Autumn. The worry in his gut cinched one knot tighter.

The door flew open before he reached the porch and a younger version of Autumn with serious blue eyes and red-brown hair stepped out to greet him. The college-aged girl had a streak of blood on her pajama top.

“Autumn?” he choked out, unable to ask the question.

“You’re the sheriff? You made good time from town.” The girl spun on her heels, gestured to him and led the way toward the brightly lit back door. “Justin and my sister are out there, and they haven’t come back.”

His knees felt half-jelly as he forced his feet to carry him up the walk. Usually he was invincible, but the thought of Autumn out there facing armed thieves made him weak. He glanced around. Nothing but miles of rangeland and cattle. The paramedics were volunteers from town who were at least twenty minutes away. And a hospital? He had no idea where the closest trauma center would be.

This was a sign. He cared more about Autumn than he’d realized.

JILLIAN HART

grew up on her family’s homestead, where she helped raise cattle, rode horses and scribbled stories in her spare time. After earning her English degree from Whitman College, she worked in travel and advertising before selling her first novel. When Jillian isn’t working on her next story, she can be found puttering in her rose garden, curled up with a good book or spending quiet evenings at home with her family.

His Holiday Bride

Jillian Hart

My times are in Your hand.

—Psalms 31:15

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

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Autumn Granger knew trouble when she saw it, even if she was on the back of a horse riding the crest of a rocky ridge at the tail end of a hard, cold day. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck, ignored the wintry bite of wind and focused her binoculars on the cluster of breakaway cattle swarming like flies in the field below.

Hard to tell one cow from another at this distance. Could be Granger stock, but it was impossible to read the brand with the sun slanting low in her eyes. She fished her cell from her pocket and hit speed dial. She was number three man around the ranch. Her older brother Justin would know the scoop.

“Yeah?” he answered, sounding out of breath. He wasn’t having an easy afternoon, either.

“Do you have visual on the north Hereford herd?” She swung her binoculars around—nope, still couldn’t get a good view—and swept the length of the fence line. Maybe downed barbed wire would tell a better story.

“Dad, Scotty and I are feeding them now. Where are you?”

“The ridge north of the ranch house. Cattle are out.” Major bummer.

“I suppose there’s a chance they could belong to the Parnells.” Justin pondered. “If they turn out to be ours, will you have time to run them in?”

“Already on it.” So much for getting off early. That’s the way it was when you worked a ranch. The animals came first. She pocketed the phone and dropped the binocs, winding them around her saddle horn. When she drew her Stetson brim down a bit to better shade her face, her bay quarter horse twisted her neck to give an incredulous look.

“I promised you a warm rubdown and a bucket of grain, but we’ve got to do this.” She patted Aggie’s nut-brown coat. “Duty calls. Are you with me, girl?”

Aggie nickered a bit reluctantly and started the treacherous descent. Rocks and earth crumbled, speeding ahead of them down the steep slope. Autumn stood in her stirrups, leaning back to balance her weight for Aggie. Winter birds scattered, and in the brush up ahead a coyote skedaddled out of sight. The Grand Tetons marched along the horizon, majestic and purple-blue against the amber crispness of the late November plains. Something in the fields below reflected a blinding streak of light. Strange. She grabbed her binocs and looked again. She focused in until the image came clear. A police vehicle sat sideways in the road as if it had turned a corner, saw the cattle and hit the brakes just in time. Interesting.

That couldn’t be the new sheriff, could it? Lord, please let him know what he’s doing. We need a good lawman around here. The town had brought someone in from out of state, but rumor had it the city slicker hired for the job wouldn’t be on until mid-December. Rumors couldn’t always be counted on, and maybe this was proof positive. She gave Aggie more rein as the horse slid the last yard to the buffeting clumps of bunch grass below.

“Good girl,” she praised, patting her mare’s neck. Aggie gave a snort because she knew they would be heading back home the way they came, likely as not. The mare could not be looking forward to climbing up the slope.

Aggie’d had a long day, too. Sympathetic, Autumn lifted her binocs again. This time, she was interested in the cattle. She was close enough to make out the brand.

“Hey, there.” A man in a brand new Stetson, black T, Levis and polished riding boots held up a hand in greeting. He stepped away from his four-wheel drive with “Sheriff” in black on the doors and waded through the fallow grasses. “The cows wouldn’t happen to be yours, would they?”

“No, sir.” She pulled up Aggie, straining to see every last cow flank. “These bear the Parnells’ brand.”

“Parnell? Sorry, I’m new around here.”

“No kidding.” When you lived in a small town, strangers stuck out like a sore thumb. “I’m Autumn Granger.”

“Good to meet you, Miss Granger. I’m Ford Sherman.” He knuckled back his hat to get a better look at her, revealing just about the most handsome face she’d ever set eyes on. Big blue eyes were striking against his suntanned complexion. His nose was straight and strong but not too big for his face, a complement to the slashing cheekbones and a jaw that would make most male models cry. A day’s growth clung to his jawline, a rough texture on a man who was rumored to be city bred.

He was definitely out of place on a Wyoming section road. She wondered how long he would last in these parts. Two weeks, a month before he headed back to urban life?

“I’m trying to find Mustang Road. All I know is that this isn’t it.” He had a nice grin, friendly and unguarded, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Probably a story there, but she didn’t care to know it. Likely as not he wouldn’t be around long enough, and besides, whatever it was, it was personal.

She wasn’t exactly the type of girl any guy went for. “It’s Mustang Lane, and you are about as lost as a soul can get, Sheriff. You need to backtrack to the main county road. Stay on the pavement until you hit the other side of our spread.”

“And I would know that how?”

“It’s the first intersecting road you come to. You have a dazed look on your face. Where are you from?”

“Chicago.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen so much open land except in an old Western?”

“I noticed it on the plane when I flew out to interview, but I kept close to town. Didn’t get a chance to wander off the main street.”

“Out here it’s mostly ranches, rangeland and cattle. You’ve got to keep on eye on cows, or don’t you know? They’re going to tear your vehicle apart.”

“What?” He whipped around. Sure enough, the mammoth black-and-white creatures had abandoned their grazing to gnaw on his four-wheel drive. They clustered around it like a mob, mouths and tongues and teeth bent on destruction. One cow tried to pry the wiper off the windshield, another chewed on the side-view mirror. Several leaned through the open window licking the seats. Another pulled a clean T-shirt out of his duffel and waved it in the wind like a prize.

“Shoo!” He didn’t know the first thing about cattle in real life, but he’d read plenty of Westerns where they were easy to scare into a stampede—not that he wanted a stampede, but this was a dire situation. He was responsible for that vehicle. How was he going to explain teeth marks to the town council? “Get up. Move along, little dogie.”

The entire herd swiveled their heads in unison to study him curiously. Not one of them was the least bit scared. Not a single hoof shifted. The animals returned to chewing, licking and digging through his possessions as if he were no threat at all.

“Move along, little dogie?” The woman on the horse laughed, a warm and wonderful sound. She dropped her reins, her hands at her stomach, watching him as if he was the funniest thing she’d ever seen. “That was a good one. I needed that.”

“Glad to help out.” He might be inexperienced with cows, but he understood hard work. “Tough day?”

“Tough and long.” She swiped her eyes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to poke fun at you. Do you know anything about cattle?”

“Not in real life.” There was a lot he could tell her, but he didn’t. He rather liked the way she watched him with a crook of a grin and a look as if to say she had seen this before. Let her think what she wanted. He gave his hat a tug and turned his attention to her. “I read a lot of Westerns. Or, I did when my granddad was alive. He got me hooked on them. We would sit and read side by side for hours at a time.”

“You must miss him.”

“He passed on about eight years back, and yeah, I still miss him.”

“I know how that is.” She’d lost her mom when she’d been in high school, and then her grandparents died one by one. It was the cycle of life—birth and death, love and grief—turning like the seasons, unable to be stopped. “Next time you come across cows in the road, you have to consider what you’re dealing with. Range cattle are used to being herded. Pets are not.”

“And what I’ve got here are pets?”

“Parnell has four daughters and 4-H animals galore. Watch and learn.” She reined her horse toward the herd.

A cutting horse, he realized, a beautiful creature with a dark brown coat and a long silky black mane and tail. An American quarter horse, pedigreed, by the looks of those fine lines. Considering the dishpan profile, the wide, intelligent eyes and the impeccable conformation, his guess was a very well-pedigreed mare. Even more beautiful was the woman in command, sitting straight in the saddle as if she’d been born to ride. Woman and horse sliced through the middle of the swarm. Autumn Granger pulled something out of the pack tied behind her saddle.

