“Do my love scenes … bother you for some reason?”

She studied the hard set of his mouth, intrigued. He’d acted almost jealous. The prospect tantalized her.

“Why should they? None of my business.”

“It just seemed like … you were upset. You tensed up.” She smoothed a hand along the taut, corded muscles of his arm, stroking her fingers to his fist to illustrate her point.

He rolled his shoulders as if trying to loosen the tension stringing him tight, then sighed a gush of breath. “All right, yes. It bothers me.”

The corner of her cheek tugged up, and she playfully goaded, “Why?”

He jerked his head toward her. “Why?” he echoed, incredulous. “I—Hell.”

His hazel eyes lasered down at her with breath-stealing intensity, and the air between them sparked and crackled. A low, frustrated growl rumbled from his throat, and a heartbeat later, his mouth descended on hers.

Dear Reader,

Working on continuities is always fun for me, and the Eden Falls Coltons were no exception. What fun it was to put tough guy Gunnar in charge of two energetic toddlers and bring the teasing, but always loving, Colton siblings to life. Imagining Violet’s movie-star lifestyle was fun, too! Paparazzi, script changes, celebrity award shows … ah, the glamor! Yet I knew deep down she was a mother first and a down-to-earth Southern girl at heart.

Another fun twist? I had the pleasure of including my editor’s cats in my story. It seemed the right thing to do, since the wise and wonderful Keyren Gerlach-Burgess created the continuity and loves cats as much as I do. She tells me the chicken theft incident really happened!

The peek into the Amish world was so interesting to me and brought back memories of traveling through Pennsylvania Dutch country with my family when I was a kid. I hope you’ll love Gunnar and Violet’s romance as much as I do, and come back soon for the next installment of the Coltons of Eden Falls!

Happy reading,

Beth Cornelison

Don’t miss the next three books in

THE COLTONS OF EDEN FALLS:

Colton Destiny by Justine Davis

Colton’s Deep Cover by Elle Kennedy

Colton Showdown by Marie Ferrarella

About the Author

BETH CORNELISON started writing stories as a child when she penned a tale about the adventures of her cat, Ajax. A Georgia native, she received her bachelor’s degree in public relations from the University of Georgia. After working in public relations for a little more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction.

Since that first time, Beth has written many more stories of adventure and romantic suspense and has won numerous honors for her work, including a coveted Golden Heart Award in romantic suspense from Romance Writers of America. She is active on the board of directors for the North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance (NOLA STARS) and loves reading, traveling, Peanuts’ Snoopy and spending downtime with her family.

She writes from her home in Louisiana, where she lives with her husband, one son and two cats who think they are people. Beth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171, or visit her website, www.bethcornelison.com.

Colton’s Ranch Refuge
Beth Cornelison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Keyren—

Thanks for the opportunity to be part of Eden Falls!

Thank you to Jenni Nauright and C.J. Lyons for all your help with Violet’s medical crisis and the proper procedures for Amelia and Derek to take! Any mistakes in this regard are mine.

Chapter 1

A chill November breeze buffeted Gunnar Colton’s cheeks and sent a shiver rippling through him. Tension strung Gunnar as tight as a trip wire, and he cast a wary gaze around the downtown Eden Falls street. At first glance, nothing about the scene seemed amiss. Merchants decorated their shop windows for the upcoming holidays, and customers milled about casually enjoying the Saturday afternoon and hunting for early season bargains. Eden Falls was small-town Americana at its best, yet Gunnar couldn’t relax, couldn’t quiet the hum of anxiety buzzing through his veins.

“The cold air is making my nose run,” sixteen-year-old Piper complained.

“Guess you better go chase it then,” Sawyer teased.

Piper slanted her adopted brother a you’re-so-stupid look before turning to Gunnar. “I’m freezing out here.”

“So drink your hot chocolate. It’ll warm you up.” Gunnar curled his hands around his cocoa, soaking up the heat from the ceramic mug, and gave the teenager a patient glance.

She rolled her eyes and flopped back in her chair with a shake of her head.

The weather was too cold for them to be sitting outside, but Sawyer, Piper and Gunnar’s eleven-year-old brother, had specifically requested that they drink their hot chocolate at the café’s sidewalk table. Gunnar hadn’t had the heart to tell Sawyer no, despite his own deeply personal reasons for being uneasy with the outdoor table. He felt exposed on the city street—jumpy, emotionally raw.

