for her groceries, she tried one more time to be friendly, primarily because the mercantile was the only game in town. “I’m impressed with the wide array of merchandise you have here.”

“I do try to keep an array,” the woman agreed sourly. She handed Madeline her change, then stepped out from behind the counter and headed for the back of the store without another word. Madeline watched her go.

Tough crowd.

A few minutes later, Madeline stepped inside the post office cautiously. But unlike Anne McKirk, the postmistress beamed when she saw a new face cross the threshold. A Christmas wreath pin blinked on the woman’s green sweater as she opened the gate separating the business area from the lobby.

“Hi,” Madeline said, taking advantage of the first sign of friendliness she’d encountered since arriving in the eastern part of Nevada. “I’m Madeline Blaine, Ty Hopewell’s ranching partner.” It sounded ridiculous coming from her lips, but it was the truth. She was a partner and their business was ranching.

“You must be Skip’s sister. I’m so very sorry about your loss.” The woman instantly closed the distance between them and enveloped her in a hug.

“Uh, yes. Thank you.” Madeline wasn’t a big hugger, except with close friends and family under highly emotional circumstances, but she appreciated the sentiment behind the gesture.

“We all liked Skip very much.” She ran a quick eye over Madeline, making her once again aware how out of place her teaching clothes were and how little she resembled her brother, both physically and psychologically. But this lady didn’t seem to find as much fault with her as Anne McKirk.

“Thank you,” Madeline repeated. “How would I go about getting mail while I’m here. I’ll probably only be here a matter of weeks, so if I could rent a box for a month—”

“Oh, good heavens, no.”

“Uh…”

“All the boxes are rented. You simply have your mail sent here to general delivery and I’ll make sure you get it. If you leave your phone number, I’ll give you a call whenever you get something.”

Wow. Talk about service. Only one small problem. “My phone doesn’t work at the ranch.”

“Do you have an iPhone?” the postmistress guessed. “You must, because that service provider isn’t available in this area. If it was, I’d have one of those phones in a heartbeat.”

“Yes, they are nice,” Madeline agreed. Just not around here.

“I’ll call Ty if you get mail.”

“Thanks,” Madeline said, realizing this was her only option. It wouldn’t kill Ty to let her know if she had mail, and she didn’t foresee getting any. All she was doing was covering her bases, just in case Everett needed to send legal documents or something related to the case.

“So, how is Ty doing?” There was obvious concern in the postmistress’s voice.

“Umm, he seems…” Cranky? Off-putting? Madeline shrugged helplessly, hoping it was answer enough. The postmistress appeared satisfied.

“We’ve been worried about him. His dad lived in the area and Ty used to visit during the holidays while he was growing up.”

“His father’s a local?”

“Ty’s family has a long legacy here. In fact, your ranch was one of the original Hopewell properties. I know he was happy to buy it back.”

“I bet he was,” Madeline said drily, tucking that in formation away.

“He attended community functions when he first moved here, but after the accident…well…like I said.

We’ve been worried.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

The postmistress’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Don’t do that. We’ll never see him if you do. Ty’s shy, you know.”

No, she didn’t know. Did shy people snap at their business partners and accuse them of going for the jugular—which was a ridiculous accusation? Madeline faked a smile. “Mum’s the word,” she agreed.

“Thank you.” The woman beamed, satisfied that her concern was still a secret. “By the way, my name is Susan. Why don’t you take a look at our community bulletin board over there by the window and see if there’s anything that might interest you while you’re here. We’re going to have our school Christmas pageant in two weeks and then there’s the community Christmas party in the park. That’s always a lovely event.”

Madeline did peruse the board, which was neatly organized, each flyer and card carefully dated. There were items for sale—a goat that was specifically noted as being a pet goat, not an eating goat; an aluminum fishing boat that needed to be patched; a barely used dinette set that hadn’t fit into the newlyweds’ small trailer. A guy named Manny would clean your chimney and someone named Toni would tutor kids in math. There was a quilting club and a crafts club—new members welcome. Madeline wondered how many new members there could be in such a closed environment.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, causing Susan to look up at her. “I need to find some firewood.”

The postmistress shook her head. “You’ll have to go to the feed store in Wesley for that.”