“Look what I have, guys. Cookies.” Wintry sunshine burnished her strawberry-blond hair as she held up a sandwich bag and rattled it.

Cows swung in her direction, abandoning the mirrors, the bumpers and his luggage. Dozens of liquid brown eyes brightened with excitement as she opened the bag and shook it again. The enticing scent of homemade snickerdoodles carried on the wind, and even his stomach growled.

“Follow me.” She circled around the car. The cattle bounded after her, and the earth shook with the force of their powerful hooves.

“It was nice meeting you, Sheriff.” She tipped her hat. She looked awesome and powerful on the back of that horse, but up close it surprised him to see that she was petite and fragile. For all her presence, she was a bit of a thing with a heart-shaped face and delicate features, big, hazel eyes and a sugar-sweet smile. Slim and graceful, she leaned closer. “Don’t worry, they’ll go around you. This isn’t a rampaging stampede.”

“Where are you taking them?”

“Back to the Parnells. Easiest route is the road.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You had best stop off at the feed store and tell Kit at the counter you need molasses treats to keep in your rig. Next time you’ll be on your own, city boy.”

The enormous creatures broke around him, their heads upraised, sniffing the air, their eyes bright with cookie hopes. They dashed around him, shaking the ground and jarring his teeth, and then they were gone, obscured by the rising cloud of dust like something out of an old cowboy movie. But it wasn’t the cows he missed. The cowgirl stayed on his mind, the sweetest thing he had ever seen. He pulled the keys from his pocket, rescued two shirts from the ground and stalked over to his rig.

Autumn ended the call and tucked her cell into her pocket. Parnell would send someone over. The cattle would be taken care of soon. If there wasn’t a single problem getting home and she sped through Aggie’s care and a super-fast shower, she might make it into town to meet her friends on time. Maybe. She could only hope at this point. The work day wasn’t done yet, and who knew what would happen next?

A cow’s sharp moo broke into her thoughts. What was wrong now? She twisted in her saddle. The bulk of the cattle were following her, straining for the cookie bag, but the ones in the back glanced behind them nervously. Another heifer took to lowing in protest. And could she blame them?

Not one bit. The new sheriff had caught up with them. He trailed behind the herd in his Jeep, strobes flashing. What was the man thinking?

“You are going to wear out those lights,” she called above the plod of three dozen cattle.

“Miss Granger, you and the cows are a traffic hazard.” He leaned out the window, his dark hair tousled by the wind. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, so I’m escorting you.”

“Turn the lights off. They are giving me a headache and the cows aren’t liking it.”

“Sorry, no can do. It’s procedure.”

“I can keep this herd together if they bolt, but I’d rather not work Aggie that hard. She’s had a long day, too.”

“I don’t want to get fired. The lights stay on.”

“Don’t you know better than to argue with a woman who’s packing?” Not that she would shoot him or anyone—the Colt .45 she carried was strictly for frightening off wildlife and the occasional rattler—but it was fun to see the question pass across his face.

“You’ve got a permit for that?”

A permit? Autumn found herself grinning wider. He wasn’t too bad for an outsider, especially when he cut the lights. Nope, not a bad guy at all. The big question was how long he would last before he went the way of three out of the last four lawmen who’d held his job. They’d run back to city life as fast as they could bolt.

She rode along, attention on the cattle. The animals closest to her held their heads up and their tongues out, trying to hook the cookie bag. When she hit the main road, she leaned right and led the herd along the pavement. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the sheriff’s SUV ambling the wrong way in the oncoming lane, headlights bright to warn any approaching traffic.

A little overkill, considering the only vehicle they came across was Jeremy Miller in his semi-sized tractor rumbling toward them at a leisurely clip. Autumn waved when Jeremy did.

“Who’s the yahoo with the lights?” The rancher leaned out his window.

“The new sheriff.”

“Just my luck. I didn’t think he was supposed to start until December.”

“Neither did I.” She glanced over her shoulder. The sheriff had eased back behind her to give the tractor his lane. “Did you see Parnell back there?”

“Spotted two of his girls riding down the hill. They ought to catch up with you in a few.” Jeremy tipped his Stetson and raised his window, so that air conditioning and satellite radio kept him comfy and entertained as he rolled along. She suspected he waved to the sheriff, but she didn’t look to be sure.

I give him three months tops before he heads back to Chicago, she thought, glancing over her shoulder. Yep, there he was back in the oncoming lane, trying to keep the cattle from drifting over into it, determined to protect the ranching population of White Horse County from a few cows on a rangeland road. Poor guy. Probably really thought he was helping.

She spotted the Parnell girls on the next rise. Both high school girls trotted along the road, horses’ manes flying. When they were closer, one of them—Ashleigh—held up a small pail and rattled it. “Grain!”

Cow heads swung higher. The promise of cookies was forgotten as excited moos rang out and the three dozen animals took off at an eager lope.

“Thanks, Autumn!” Hazel called out.

“No problem.” She drew Aggie to a stop and rested her hands on the pommel. The saddle’s leather was cool from the near-freezing temperature.

“Is that the new sheriff?” Ashleigh asked.

“So I’m told.” Behind her she heard a door whisk open and an engine idling.

“I didn’t know he was in town already. Cool.” The girls wheeled their mounts and took off, trailed by their pets, who raced after them. “Why are you here?” Autumn urged Aggie around to face the newcomer. “It’s not December.”

“Came early to get settled in. I’m not officially on the clock yet. The mayor told me I could have the car for personal use. Part of my salary.”

“That and you’re the only officer around, so you get to answer all the emergency calls. Even in the middle of the night. Did he tell you that?”

“I heard a fleeting mention. The mayor made it sound like it was no big deal. Do emergency calls come in a lot around here?”

“I have no idea.” She dismounted with a creak of the saddle and the thud of her boots on the road. Couldn’t be more than five foot three, he decided. She stood a full foot shorter than he did.

“Is there anything else I should know? Wait. Maybe I don’t want to hear it. Maybe next you’ll be telling me Miller’s rental house is really a henhouse.” Couldn’t say why he felt the need to tease another smile from her, but he did.

“No, but it is a barn.”

“What?” He’d only been joking. His pulse screeched to a stop. A barn? He’d trusted the real estate agent, who was the mayor’s wife. “That’s what I get for renting sight unseen.”

“You figured you could trust us honest country folk, right?” Her hazel eyes, an amazing combination of browns, greens and golds twinkled like veiled trouble.

He didn’t think she was laughing at him, but she was having fun with him. He had the feeling he wasn’t the first city boy who’d come to these parts and had decided to banter with the pretty cowgirl. Very pretty, he corrected. So pretty that he’d like to get to know her more.

“Living in a barn won’t be so bad.” She turned to her saddle pack and dug through the leather bag. “Think of it this way. Because of all the animals, you will always have company. You’ll get the full country experience. Plus, you won’t have to pack water far at all, since there’s an outside pump nearby.”

“Pump?” That didn’t sound like the place had indoor plumbing. “Are you serious? No, you’re kidding me.”

“You read all those Westerns. You ought to know about ranch life.” She handed him a roll of duct tape. “It’s probably illegal to drive without a functioning side-view mirror. Good luck, Sheriff.”

“Do you want to have dinner with me?”

“Nope. I’m busy tonight.” That was an urban dude for you, always eager to play the dating game.

“Any night, then. How about Friday?”

“Can’t. Busy then, too.” She swung into the saddle, settled into the stirrups and considered the man leaning against the side of his four-wheel-drive. He was trying to look suave while clutching a roll of tape and standing next to a dangling mirror. The cows had not been kind to the vehicle. “Here’s a hint. Country girls aren’t dumb or easy. Have a good evening.”

“I never thought—”

She pressed her heels to Aggie’s side and the mare took of, eager for the day to be over, too. Autumn tipped her hat as they raced by. This wasn’t her first experience with a city sheriff come to town.

I don’t know about that guy, she told herself, leaning forward in her saddle as Aggie’s gait changed to a canter. Sheriff Ford Sherman might not be Denny Jones, but he may as well be.

The drum of Aggie’s steel shoes became pleasant music to match the wind whistling in her ears as they raced home.