He turned his attention to the local street vendors selling holiday arts and crafts, and his mind wandered thousands of miles away… .

The marketplace disintegrated into chaos as debris rained down on the street. Shouts and screams pierced the ringing in his ears as the concussion of the explosion echoed through the street.

“Gunnar? Did you hear me?” Piper asked, giving him a half worried, half exasperated frown.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Can I go to Très Chic and look at their jeans while you two finish your cocoa?”

He shook his head. “Stay with us. We’ll be done in a minute. Then we’ll go with you.”

Piper and Sawyer sent him matching looks of horror.

“To a girl’s store?”

“Gunnar!”

He divided a look between his youngest siblings, knowing he was totally out of his league—what did an ex-soldier know about raising teenagers?—but determined to reconnect with his family after so many years away. Sawyer had been a baby when Gunnar had enlisted in the army and had left for his first tour of duty in Afghanistan. His brother felt like a stranger. And teenage Piper bore little resemblance to the sweet little sister he’d hugged goodbye eleven years ago.

“Listen, if you’ll—”

The roar of a motorcycle engine yanked Gunnar’s attention away midsentence. He jerked his gaze toward the black sport bike speeding toward them, and ice filled his veins.

The moped sped past them, breaching the security checkpoint and ramming into the crowded marketplace. Sam and Ronnie were on their feet in an instant. “Suicide bomber!”

Gunnar jolted as the bomb in his memory exploded with a deafening blast.

This motorcycle rider wore a backpack. He drove right up onto the sidewalk.

“Get down!” Gunnar grabbed the front of Sawyer’s jacket and yanked him from his chair to the ground. In an instant, he’d shoved Piper to the sidewalk as well and flipped their table on its side to serve as a blast shield—as if the flimsy metal table was any real protection from a half dozen sticks of dynamite or a block of C-4.

With an arm around each of his startled siblings, Gunnar huddled behind the table, bracing for the fireball, the concussion, the chaos. His heart drummed a frantic tattoo against his ribs. Despite the cold, a film of sweat popped out on his forehead. Adrenaline sent a shudder rolling through him.

“Gunnar? Wh-what’s wrong? Why are we hiding?” Sawyer asked.

Several seconds had passed with no explosion. Passersby on the sidewalk sent them curious looks and half-hidden grins behind gloved hands. Had the detonator failed? Had the bomber balked?

In the wake of the blast, he staggered to his feet, tasted blood in his mouth, searched the street for his friends, for the woman and her son …

Nausea churned in his gut, and he struggled for a breath. It was still so fresh, so real, so terrifying.

Piper wiggled free of his grasp, shooting him an annoyed yet troubled look. “What are you doing?”

Gunnar dragged a shaky hand over his face, blinking hard to separate the present from the past. “The motorcycle. He had a backpack. I thought …”

“Of course he had a backpack. That’s how most people carry their stuff on a motorcycle.” Piper dusted her hands and shook her head. “Why’d you freak out over that?”

“I thought …” Gunnar rubbed the bridge of his nose, his breathing still ragged and his pulse racing.

Piper clambered to her feet and cast her gaze down the street … and gasped. Quickly she dropped back behind the protection of the overturned table, her pale blue eyes wide with horror.

Gunnar’s pulse ramped higher. “What?”

“The guy on the motorcycle … it’s Heath Hamilton!” She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. “Oh, God, please, don’t let him have seen me. I will die if he finds out it was us behind this table! Heath is only the hottest guy at school.”

“At least you didn’t skin your knee,” Sawyer said.

Gunnar shifted his attention to his little brother. “You’re hurt?”

“Thanks to you.” His brother’s soulful brown eyes blazed with accusation. “What did you think? That the motorcycle was going to run over us? That he had a gun?”

He saw Sawyer’s ripped jeans and bloody knee, and his chest tightened. “Bomb. I thought he had a bomb.”

Sawyer wrinkled his nose. “Dude, this is America, not Afghanistan. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen here.”

Gunnar lightly ruffled his brother’s hair, swallowing the reply that sprang to his tongue. But it has. The 9/11 terrorists killed our parents.