“I can’t order and have it delivered?”

Another shake of the head. “Not unless you want to pay an arm and a leg.”

An arm and a leg didn’t sound like such a bad asking price for warmth.

“No one local has wood?”

Susan reached under the counter and pulled out a 4x6 card. “Let’s make an ad.” She passed the card and a marker to Madeline, who hesitated for only a moment before writing “Wanted: firewood. Half a cord will suffice.”

As soon as she’d done so, she wished she hadn’t written the word suffice. “I don’t know Ty’s phone number.”

Susan smiled as she handed her an oversize, laminated paper that apparently served as the local phone book. There were approximately a hundred names in alphabetical order. Madeline wrote Ty’s number on the ad.

“Shall I hang it?”

“No. I’ll do that. You’d better get back up that mountain if you’re going to beat the storm.

“I will. Thank you for all your help.”

“Oh, Madeline…” Susan called from behind the counter. “Ty has some mail. Would you like to take it to him?”

“Sure.” What else could she say? But as Madeline took the bundle, she couldn’t help but wonder if she and Susan were committing a federal crime. Could mail be released to just anyone? If Susan wasn’t going to tell, neither was she.

TY CHECKED THE COW TWICE before Sam finally showed up—thankfully, an hour early.

“Did you happen to see a small car in a snowbank on your way up?” he asked the vet conversationally.

“No, but there was a strange car in front of the post office. A blue Subaru.”

So she’d made it to town. Would she make it back before the snow started? He hoped so. He had stuff to do, a cow to move.

He and Sam rode the tractor out to where the cow lay, and then Sam went to work examining the animal, which still gave no response.

“You’re right. Calving paralysis,” Sam finally said. “Do you want me to autopsy the calf?”

“Not this time.” Madeline probably wouldn’t want to spend the money. Besides, the calf was frozen.

Sam glanced across the field to the barn. “We’ll need to get her somewhere where you can tend to her.”

“Yeah,” Ty said darkly. Tending to her meant either supporting her in a sling or turning her four times a day so that her weight didn’t damage her nerves or lungs. Right now the challenge was getting her to the barn.

“I have a pretty sturdy gate,” he said, shifting his gaze from the cow to the vet. The problem with ranching alone was that there was rarely another pair of hands when needed—that and the very real possibility of getting hurt and not being able to summon help. “I couldn’t come up with a way to manhandle her onto it myself.”

“I’ll lend a hand,” Sam said drily.

Ty grinned. “I appreciate it.”

The two men walked back to the tractor. “So who’s driving the Subaru that isn’t in the snowbank?”

“My late partner’s sister.”

“Is she going to become an active partner?”

“Not if I can help it.” Ty was surprised at the bitterness in his voice. He made a stab at damage control after Sam sent him a questioning look. “She’s a college professor and doesn’t exactly fit in here. Plus…she kind of knows a lot, if you get my drift.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I think I do.”

They drove back to the barn and chained the heavy metal gate to the back of the tractor like a sled, then returned to the cow, where between the two of them they managed to roll the animal onto it and tow her back to the barn. Sam rode with the cow, which acted as if she were pulled through the snow on a makeshift toboggan on a regular basis.

Once the cow was in the barn, Ty and Sam got her arranged on the sling Sam had brought with him, then used the tractor bucket to lift her and attach the sling to supports on the metal rafters. Both men were breathing hard when they got done. The cow, on the other hand, seemed happy to be off the ground.

Ty had only had this happen once before, with an older cow, and she’d regained the use of her hindquarters within a matter of days after calving. That wasn’t always the case, however.

“How long shall I give her?” he asked the vet.

Sam ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “If she’s not back on her feet in two weeks, tops, then…” He gestured philosophically.

Ty nodded. This was an expensive cow.

“Let’s go to the truck and I’ll give you the meds. Just yell if you have any more trouble. It’s been pretty slow this month, so I should be available.”

“Thanks.” Ty walked with Sam to his panel truck. “One more thing. If you do happen to see that little car stuck somewhere…”

Sam grinned. “You’ll be the first guy I call.”

CONNOR WASN’T ANSWERING his phone. Madeline closed her eyes, her shoulders sinking as she released a frustrated breath and let her head fall back against the seat rest of her car. Ninety-nine percent of the time, she maintained a high level of self-control, but right now she was edging into one-percent territory.