Chapter Two

A barn? Not only was Ford surprised to learn the tractor guy was his landlord, but his new dwelling was a barn. Imagine that. The pretty cowgirl hadn’t been pulling his leg after all.

“Ought to have everything you need,” Jeremy Miller was saying as he paced across the bars of sunshine from the front window and dropped the keys on the windowsill. “Except furniture. You got a truck coming? If not, I could put in a call to the furniture store over in Sunshine. It’s the closest big town around until you hit Jackson.”

“I’ve got a moving truck coming with my stuff.”

“Good luck with that.” Jeremy tipped his Stetson and lumbered toward the open door where a fly buzzed in. “Took the liberty of getting the phone company out here to set you up. Should be here day after tomorrow. My cousin works for the company and squeezed you in.”

“That was thoughtful of you, Jeremy. Thanks.”

“No problem. Least I can do for the new sheriff. Just do me a favor, will ya?” Miller halted on the porch. “Give me some notice before you bolt.”

“Bolt?” Like leave?

“When you’ve had enough of small town life. It’ll happen, don’t you worry. You’re not the first sheriff I’ve rented to.”

That didn’t bode well. What was wrong with the job he didn’t know about? Learning from Autumn Granger that maybe the emergency calls came in more often than he’d been led to believe had thrown him. Maybe he’d made a mistake burning the bridges of his old life to come here.

I hope this isn’t one of those impulsive decisions I live to regret, Lord.

“Give me a call if you need anything.” Jeremy bobbed his head in a single nod—a gesture of goodbye, country style.

Ford did the same, his movements echoing in the wide open space of the living area. Outside the slam of a truck’s door ricocheted like a bullet through the quiet and a pickup’s motor turned over and rumbled away.

Alone in his new place, he paced across the high-gloss oak floor and stared out the bay window. The horse barn had been totally remodeled with sedate gray siding, white trim, ivory walls and indoor plumbing. He batted at the lone fly, smiling as he thought of Autumn Granger. He did not know what to think about the woman, but he liked her. Hard not to like a gal who carried a holstered .45 at her hip and a lasso on her saddle.

Granddad would have loved seeing all this. Ford frowned, shaking his head. Too bad he hadn’t made this change earlier, when his grandfather had been alive and he’d been more optimistic about his life.

Regrets. He shrugged them off. A pack of cows was grazing out beyond the small patch of lawn behind red posts and three skinny strands of barbed wire. He saw one of them eyeing his Jeep and hoped to high heaven those animals didn’t get out and gnaw something else off the poor vehicle. One of the first things on his list would be to drop by the feed store for treats. Without them, he feared the Jeep wouldn’t last long.

His stomach rumbled. That got him thinking about dinner. Maybe he would mosey down the street and see what he could rustle up.

“WHAT ARE YOU still doing here?”

“Good question.” Autumn leaped over the last two stairs, landed in the kitchen and grabbed her purse off the table by the back door. She tossed a grin at Rori, her friend, the family’s temporary housekeeper and her older brother’s fiancée. “I’m about an hour late. My friends are going to disown me.”

“You? Never.” Rori hefted a big pan of pasta over the sink and upended it. Water and noodles tumbled into a steel colander. “Have fun.”

“I intend to.” For a change. First it had been calving and foaling season, then it had been harvest and hay. “The last time I had a free night in town it was February.”

“The life of a rancher. Why exactly did you want to do this for a living?”

“No idea. Must have been out of my mind.” She found her truck keys in a drawer, wished Rori a good night and flew out the door.

“Whoa there, little lady.” Her dad, Frank Granger, caught her before she charged into him. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“It’s my night off, remember?”

“I didn’t know you were allowed one of those.” He chuckled. That was her dad, Mr. Humor.

“Ha, ha. I won’t be out too late, but don’t wait up.” She danced around him, skipping down the porch steps, two at a time.

“You’ve got a four-thirty wake-up call, girl.”

“I know!” As if she could forget. She’d been waking up that early as long as she could remember. Really. Dad must think he was hilarious. She could be a comedian, too. “Hey, guess who I’m giving a riding lesson to on Saturday?”

“Uh, are you still doing that?” Frank swept off his Stetson. Something passed across his rugged face that looked a lot like interest.

Yeah, that’s just what she’d thought. She kept going, running backwards. “Cady Winslow. The nice lady new to town who bought one of my horses? You remember her, right?”

“I suppose.” He cast his gaze down, as if looking at some trouble with one of the porch boards.

Good way to hide his interest, but she wasn’t fooled. She tripped along the concrete path. “You could drop by the arena tomorrow if you want. Hang around. Offer some advice.”

“I’m sure you’ve got it covered.” A faint blush crept high on his face. “Have a good time tonight, darlin’.”

“Sure.” That was the problem with men in this family. They didn’t give much away. They acted as if real feelings were something to be wrestled down and extinguished.

“Autumn, you know we’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Her older brother Justin called out as he slipped between the fence boards. “Don’t be too late.”

“Late is the story of my life.” The dinner bell on the back porch clanged, signaling the time as she hauled open the garage door. Six o’clock. Late, late, late. Her friends were used to it. She’d been leaving them to order for her for years.

She jammed the key into the ignition, turned over the engine and took the driveway as fast as she dared. Gravel crunched beneath the tires and dust rose up in her back trail, blocking all views of the pretty two-story ranch house tucked between the orchard and a copse of aspen.

The second she hit the county road, images of the new sheriff dogged her. His wide-shouldered stance. The dimples bracketing his grin. Confidence beaming from him like the sun from above. Gorgeous. She was a total softy when it came to a man with dimples and big baby blues. A sign she couldn’t give this man an inch. She gave the truck a little more juice, ignored the posted speed limit by a few miles per hour and kept an eye out for wildlife and livestock.

The trick was to keep the to-die-for new sheriff out of her mind. She glanced at the dashboard clock—eight minutes after six. Yikes. A hawk swooped low in the road in front of the truck. She hit the brakes to miss it. The creature sailed away, and in that unguarded moment her thoughts returned to Ford Sherman. She would never forget the look on his face when he realized the cows were destroying his Jeep. That’s something you don’t get in a Western movie, she thought.

If only she could have witnessed the look on his face when he saw his remodeled barn. That would have been priceless. No doubt he was mighty relieved to discover he had indoor plumbing and not a single barnyard animal sharing his living quarters.

The radio blared, and Christian country songs accompanied her all the way to town. She skidded into a spot in front of the diner, leaped out of her truck and hit the ground running. After she popped through the front door and glanced at the clock behind the till, she wanted to pump her fist in the air. She’d shaved two minutes off her drive time.

“There she is.” Merritt waved from a booth halfway down the long stretch of front window. “I can’t believe my eyes. She’s here almost on time.”

“Before we had to order for her.” Caroline twisted around to wave, too. “Glad you could make it. We figured you got held up on the ranch.”

“Broken fence line, escaped cattle, met the new sheriff. I didn’t think I would make it, but Scotty offered to take care of Aggie for me.” Bless their best hired man. She dropped into the booth beside Caroline. “Otherwise, I’d still be in the stables. How have you been?”

“Let’s go back to the part about you meeting the new sheriff.” Merritt flipped a lock of brown hair over her shoulder and leaned one elbow on the table. “So, spill. Is he young or old?”

“Cute or ugly?” Caroline took a sip of soda.

“He’s somewhere in this thirties.” She grabbed the laminated menu and flipped it open. “Not too ugly, I guess.”

“Well, he at least sounds promising—” Merritt fell silent, her sentence unfinished. Her eyes rounded.

A battered roll of duct tape landed on the edge of the table, held in place by a sun-browned hand. The hand was attached to a muscled arm, and she didn’t have to look farther to know who belonged to that arm. Ford Sherman.

“Not too ugly?” His baritone warmed with amusement.

Okay, not the most comfortable situation she’d ever been in. Good going, Autumn. She squirmed on the vinyl bench seat, wishing she could disappear beneath the table, spontaneously combust, anything to escape the embarrassment. She’d wanted to hide her interest in him, that was all. What she needed was a snappy comeback. “What do you think, girls? We have certainly seen worse in these parts.”

Not a snappy comeback, but the best she could do under the circumstances.

“Worse?” Ford’s gaze latched onto hers, an intense, uncomfortable probing that only made his dimples deepen. “You think because I’m from the city I can’t measure up?”

“No, I was talking solely about your appearance.”