“Sorry, buddy. I just …” Gunnar fisted his hands and shoved the last whispers of nightmarish tremors down, locking them in a corner of his brain where he didn’t have to face the memories. “Let’s get you home so Derek can take a look at that knee, huh?”

As he climbed to his feet, Gunnar cast a sheepish side glance to Piper. Her returned gaze was wary, worried, shaken. “Sorry, Piper. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

She glanced back toward the parked motorcycle as she pushed to her feet. “No harm done. I don’t think he saw us.” She sighed. “I don’t think Heath even knows I exist.” She paused and scrunched her nose. “Are you all right? You’re sweating and shaking and stuff.”

Gunnar wiped his face on his coat sleeve. “I’m fine.”

“Did you really think Heath had a bomb?” Piper tucked her Nordic-blond hair behind her ear and gave him a puzzled frown. “Why would Heath Hamilton want to bomb Main Street?”

Gunnar righted the table and picked up the broken pieces of their hot chocolate mugs. “I’m sure he wouldn’t. My mistake.” Clearing his throat, he divided a look between his disgruntled siblings. “Say, guys, don’t mention this to Derek or Emma. Okay?”

Sawyer shrugged. “Whatever.”

Piper was less easily convinced, and she narrowed a suspicious gaze on Gunnar as he tossed the shattered ceramic pieces in the nearest trash can. “Why not? Why don’t you want them to know?”

He lifted a shoulder, which protested with a sharp ache. Apparently in his dive to the sidewalk he’d jammed the joint. “I just don’t want them worrying about me. They’ve got enough on their minds with this new case regarding the missing Amish girls and Derek hiring new help for his office.”

The door to the coffeehouse opened, and the manager stepped out to surveyed the mess Gunnar had created. “Are you folks all right?”

Piper’s cheeks, already pink from the cold, reddened further. Sawyer rolled his eyes and started walking toward their Suburban.

Gunnar pulled out his wallet, peeled off a couple one hundred dollar bills and handed them to the manager. “Here. This should cover the damage. We’re sorry for the disturbance.”

Turning, he hustled to catch up with Sawyer, and while his wallet was out, he handed his little brother a hundred dollar bill as well. “Buy yourself some new jeans. Okay, buddy?”

Sawyer’s eyes lit up. “Wow! Thanks, Gunnar.”

Piper’s jaw dropped, and she grunted. “You’re bribing him?”

Gunnar shook his head. “He tore his jeans. He needs new ones.”

His sister twisted her mouth speculatively. “I broke a nail. Do I get money for a manicure?”

Gunnar doled her a hundred dollars, as well. “Cunning.”

“So are you really a billionaire, Gunnar?” Sawyer asked as they reached the family’s SUV. “I heard Tate saying you, like, made some kind of killer investments that went crazy while you were deployed, and now you’ve got something like nine bazillion dollars.”

Gunnar unlocked the driver’s door and flipped the switch to unlock the rest of the SUV doors. “I prefer not to discuss my financial business with an eleven year old.”

“Come on, Sawyer,” Piper said, settling on the front passenger seat. “If he had billions of dollars, why would he be living in that little cabin at the edge of the ranch property?”

“I don’t know, Piper,” Sawyer sniped. “Why aren’t you living in the Amazon with all the other giant women?”

Piper turned to glare at her brother, and Gunnar gritted his teeth as he pulled into traffic. “Cut it out, Sawyer. It was a legitimate question. And I live in the cabin because I want to.” He hesitated, studying the passing farmland and quaint homesteads of Pennsylvania Dutch country, and considered the simple lifestyle of the local Amish population. He wasn’t all that different from the Amish in that respect. “The cabin is all I need. It’s just what I need. I like the quiet, the scenery and the proximity to you two brats.” He smiled to take the sting from his teasing. “I missed you guys while I was overseas.”

Gunnar glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see Sawyer poke his MP3 player earplugs in his ears and face the window.

Piper had her arms folded over her chest and a pucker of consternation denting her forehead.

He reached over to squeeze her knee. “Why the frown?”

She shrugged and then sighed. “Am I too tall for guys to like me?”

Gunnar shook his head. “Don’t let Sawyer get to you.”

She scoffed. “I don’t. It’s just …”

“Piper, look at me.” Gunnar stopped the Suburban at the double gate to the Colton family ranch, the Double C, and Sawyer hopped out to open the gate without being asked.