Right.

Who was she trying to kid? She’d been making regular sorties into one-percent territory since being relieved of her teaching duties. Probably her stupidest move was when she’d ignored Everett’s advice and tried to talk to Dr. Jensen in the staff parking lot. When she’d stepped out from behind her car and into his path, her former mentor’s expression had been first surprised and then cold. All he’d said was, “I can’t discuss the case.”

“It’s not like I’m wearing a wire,” Madeline had replied in as wry of a voice as she could manage, stung that the man who’d helped build her career was treating her like a leper. Surely the coldness was a facade. When Jensen shook his head and pushed past her, though, she’d known he was serious. He couldn’t or wouldn’t discuss the case.

Later, when she’d come to her senses, she was able to see that he’d had legal reasons for not speaking to her, perhaps even for being so cold and unemotional. But all she’d wanted was a bit of reassurance. A look, a wink, a hint that all would be well. He, of all people, knew how important her studies and her job were to her. It wouldn’t have killed him to do something to ease her mind.

She tossed the phone onto the seat beside her and put her idling car into gear. No sounding board today. She was on her own—a feeling she’d become quite familiar with over the past several weeks.

CHAPTER SIX

IT WAS A FEW MINUTES after one o’clock and Madeline still wasn’t back. Sam hadn’t called, as he’d promised to do if he saw the blasted woman stuck somewhere, so she had to be off doing…something.

None of your business.

Ty headed out to the barn to check the cow. Dark clouds obliterated the top of Lone Summit. The snow would start falling soon. A headache started to throb near his temples.

It was a hell of a lot easier to tell himself that if she got into trouble it was none of his business than to believe it. She wouldn’t be here if Skip was still alive. If Madeline Blaine got herself into trouble, it was Ty’s job to get her out again. Like it or not, insulted or not, he owed it to Skip, so he felt a small surge of relief when Alvin suddenly went on alert while Ty was dragging straw bales close to the cow in preparation for bedding changes. The collie never barked at intruders, only at other animals, but there was no mistaking his message. Madeline was back.

When Ty left the barn a few minutes later, Alvin close at his heels, he found Madeline’s car parked next to Skip’s house, and he had to admit to being impressed. Not many people, including her brother, could have driven that little beast up Lone Summit Road. Madeline had a talent.

A few minutes after he was back inside, she knocked on the door. He kept his expression carefully blank as he answered, determined to keep it businesslike between them, regardless of any tactless accusations that might pop out of her mouth. Madeline stood on the top porch step, looking professorial in a dressy navy wool coat, white blouse and black slacks underneath it. Her straight dark hair just brushed her shoulders from under a classic beret. The only way she could have looked more out of place would have been if she was wearing a skirt. Or maybe a swimsuit.

She held out a new bottle of 409 cleaner. “Thank you for the loan.”

He took the bottle without arguing that it was a lot fuller than the one he’d lent her. “You’re welcome.”

One corner of her mouth tightened in an expression of uncertainty—the first he’d ever seen on her face. “I also have your mail. The postmistress suggested I bring it to you. I hope that was all right. It was hard to say no, and I was very careful not to lose any.”

As if she could. There were four rubber bands holding the catalogs, newspapers and magazines into a U-shape, with the letters and cards tightly sandwiched in the middle. He could see the colorful envelopes of Christmas cards in the bundle.

“Probably just junk mail, anyway.” He shifted his weight. “I think we should have a sit-down.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. What had she thought? That he was going to spend his days dodging her? Or that he needed more time to cook the books?

“When would be a convenient for you?” she asked politely.

“How about this afternoon?” The sooner he got this over with, the better.

“How about tomorrow?” The words shot out of her mouth and this time his eyebrows rose. “I have to get that house cleaned.” She sounded almost desperate. She may even have suppressed a shudder. Well, it wasn’t his fault she was living there.

“Tomorrow then. Ten o’clock.”

“Ten o’clock.” She glanced past him in the general direction of his home office, formerly the dining room, where his computer screen saver was flashing a slide show of Piedmontese cattle. “If you don’t mind me asking, what cellular company do you use?”

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