“Good to know.” Judging by the twinkle in the sheriff’s knowing eyes, he wasn’t offended.

“Did the tape help? Or is your side mirror still dangling in the wind?”

“It is fixed for now.” He released his hold on the roll and stepped back, giving her the once-over. He’d thought her magnificent on her horse with the sun at her back, framed by a perfect blue sky. But without her Stetson, her strawberry-blond hair tumbled around her face and shoulders in a soft cascade. Her features were scrubbed clean, her complexion perfect. She was girl-next-door wholesome in an ivory sweater and jeans. He liked this side of her, too. “You clean up nice, Miss Granger. Very nice. I almost didn’t recognize you without your .45.”

“I only wear it when I’m working. Usually there’s no need to scare off varmints in the diner.”

“I hope you’re not hinting that I’m a varmint.”

“Who, me?”

He liked her sense of humor, too. Out of the corner of his vision, he spied the waitress setting his burger and fries on the corner table in the back. “I’m keeping my eye on you, Miss Granger. Something tells me you are trouble waiting to happen.”

“Me, trouble?”

The young women at the table began to laugh. “It’s true,” the black-haired woman said. “Disaster finds you, Autumn.”

“Trouble has always been her middle name,” the brown-haired one agreed merrily.

“I’m not that bad.” Autumn had a cute gleam in her eye.

He lifted his hand in farewell, reluctant to turn around and walk away, but he didn’t want to keep blocking the aisle. He couldn’t explain the spark of interest in her or the weighing disappointment as he turned on his heel and left her behind.

“He’s not ugly,” Merritt whispered over ice cream sundaes. “I’ve thought about it all through the meal, and I can’t see it. You don’t think he’s gorgeous?”

This was not what she wanted to discuss, thanks. Autumn took a big bite of syrup-covered ice cream, knowing full well the sting of brain pain was coming. But did she care?

No. Bring on the agony. It was better than having to admit the truth to her friends.

“He’s a hunk.” Caroline licked the syrup off her spoon.

“A hunky hunk.”

“Fine. So he’s gorgeous.” She rubbed her forehead—ow—and kept her voice low. No way was she going to take the risk that their conversation might carry across the noisy Friday night crowd to Ford Sherman’s no doubt supersensitive ears. Everything about him looked superior, why not his hearing?

“Then he’s all yours.” Caroline plunged her spoon into her butterscotch sundae. “I think he likes you.”

“Why do you say that?” He couldn’t like her. He didn’t know her.

“Because he keeps stealing glances this way, and he’s not looking at me.” Caroline stirred her sundae around. “That’s it, I’m stuffed.”

“Me, too.” Merritt gave up on her dessert with a sigh.

Autumn scraped the bottom of the glass bowl with her spoon and licked the last drop of fudge. After divvying up the check, leaving a pile of bills and change on the table, they filed out of the booth and down the aisle. It took all her willpower not to glance over her shoulder. She didn’t have to look to know Ford was watching her. The force of his gaze settled on her back like a dead weight. Best to ignore it.

The crisp evening air greeted her as she ambled along the sidewalk. A motorcycle rumbled down the road, the only traffic on the street. A dog barked somewhere on the residential blocks behind the diner. The nape of her neck tingled. Was the sheriff tracking her as she passed in front of the window?

“Something’s wrong with your truck.” Caroline noticed it as she set her purse on the hood of her car. “Your tire is flat.”

“All of them are.” Merritt squinted at the damage.

“What?” She’d been so busy wondering about Ford that she hadn’t noticed her truck. Deflated rounds of rubber sagged tiredly against the pavement, all the air gone. She’d never seen such flat tires. Had she run over something in the road? She knelt to get a good look, and her heart slammed to a stop. A neat cut sliced the upper curve of the front tire.

A slice, not a nail or a screw or anything like that. Someone had done this on purpose. Judging by the size of the gash, whoever had done this must have used a bowie knife.

“It’s the same back here.” Merritt had spotted the slit in the back tire. “Who would do something like this? We were close by the whole time.”

“I should have seen it from my seat.” Should have, yes. Why hadn’t she? Because she spent the whole meal fixated on the new sheriff and trying not to be, there had been little attention left over to notice anything other than her friends. What had happened to her decision not to think about him?

“We are currently sheriff-less, right?” Caroline shrugged, glancing down the road to the closed up sheriff’s office. “The old guy is gone, and the hunky one isn’t officially at work yet. So do we bother him? Who do we call?”

“No idea. I need Loren and his wrecker.” Shock pulsed through her in little beats. Lord, I know You’re in charge but who would have done such a thing? And why? She swallowed, pulling her thoughts together. She needed a working truck. Loren had the only tow truck in thirty-five miles. “Here’s hoping he has the right tires in stock.”

“I can give you a lift home,” Merritt spoke up.

“Thanks.” She couldn’t stop staring at the knife slit. Wild Horse was a small town and a friendly one. There wasn’t a whole lot of crime. Few people in these parts would disable a ranch truck. She couldn’t think of a single person who would.

“Is there a problem, ladies?” Ford ambled out of the diner.

“A small one.” Of course, it would have to be him.

“Let me take a look.” He eased down next to her, squinting hard at the knife slash. “Looks like you’ve got trouble here. Is there anything you want to tell me about?”

“Like what?”

“Crazy ex-boyfriend, a long-standing feud, someone who has a grudge against you?”

“Not for a long time, no, and not that I know of.” She swiped a lock of red-gold hair out of her eyes. “This is deliberate. No one else’s tires are slashed.”

“I noticed.” Considering every car on the street was clustered around the diner, it was obvious. He knelt down to take a closer look at the angry gash in the rubber. Someone sure didn’t like Autumn. “Anything unusual happen lately?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, except for meeting you.”

Was that a hint of a grin on her lips? He wasn’t prepared for the sight of Autumn smiling. He was a professional, even if he wasn’t on the clock yet. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to have unprofessional thoughts about her centering on conversation with candlelight and a nice steak. She’d turned him down once, but she hadn’t sounded one hundred percent final. There had been a glimmer in her eyes.

“I didn’t do this, as you know. I also have an alibi.” He slipped the paperback he carried into his rear pocket. “I was in the thick of Larry McMurtry. But I’ll find out who did.”

“If someone saw something, they would have said so. This isn’t a big city. People don’t look the other way here.” Her gaze met his, and the force of it was like the sun and moon colliding. Hard to think straight when such a pretty woman was waiting for an intelligent remark. It was even harder to pretend he was stone-cold granite, professional and unaffected.

“Hey, you! What’s going on over there?” someone called out. A shadow fell across him. Ford looked up to see an elderly man with his wife at his side hurrying along the sidewalk. Fearless, the gray-haired stranger shook his finger angrily. “What are you doing to that truck? Get away—oh, howdy, Autumn. I didn’t see you there.”

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Plum.” Autumn’s smile of welcome was one of greeting for old friends. She rose, the tires forgotten. “This is our new sheriff. He’s your neighbor, too.”

“Howdy.” Ford climbed to his feet.

“Oh. Mighty fine to meet you, sir.” The older man had a powerful stance, a direct gaze and a firm handshake. “Velma and I thought we saw someone at Miller’s rental place, but we didn’t look too close. It could have been the Realtor.”

“Martha’s been in and out now and again showing the place. Didn’t know it was let.” Velma Plum patted his hand in a motherly welcome. “If I’d known, I would have had an apple crisp ready for you. I’d best get crackin’. Hal, remind me when we get home. You know how I am—”

“Always stopping to chat with everyone. Always talking away and losing track of everything else.” Hal winked, as if he didn’t mind at all. When he gazed at his wife, it was with great, accepting love. “Look, there’s Betty. See what I mean?”

“I see.” Ford watched a woman in her fifties greet Velma with a hug. Both of the women fell to talking.

“Need a hand there, young fella?” Hal asked.

“What I need is information. You wouldn’t have noticed anyone slinking around this truck, would you?”

“Besides you?” Hal quipped.

Autumn’s amusement hit him like a wind gust. He could feel her holding back laughter. More folks came out of the diner to congregate on the sidewalk, already discussing the slashed tires.

Looked like she was right. Apparently, little went unnoticed in a small town.

Chapter Three

“Autumn!”

Somewhere far away in the dark she heard her name, but it wasn’t powerful enough to yank her out of her dream. Her bed was warm and her electric blanket cozy, and in her mind she was at the diner running her spoon through the hot fudge and trying not to feel a pull in Ford’s direction.