Gunnar drilled his younger sister with a hard gaze. Her cornflower-blue eyes held the vulnerability of youth along with a keen intelligence beyond her years. Gunnar felt a rush of protectiveness for his sister. The Amish girls from Paradise Ridge who’d been kidnapped were about Piper’s age.

“What?” she asked when he lapsed into silence for too long.

“You are perfect just as you are. And you are beautiful. I’m going to be busy fighting off all the boys who’ll be beating down your door in the next few years.”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “You have to say that. You’re my brother.”

Gunnar drove through the gate Sawyer had opened and shook his head. “I have to say it, because it’s true. You are beautiful, and I’ll bet you a new pair of jeans that Heath Hamilton not only knows who you are but is working up the courage to ask you out.”

She snorted and laughed. “Yeah, right.”

Sawyer climbed back in the SUV and leaned over the front seat. “What’s with all the cars and buses and stuff?”

“Huh?” Gunnar looked through the windshield where Sawyer pointed. Sure enough, the driveway to the main ranch house was full of unfamiliar vehicles, and the side road to Gunnar’s cabin was blocked by a large tour bus. Irritation prickled Gunnar. He hated having his privacy invaded, and from the looks of it, the ranch was under a full-scale assault.

Piper gasped and rocked forward in her seat. “No way!”

“What?” Gunnar and Sawyer asked at the same time.

The teenager pointed to the small cluster of people standing near the front door of the house, talking to their brother Derek. “See the woman in the green dress? The one with short blond hair?”

Gunnar spotted the woman in question. In a purely visceral reaction to the lady’s feminine curves, a flash of heat swamped him, and his body hummed with lust. Yeowsa.

“What about her?” Sawyer asked.

“Don’t you recognize her? That’s Violet Chastain!”

Gunnar rolled up his palm. “Never heard of her.”

Sawyer opened his door and jumped out, while Piper goggled at Gunnar. “Are you kidding? She was nominated for an Oscar this year for The Journey Home. People magazine voted her one of their most beautiful people this year. She’s in town to film that new movie called Wrongfully Accused.”

Gunnar cut the engine and stared through the window at the curvy blonde. “Doesn’t ring a bell.” But he had to agree with the staff of People magazine. Violet Chastain was a stunner.

“Geez, what rock have you been living under?”

Gunnar cut his sister a dry look. “An Afghan rock, until six months ago.”

Piper winced, looking contrite. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

“Don’t sweat it, kiddo. So I take it this Violet person is a big deal to the media?”

“Oh, yeah. The biggest.” Piper turned her gaze to the gathering of people on the lawn and shook her head in wonder. “I can’t believe that Violet Chastain, the hottest star in Hollywood, is at my house!”

Gunnar grunted and climbed out of the Suburban. “Yeah, and her huge-honking bus is blocking my driveway.”

The sound of car doors slamming pulled Violet’s attention from her director’s discussion with the Double C’s owner about the scenes the production crew wanted to film at the spacious ranch.

“Well, there’s some of the family now,” Dr. Derek Colton said. The handsome African American nodded toward the newly arrived SUV and grinned. “Before I sign off on this deal, I’d like their opinions. This is their home, too.”

Violet turned to greet Derek’s family, and her practiced smile faltered for a moment. The teenage girl crossing the yard was as fair featured as Derek was dark, and Violet blinked her surprise at the incongruity.

The doctor chuckled. “I see your surprise. They’re my adopted brothers and sister. All of the Colton children were adopted, so we’re something of an eclectic mix.”

“So you are,” Violet said, putting her meet-the-public smile back in place as the lovely blonde girl and a sandy-haired boy of ten or eleven trotted up with eager grins.

“OMG! You’re Violet Chastain!” the girl gushed. “I love your movies!”

“Smooth, Piper,” the boy said. “Try not to drool on her.”

Derek thumped his younger brother lightly on the shoulder, then introduced the kids to Violet and the rest of the assembled movie crew.

“Nice to meet you, Sawyer, Piper.” Violet and the other crew members shook their hands.

“You’re back early,” Derek called to the man who’d been driving the SUV.