Keep your attention on the ice cream, she told herself. Ice cream is better for you, calories and all, than he is. Dudes are nothing but heartache.

“Autumn!” A full-fisted pounding rattled her bedroom door. “Wake up!”

“Dad?” The dream evaporated and she sat up. Her pillow tumbled to the floor, she kicked off her covers and rubbed her eyes. Cool air enveloped her. The numbers on the clock shone blurrily in the ink-dark room. She squinted, bringing them into focus. Two-forty-three. What was going on?

Then she heard it: a faint, rhythmic, rapid-fire sputtering. A helicopter.

“We got trouble,” Dad shouted, moving on down the hall to pound on Cheyenne’s door. “Up and at ’em!”

Rustlers. Her feet hit the floor and she grabbed her clothes from last night, pulling them on as she went. By the time she threw open her door, she was only missing shoes. She’d grab her boots on her way through the mudroom.

In the hall up ahead, Dad hammered on the last door—Addison’s—before racing downstairs. She jammed her bare feet into her riding boots and grabbed her cell from her purse.

“Here.” Frank handed her a rifle and a box of cartridges. His phone rang and he answered it, grabbing a second rifle. “I just put a call in to the sheriff and the county. They said they’d be here in ten to twenty. They’ve got the only chopper aound, and it will take a while to get in the air.”

Rifle in hand, she flew out the door and into the night. Surrounded by darkness and shadows, she ignored the nearby cow mooing plaintively, wondering what was going on, and hit the ground running. She ate up distance, whistling for Aggie. The whop-whop grew louder. She could see the faint flash of a helicopter’s safety lights above the far hillside’s crest before the vehicle nosed down to make another pass. No doubt it was rounding up their animals and scaring them into a hard run. She prayed the Lord was watching over the livestock.

Aggie nickered, hooves pounding the dirt as she skidded to a stop. No time to bridle up. Autumn ripped open the gate, caught Aggie by a handful of mane and leaped. She landed on her mare’s back as the horse broke into a hard gallop. They rode in sync, bulleting up the gravel road that stretched from the house to the long row of barns, stables and outbuildings.

Dad was behind her, calling for Rogue. His cutting horse answered with an anxious whinny. In the shadows, she caught sight of her sisters dashing full speed from the house. She searched the darkness ahead. Where was Justin? Best guess, he was headed for the rustlers.

She wheeled Aggie toward the hillside, leaning low and urging the mare into a hard canter. She heard an engine flare to life, and a headlight pierced the darkness. Justin. Halfway up the hill, her dad on Rogue passed her. No time to say anything, but she knew her father’s plan. She gripped the gun tightly in her right hand and prayed she wouldn’t have to use it.

The helicopter wheeled around to make another pass, and gunfire flashed from the loading door. Bullets zinged through the air, biting into rock and earth and kicking up dust all around them. Aggie didn’t startle but put her head down with determination, her hooves eating up ground.

Up ahead, both Dad on horseback and Justin on the ATV ground to a halt. Her dad was fast, sighting and firing first. Must have been a hit, because the rustler’s semiautomatic fired in a fast burst, bullets licking haphazardly along the hillside away from them before falling silent. The helicopter went nose up and ate distance.

“They’re not done with us yet,” Frank shouted. “You girls split up. Addison and Cheyenne, go with Justin along the section line.”

“I’m with you, Dad.” She signaled Aggie around to the field gate and unlatched it, backing the horse to swing it wide. “You didn’t take a bullet this time, did you?”

“No. Don’t you worry about me, missy.” He flashed a grin as he raced past her. “You stay behind me, you hear?”

That was her dad, always taking the lead, fearless, although years ago he’d taken two bullets to the chest chasing off rustlers. If the county’s helicopter hadn’t been on site and flown him straight to the hospital at Jackson, they would have lost him.

Please keep protecting him, she prayed, clinging to Aggie as the horse lunged up the dark, treacherous slope. Rocks rolled, earth shifted and Aggie lost her footing. For one terrible second Autumn felt them tumbling backwards. She leaned forward, resisting the instinct to dismount, and stuck with her horse.

Aggie pawed her way back onto the trail and surged forward until they were on solid ground again. Grateful, Autumn wiped grit from her face, ignored the adrenaline spiking through her system and focused on following her dad along the ridge. The helicopter, farther away now, made one low sweep. Another shot rang out in their direction. Before she could hit the safety and lift her rifle, bullets whizzed by and dirt and rock flew. Something hit her in the leg—a slight sting. A rock sliver. Her dad got off another shot before the helicopter wheeled low and began to smoke.

“Got ’em.” He sounded grim. “Trouble is, I think they got me, too.”

It was strange to be woken out of a sound sleep by the dispatch operator and to hear the words, “Cattle rustlers.” Ford felt like he was sleepwalking through an old cowboy movie as he jumped into clothes and his Jeep. Lights flashing, he barreled through the sleeping town and along the rolling countryside, startling owls and coyotes as he broke speed barriers following directions to a ranch off Mustang Lane.

Good thing he knew where Mustang Lane was. That brought up images of the pretty red-haired cowgirl he’d taken a shine to—now he was thinking like an old Western. Made it seem even more like a dream until he spotted the address he was looking for on a big black mailbox and the last name spelled out in silver reflective letters. Granger.

Autumn’s ranch. Fear gripped his gut as he gunned it, taking the gravel drive at a fast clip. It wove between a shadowed copse of trees and up a rise. Up ahead a two-story house perched, windows glowing like a beacon in the night. He followed the driveway to the side of the house and a detached garage with six doors. He hit the brakes, launched out of his seat and followed the porch light to the back of the house.

The door flew open before he reached the porch and a younger version of Autumn with serious blue eyes and red-brown hair stepped out to greet him. The college-aged girl had a streak of blood on her pajama top.

“Autumn?” He choked out, unable to ask the question. The fear in his gut cinched tight.

“You’re the sheriff? You made good time from town.” The girl spun on her heels, gestured to him and led the way toward the brightly lit back door. “Justin and my sister are out there, and they haven’t come back.”

His knees felt half-jelly as he forced his feet to carry him up the walk. Usually he was invincible, but the thought of Autumn out there facing armed thieves made him weak. He glanced around. Nothing but miles of rangeland and cattle. The paramedics were volunteers from town who were at least twenty minutes away. And a hospital? He had no idea where the closest trauma center would be.

This was a sign. He cared more about Autumn than he’d realized. He stumbled up the steps, across the porch and into the bright lights of a spacious kitchen.

“You must be Ford Sherman.” A brawny man in his early fifties sat at a round oak table with his chair pushed back, T-shirt sleeve rolled up and fresh sutures exposed. He stood and extended his good hand. “Glad to meet you. I’m Frank Granger.”

“Looks like you’ve been better.” They shook. He’d seen a wound like that before. “You took a bullet.”

“Flesh wound, mostly.” Granger didn’t look troubled by it.

“Dad, sit down.” Another red-haired young woman pointed to the chair and scowled at him. “You’ve been shot.”

“Yeah, but it’s not bad.”

“I don’t care. You’re going to sit down and stay down.” This daughter, who looked to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, dabbed a swab along tidy stitches, her stern tone at odds with the affection on her face. “You could have been killed.”

“Nothing vital got hit.”

“You still could have slipped off your horse, rolled down the ridge and died, so you will stay in this chair or I’ll rope you into it.” She dropped the swab into a wastebasket and reached for a sealed package of gauze. “I’m almost as good as Autumn when it comes to calf roping, so don’t tempt me.”

“Women.” Frank shook his head, good-natured, as he eased back into his chair and turned to the business at hand. “Out in the field, I got a few good shots in. Didn’t see a fireball, but I probably forced them down. If I did, they couldn’t have gone far. They’ve got an injured man with them and likely one on the ground.”

“I haven’t been briefed on all this.” As a country lawman, he was out of his depth. Back in Chicago they would set up a perimeter and start a search. “Anyone else hurt?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t heard from Justin, my oldest son. He’s either out of cell range or in a lick of trouble. Since I haven’t heard gunshots, I’m guessing he and Autumn are safe.”

Autumn. The worry in his gut cinched one notch tighter.

“Ow, Cheyenne.” Granger winced and yanked his arm away. “Aren’t you done yet? I gotta go.”

“Do I need to get a lasso?” the daughter threatened.

“Honey, you go right on ahead, but remember this. You can’t outrun me.” Frank winked, rolled down his sleeve and bounded to his feet. “C’mon, sheriff. Let’s go huntin’. You know how to ride a horse?”

“I’ll manage.”

“That’s the spirit.” Granger opened a cabinet and tossed him a rifle. “You’ll need this. That little Glock you’re packing might not do the trick.”

Ford’s fingers closed on the cold metal stock, and he clicked into action mode. The setting might be different, but the task was the same. This was what he knew. This was what he was good at. He led the way out the door, down the steps and into the night.

“I can’t believe this.” Autumn rode up alongside her brother on the ridge. Below rolled the shadowed meadows and lowland hills, and a herd of quarter horses huddled in the hollows. “You walked up here?”

“As fast as my boots could carry me.” His grip tightened on the binocs. “Had a blowout. Someone knifed the tires. I was lucky to get as far as I did.”

“Puts a whole new light on what happened to the truck.” Autumn slipped down, rifle in hand.

“My guess is that every tire in the place is flat.”

“Mine, too. See anything around that smoke cloud?”

“The chopper has to be down, but I can’t get a look. If we’ve got rustlers on the ground, we might have a chance of rounding them up.” He pocketed his binoculars in his bulky winter coat. “I need a horse.”

“Take Aggie, I can get Bella out of the field.” She slid to the ground. “How many men are there?”

“Won’t know for sure until we ferret ’em out, but we do know they’re armed and likely to be cranky at us for grounding them.” Justin bounded onto the mare, talking quietly to her. Aggie wasn’t used to being ridden by anyone else, and she cast a long, pleading look before Justin signaled her with his knees and pressed her forward down the crumbling slope.

Autumn stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. In the meadow, a few colts moved closer to their mamas, and mares lifted their heads nervously. Only one horse broke from the herd and paraded head up, mane and tail flying.

Bella. Autumn slipped and slid down to the valley floor, startling small creatures and dodging a stray bat. When she reached her girl, she noticed that there was foam on her withers and her sides were heaving.

“Did that helicopter bother you, too?” Autumn rubbed the mare’s nose. “Did you think you were missing out on the fun?”

A loving nicker, and Bella pressed her face against Autumn’s stomach, leaning in. Sweet. She ran her fingers through her old girl’s forelock like always and laid her cheek against the hard plane of horsey forehead. Just for a moment. A greeting between old friends.

“I missed you, too, girl.” She broke away, rifle still in hand. “Are you ready to ride?”

In perfect understanding, her friend whinnied, head up, tail flicking. They were a team. They’d always been the best team. She grabbed a fist of mane and swung up, Bella already moving. Without a single lead, the mare wheeled in the direction where Justin and Aggie had disappeared and took off, confident, racing the wind.

Fencing was down. It was hard from this distance to tell if it had been cut or torn down by running cattle. The cows could be hurt, and she didn’t have her pack on her. She flipped open her cell, but still no service. When they reached the hard path along the fence line, she caught sight of Aggie and Justin trying to gather the nervous animals.

“Helicopter!” Justin called out, pointing to the south. Looked like it was approaching the ranch house. The bird was white and well lit, the county’s south-boundary sheriff responding.

Finally. Relief flitted through her. At least they wouldn’t be stuck with an inexperienced city sheriff in this dangerous situation. Ford Sherman might well be a good city lawman, but she couldn’t picture him riding bareback in the middle of the night while sighting and shooting a rifle. Sure, he had been great in town earlier, getting Loren on the horn, and her truck towed, and interviewing anyone within earshot of the diner. But this? Probably not. A lot of men, even strong alpha men, weren’t suited to it.

“These cows aren’t all ours,” Justin called out when she and Bella ambled closer. “I see Parnell’s brand and someone else’s.”

“Why am I not surprised?” This was premeditated, well planned, and theirs wasn’t the only ranch hit. Good thing Dad had taken down the chopper. “Are we safe here?”

“Don’t know. Let’s get the cattle behind a working fence and worry about it later.” Justin flanked the herd on one side, leaving her the other.

“C’mon, girl.” She could feel Bella eager to go, and they took the near side, gathering the herd toward the downed fence. They made short work of it, moving together in rhythm, familiar and at ease. When she spotted three Parnell steers trying to break free, she brushed her heels against Bella’s side and they neatly drove the animals back to the herd. A job well done. Justin dismounted and worked the downed wire while she held the curious cattle in the field.

“Someone cut this,” Justin called over his shoulder, hauling up a fence post and ramming it back into its mooring. “They were going to drive the combined herds down the boundary road and into trucks.”

“We caught them in time.” She would have felt relieved, but the back of her neck tingled. They weren’t alone. As if Bella felt it, too, the mare stiffened. Her head went up and her ears swiveled as she scented the wind. The horse was telling her someone was out there. Autumn hefted her rifle, safety off. She sighted north, searching the rolling fields through her scope. “Justin? We’ve got company.”

“I hope it’s not the rustlers. We are seriously out-gunned.” Justin tightened a wire, raised his rifle and peered through his scope. It took him a beat to survey his side of the ridge. “It’s Dad and some stranger.”

“What stranger?” Alarm settled into the pit of her stomach. She followed the rise of the ridge with her rifle until she saw Dad astride Rogue clear as a bell through the scope. She recognized the man following him. Ford Sherman, riding one of their horses and looking confident and as sure as any western sheriff. Trouble was definitely on the way.

Chapter Four

Ford saw next to nothing in the dark except for a few feet ahead of him. What he could see disappeared in a fast drop. A looming cloud cover obscured all of the stars. He could make out a hint of the hillside cascading downward into an abyss. At the bottom of that abyss, Autumn Granger gazed up at him open-jawed. Looked like the last thing she would ever figure was to see him riding and not falling off a horse.

Half-hidden in the night and graced by shadows, she was breathtaking. He took in the sight of her bareback astride an unbridled palomino, both woman and horse luminous in the night. Autumn wore no hat, and her long unbound hair tangled in the breeze. She looked powerful and free and impossibly sweet, holding that rifle at half-mast. He wondered if she saw him as a city boy now, and pretty much hoped he’d gone up a notch in her estimation.

Gunfire spit through the air and made his mount dance. Ford kept his seat, squeezed slightly with his knees and spoke gently to calm the fine quarter horse he was riding. No stranger to gunfire, he lifted the rifle and carefully sighted and searched the dark line of the hill rising slowly to the north. He couldn’t see much with the cloud cover moving in, but he had range, so he squeezed the trigger, pretty sure where the shot had originated. The Winchester kicked hard against his shoulder, but the distant spit of rock fragmenting and a faint, pained curse told him he’d hit true.

“Good shot, Sheriff,” Granger told him. “You’ll do.”

“Glad to hear it.” The echo of gunfire faded, and there was no mistaking the scatter of footsteps. Shadows slipped from behind boulders and trees heading for the fence line. “Looks like I flushed them out.”

“Let’s try to round ’em up. We’ve got some hard riding ahead, so hang on.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

Granger led the way down the ridge, plunging into the dark like some fearless rodeo stuntman.

You can do this, cowboy. He took a breath and tightened his grasp on the horse’s mane, and off they went. It had been a long time since he’d been on horseback, but some things a man didn’t forget. The symmetry of an animal’s gait, the ripple of muscle and the swing of a horse’s walk were unlike anything else. Without stirrups, he gripped his knees forward and leaned back to fight gravity on the steep slope. He didn’t take his gaze from the fleeing shadows far ahead. Autumn rode into sight, chilling his blood. Did the woman know she was riding straight into danger?

Something cool brushed his cheek. Snow? He didn’t have time to do more than wonder. His horse leaped the last few feet to the valley floor and broke into a smooth, flawless gallop. He was trailing the others. Without a word between them, the family circled the area like the ranchers they were, looking to round up stray cattle. Autumn was in the lead. She stayed left, flanking the area, thinking to cut them off at the section property line. He remembered the rugged dirt lane cutting through the fields, where he’d first met Autumn. Now it was the rustlers’ means of escape.

Ignoring the faint beats of the county helicopter and the patter of more snowflakes against his face, he raised his rifle to scope the land. It was tricky because of the horse’s constant motion. Something gleamed darkly ahead. He recognized the barrel of a semiautomatic. Adrenaline spiked, clearing his senses. Because of the lay of the land, Autumn couldn’t spot the danger, but he could. The rustler he’d downed was prone on the ground, providing cover for his buddies, who were running as fast as they could for the tree-lined river. Ford took careful aim. Lord, don’t let me miss.

“Autumn!” Granger’s call of warning split the night.

Ford squeezed, and his shot fired in unison with Granger’s. An eternity passed in a millisecond while he waited with fierce red rage beating through him. Finally the gun flew out of the rustler’s hands and he toppled backward, winged. The helicopter beat more loudly, visible through the newly falling snow, lights flashing. The horse beneath him didn’t shy from the distraction but reached out, eating ground, gaining altitude on the hillside. He felt rather than heard his cell ring. He hated to lower the rifle, but he fished the phone out of his pocket.

“We’ve spotted cattle haulers parked about two miles away. They’re heading out.” The south-boundary sheriff bit out the information like an order. “Visibility is falling. We’ll do our best to track ’em down. Can you handle the ground pursuit?”

“Ten-four.” He pocketed his phone. The horse skidded to a stop, sod flying from beneath steeled hooves. The suspect he’d hit had vanished. Granger knelt on the ground.

“I’ve got one set of tracks.” He sounded more than angry. Frank Granger was a big man, and he looked like the abominable snowman, flecked with white, bristling with outrage. When his daughter rode close, the fury was tempered with affection.

A close family, that was plain to see, and Ford understood. He’d grown up in one, too.

“We’ve got three men on foot.” Ford dismounted, casting around for signs of another set of boots in the snow. “They’ve split up. I’ll take this one.”

“The sheriff and I will follow this pair.” Autumn pulled a small flashlight from her coat pocket and shone it on a second set of tracks. “Dad, will you be all right alone?”

“Be careful” was Granger’s only answer. Already he was riding his horse fast around a copse of cottonwoods, lost in the night and storm.

“Nice of you to ride along with me.” Ford mounted up and signaled his horse with his heels.

“Least I could do. You don’t know the lay of the land.” As if that were her only reason, she didn’t look at him while she drew her mare to an abrupt stop at the crest of the hill. “The snow is coming down fast. We’re going to lose them.”

“The trail’s gone.” The snow fell faster, feathery wisps coating the high mountain plains with an iridescent glow. He could see the gleaming bare branches of the cottonwoods, the long stretch of a pasture, a huge milling herd of cattle, which were dark splotches against the pearled rangeland. A platinum gleam of a river wound through it all. No sign of anyone else in this vast open landscape.

“They’re heading for the river.” Without chopper or trucks, there was no other quick escape. “This is your land. If you were him, what trail would you take?”

“This way.” She plunged her horse down the black side of the slope, disappearing from his sight. The wind whipped her hair, making her appear fearless in the night. She left him with a sense of wonder as he followed her lead through the dark. Although he couldn’t see her, he could sense her—the plod of a horse’s hooves ahead, the faint hint of her silhouette, the curve of her shadowed arm as she cradled a rifle. She was magnificent, and his heart noticed.

Hard to deny the way his pulse sped up and slowed down at the same time. Ford swiped snowflakes off his face with his coat sleeve. When he should have been scanning for any sign of the rustlers, his gaze returned to her. Autumn rode out of the shadow of the hillside, as mighty as a Western myth, as beautiful as the snow falling.

“I see something!” Her voice vibrated with excitement. “Maybe we’ll catch the varmint—”

“I see him.” How he noticed anything aside from her was a total and complete mystery, but a faint black blur at the corner of his vision drew his attention. He whirled toward the suspect, pressing his knees tighter against the horse’s side. The animal responded, leaping into a fast canter. He leaned low, ignored the slap of mane against his face, adrenaline spiking again. Snow closed in, falling furiously, cutting off the world and the image of a man leaping off the riverbank in a swift dive. Gone. By the time Ford reached the steep ledge, the boot prints were filling and whiteout conditions closed in. Disappointment gripped his gut, bitter and harsh. Breathing hard, he hauled his phone from his pocket, but it wouldn’t connect. He checked the screen. No bars.

“The helicopter wouldn’t help, anyway.” Autumn slid off her horse and joined him on the bank. “That’s a swift current.”

“Maybe I can still catch him.” He fumbled with his zipper and gave it a tug. Cool air hit him in the chest. He shivered with cold although he couldn’t feel it. His senses were heightened. The gurgling rush of the swift, deep river hid sounds of a swimmer, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“Ford.” A soft, mittened hand landed on his own. Her voice drew him and calmed the beat of adrenaline charging through him. Time slowed, the world stopped turning and, in the odd gray light of a night’s snowfall, she gazed up at him with caring. “Let him go. Your life isn’t worth risking over him.”

“He tried to shoot at you.” He could have shot at you, is what he didn’t say. He could have hit you, even killed you. The words wadded in his throat like a ball of paper and refused to move. He couldn’t speak for a moment, but he could pray. Thank You, Lord, for that piece of grace.

“I’m fine, thanks to you and Dad.” Her hand remained on his in silent understanding. “That was some pretty fine shooting. You’re not bad for a city boy.”

“A compliment? That’s a surprise.”

“Don’t I know it. No one is more stunned than me.”

“Still think I’m not too ugly?”

“We’re talking of your sheriff skills, Sherman, not your other qualities.”

The sweet warmth of her alto wrapped around him like a cloak, keeping the cold at bay. For the first time in years he didn’t feel alone. It was hard to tell in the storm, but he thought he saw a twinkle in her deep hazel eyes. Teasing him when she meant something more serious.

He knew teasing was easier. He avoided serious whenever he could. He’d gotten enough of it in his line of work to last him a lifetime. “You’re welcome,” he choked, finally able to get out the words. “Now you owe me.”

“Me? I owe you?” She tossed her head, sending snowflakes flying off her silken curls, bracing her feet like a gunfighter ready to draw. “We don’t know if it was your bullet that winged him or my dad’s. I’m sure it wasn’t yours. You aren’t used to shooting off the back of a horse.”

“How do you know that? Because I’m a city boy?”

“You’ve got skills. I want to deny it, but I can’t.” She drew away, reaching for her horse and leaving an imprint on his hand that cooled without her near. She hopped onto her horse, hefted her rifle into the crook of her arm and swiped at the snow clinging to her face. “I haven’t heard any shots, so that must mean Dad and Justin didn’t run into trouble, either.”

“As long as they’re safe.” He braced one palm on the gelding’s warm back, grabbed a handful of mane and hopped up. Snow had closed in, and all he could see of the river was a faint shadow. “I’m going to ride the riverbank for a spell. That water’s cold. No one can stay in there for long.”

“You’re a stubborn man, aren’t you?”

“I prefer to call it determined.” He gritted his teeth against the cold, ignoring the vicious bite of the wind as he faced into it. “A little storm isn’t going to stop me.”

“Then I’d best come with you.” She whirled her mount away from home, coming closer, and a ghost of a smile curved her soft lips. Had he noticed before how pretty her mouth was? It looked like summer itself, always smiling. Undaunted by the storm, she gave her mare’s neck an encouraging pat. “It’s been a while since Bella and I had an adventure. Besides, it’s not as if I can leave you out here on your own, city boy.”

“Maybe I’m not as much of a city boy as you think.” It was his turn to make her wonder about him. As he pressed his horse into a fast walk, leaving her to follow, he felt her curious gaze on his back. Was she as interested in him as he was in her? It was going to be fun finding out.

Clearly, she had misjudged Sheriff Ford Sherman. Autumn could admit when she was wrong. He rode Lightning as if he belonged on the back of the dappled gray quarter horse, sitting tall and straight and in command. Although the storm and the night fought to hide him from her, she caught glimpses of him on the trail ahead of her—the straight line of his back, the cut of his profile and the dark glint of the rifle he carried.

So, what was the man’s story? Did she really want to know? Judging by the kick of her pulse, maybe not. Perhaps it was better to stay in the dark, to let her curiosity about him go unanswered. Maybe it would die a quiet death and she could bury her interest in the man right along with it. The wind changed, gusting hard against her face, and she ducked against the slap of snow. Thunder cracked overhead.

“Time to head in, Sheriff.” She cupped her half-numb hands to shout into the gale. “Thunder means lightning. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not get hit by it.”

“Hey, I’m up for new experiences.”

She couldn’t see his grin, but she could hear it. She didn’t want to like him, but she did. He had a good sense of humor and an inner grit she never would have guessed at.

“I just wish we could have found them.” The veil of snow parted just enough to give a glimpse of the man gazing in the direction of the rolling river, wistful, nail-tough, not wanting to give up the chase. “They couldn’t have lasted in that river long. Not with ice forming along the banks. They would have to get out, and if they did they wouldn’t be moving fast.”

“It runs off our land and to a county road. My guess is they climbed out at the bridge and it’s too late to catch them. Time to give up the chase, Sheriff.” She didn’t know why she reached out, but when her hand found the hard plane of his forearm the bite of the arctic cold vanished, the rush of the wind silenced and the night shadows ebbed. “It’s getting too cold for Bella.”

“Then we head in.” He didn’t move away. The moment stretched as if time itself had ceased moving forward and no snow fell. “I know it’s a lost cause hunting anything in this storm, but I had to try. Now I’ve got only one question.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you know the way home? Because I don’t.”

“Follow me.” She urged Bella around with a touch of her heel. The cold returned with knife-sharpness, and the snow stung her face as the wind beat her with a boxer’s punch. Time kick-started, and she lost Ford in the sudden swirl of the storm.

“Whew. Can’t believe it’s getting worse.” He eased up alongside her, sticking close. “Let me guess. It always snows like this here. It’s something else the mayor didn’t tell me when I agreed to take this job.”

“I’m tempted to say yes, but that would be too cruel.” They left the river bank behind and headed into the dark night. “We can get weather like this, but not often.”

“I don’t remember this in the local forecast.”

“It wasn’t. The local news comes out of Jackson, so it’s not always accurate for us. This morning Dad said a big storm was coming, so he and Justin cancelled their trip to Casper.”

“Your dad’s a pretty good weatherman.”

“A good rancher has to be. You get to learn the way the air and winds feel before a big storm. Dad is especially good at it.” Her teeth should have been chattering from the cold, but the brunt of the wind didn’t hit her because Ford rode at her right side and blocked it. Had he done that on purpose? She listened to another peal of thunder. Sounded as if it was moving farther to the southeast. Good news. “So, are you going to fess up?”

“About what?”

“About where you learned to ride and shoot like that.” He wasn’t as good as her dad, but he was close, and not many men could say that. She didn’t want to respect him, but she couldn’t help it. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“I could, but it would make a better story over dinner. Maybe Friday next week?” Although she couldn’t see more than a hint of his silhouette, she knew he was smiling. She just knew it.

“Will you ever stop?” She was not about to fall victim to his charm.

“Not until you say yes.” The thing is, he didn’t sound charming in that flattering way insincere men did. Without her prior assumptions about him, he came across as an honest, solid guy. He lowered his voice a note and drew his horse closer. “Here’s a warning. I can be persistent.”

“Then I would be smart to keep you at arm’s length, wouldn’t I?” Tempting not to. Very tempting.

“Then that’s a no go for Friday? I could make it Saturday night if that’s better for you.”

“Awfully confident, aren’t you, city boy?”

“I can sense you weakening.”

Strange, because she could sense it, too. Without her eyes to deceive her, she saw more of him in the dark than she’d witnessed in broad daylight. He rode bareback like a pro. He hadn’t once commented on how unladylike it was to pack a Winchester and track rustlers.

Careful, Autumn, or you’ll start liking him, and you know where that leads. She rubbed her hands to keep them warm. Her insulated gloves were not doing their job, which meant the temp was falling fast.

“Well? Can I pencil you in for Saturday dinner?”

“That’s the night before my brother’s wedding.” She was surprised at the hint of regret she heard in her words, and more surprised at the twist of regret she felt.

“Wedding, huh? Do you need a date for that?”

“You are persistent.” She was rolling on the floor laughing, or she would be if the ground wasn’t covered in wet, icy stuff. His laughter joined hers rising on the wind, and her heart lightened. Yes, it was very tempting to like the man, but did she dare?

“I’m a fair shot because I did time on SWAT and a hitch in the army out of high school.” His voice changed, grew richer and deeper as if with memories both good and difficult. She would have given anything to be able to see his face, to read the emotions revealed there.

“You were in the army?” She couldn’t say why that came as a surprise to her. Maybe because from the moment they’d met she had wanted to keep him at a distance.

“I learned to shoot on my granddad’s property in Kentucky.”

“Kentucky?” As in horses?

“He was a trainer, but he kept his own stable. It’s where I learned to ride.”

She had leaped to far too many conclusions. A small twist of shame spread through her, something that not even the bitter cold could dull. “And when you and your grandfather would sit and read Westerns together, it was in Kentucky?”

“Technically in his house in Kentucky.”

Impossible to miss the amusement in his voice. Embarrassment flooded her. “You didn’t know anything about cattle. What was I to think?”

“You were relying on what you knew of me. I’m sure Tim, the mayor, had no problem telling everyone I was from a big city.”

“It caused a big ruckus at the town meeting, since all the ranchers on this end of the county showed up demanding the council hire someone sympathetic to our needs. I was in that room, so I know.” She remembered how outraged several ranchers had felt when the new hire had been announced. “My dad said we ought to give you a chance, and I can see he was right. I guess I expected someone much different from you.”

“And you can admit you were wrong about me?”

“It appears I’m going to have to.” They crested a hill, and the wind picked up, whipping with a frenzy and driving ice through her clothes. Ford’s phone rang. For a moment there she’d forgotten they weren’t alone.

Chapter Five

His call done, Ford flipped his phone shut and jammed it into his pocket. He could have used some good news since he was frozen. Even his bone marrow was officially iced over. When he’d been cozied up in his old apartment near Chicago’s Chinatown considering a change, being a small-town sheriff sounded nice. Friendly. Warm. Especially since he’d interviewed in September when the temperatures had hovered in the high seventies.

He was glad it would be exciting, too. Nothing like chasing cattle rustlers to liven up things. Might as well start his new career off with a bang. It had a huge perk, too. Maybe lovely Autumn Granger was looking at him with a new perspective.

“Sheriff Benton said they lost the trucks. Because of the storm, they had to put down.” He hated to have to deliver the news.

“I’m thankful no one was seriously hurt this time.”

He heard that catch in her voice, the grip of emotion she probably thought she could hide. “This time?”

“We’ve had rustlers before. Didn’t the mayor fill you in?”

“He mentioned a little trouble now and then.” Now that he was clued in on the definition of trouble in these parts, it all made sense. Trouble at the Green Ranch last spring, a few incidences of it through the year. First thing Monday morning he would be in the office going over old files. “What happened?”

“My dad.” Her voice wobbled, betraying her. He didn’t have to ask to know it had been a serious hit. He waited for her to clear the emotion from her throat, wanting the rest of the story.

“He was in the ICU for six weeks. For the first two we didn’t know if he would live or die. I stayed at the hospital with him, and I can’t tell you how terrifying it was to wait through every minute of those two weeks praying he would survive.” She took a shaky breath, batted snow from her face and turned her horse cross-ways into the wind. “Come to think of it, I shouldn’t have let him come out tonight. Next time I’ll remember to hogtie him in the kitchen.”

He heard a tad of humor in her words and a daughter’s love. “You wouldn’t do it, and he wouldn’t want you to.”

“True. Plus, he’s a good shot. He brought down the helicopter, so it’s good I allowed him out of the house.”

“Something tells me you know how to use that rifle you’re carrying. You’re just as good a shot.”

“Sure, because my dad taught me.” More warmth and way too much affection to measure. A shadow rose out of the storm—the roofline of a stable. She dismounted clumsily, a little frostbitten. “This probably doesn’t come as a surprise, but I was a tomboy. I loved being outdoors with my dad riding horses, mending fences, feeding the cows.”

Daddy’s girl. It was easy to picture her trailing after Granger, her red hair up in pigtails, riding the fields and hills just as she’d ridden them tonight. He tried dismounting and found that his right leg didn’t want to move. After some encouragement he managed to swing it over the horse’s rump and land on the ground, not that he could exactly feel his feet.

“You’ll thaw,” she informed him breezily as she whistled and the horses followed her. Light and warmth beckoned through the fierce storm. When he closed the stable door behind them, he discovered he couldn’t feel his hands as well as he’d thought. The Lord was busy in this world full of strife, but Ford really didn’t want to lose a finger. It was his fault he didn’t have a better pair of gloves with him. A mistake he would not make again. He peeled off his mittens and blew out a sigh of relief. Pink skin, not white.

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