The brawny man bringing up the rear met her gaze, and an unexpected tremor stirred deep inside her. Whether her gut reaction was good or bad, Violet couldn’t say. Derek Colton’s brother could have been responding to a casting call for a nightclub bouncer … if the producers were looking for someone who oozed sex appeal along with his intimidating glower. He stalked toward the assembled group with his stubbled jaw set, his broad shoulders squared and his sexy lips pulled in a taut frown.

Violet tore her gaze away from the brooding man and gave herself a mental shake. Why was she noticing the guy’s lips? She never paid attention to a man’s mouth unless he was playing opposite her in a scene and she was expected to kiss him. The odds that she’d ever kiss this scowling linebacker were so slim as to be laughable.

As the dangerously good-looking Colton brother approached like a brewing tempest, Violet had to call on all her cool reserves, the practiced composure she drew from when facing a horde of merciless paparazzi, to not take a step back when he stormed up.

“We decided to skip lunch,” he told his brother, then sent a suspicious look around the group. “What’s going on?”

“Gunnar, this is Mac Gremble, the director of Wrongfully Accused, the movie that’s filming in the area. They’re scouting the ranch to use in a few scenes.”

Mac shook the bouncer wannabe’s hand. Then Derek turned to her.

“And I guess I don’t have to tell you who this is.”

The older Colton brother’s hazel gaze slid to her. “Only because Piper just told me.” Though he offered his hand in greeting, he didn’t smile, and Violet’s mouth dried when his large fingers swallowed hers in a tight grip.

She forced a polite smile. “Not a fan of the movies … Gunnar, is it?”

“I just don’t follow Hollywood hype.” He dropped her hand and shoved his fingers in the pockets of his jeans. “That and I’ve been out of the country until about six months ago.”

“Oh?” Violet tipped her head. “Where? Europe? Japan?”

His gaze narrowed. “Afghanistan.” His tone was grave and held a note of challenge, as if he dared her to comment on his military status. Though startled by his gruff attitude, she opened her mouth to thank him for his service to the country but didn’t get the chance before he aimed a thumb at her bus. “That your behemoth?”

Violet cut a quick glance to Mac and Dr. Colton, uncertain what to make of Gunnar’s rudeness. “It’s my dressing room when we’re on location and my—”

“Well, your dressing room is blocking the road to my cabin. You’ll have to move it.”

Violet took umbrage with his hostile tone and straightened her spine, lifted her chin. She refused to let him bully her without cause.

“Gunnar,” Derek growled. “What’s your problem?”

“No, no.” Violet raised a hand to intercede. “He’s right. My bus is blocking the driveway, and I’d be happy to have my driver move it.”

Gunnar arched a dark eyebrow, his scowl fixed on her. “Good.” He pivoted to walk away.

“If—”

He stopped and faced her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Nervous energy pumped through her, the kind of jitters she used to get before taking the stage or filming a difficult scene. Pressing a hand to the flutter in her belly, she met Gunnar’s gaze with dredged up courage. “If you’ll ask me.” She paused to swallow. “Nicely.”

Big brother Colton blinked his surprise and cocked his head as if uncertain he’d heard her correctly.

Gunnar’s siblings chuckled, and Mac shifted his feet uneasily, probably worried about PR or something that Violet no longer cared about. Why should she care what the public thought of her if they gave so little disregard to her feelings, her needs? The speculation and insinuations that filled the media coverage after Adam’s death still stung, and the invasion of her privacy while she was grieving infuriated her.

After glaring at her for a moment, Gunnar turned to Derek and huffed an impatient sigh. “When I got home in May, all I asked was that I be given privacy and quiet. Is it so much to ask that my home be a refuge while I decompress from the crap I had to deal with in Afghanistan?”

Decompress? Violet found his choice of words intriguing. If Gunnar was still wound tight because of his war experiences, no wonder he was acting like such an ogre.

“No, it’s not,” Derek returned, his expression calm.

“Yet you’ve invited a horde of strangers to bring their cameras and lights and dressing rooms—” he cut a meaningful glance at Violet “—onto the ranch for who knows how long. Hardly my idea of rest or privacy, Derek.”

“Which is why I’ve told Mr. Gremble that your cabin and the woods around it are off-limits. Any filming they do will be in and around the main house.” When Piper drew an excited breath, her eyes widening, Derek aimed a finger at her. “You have to promise to stay out of their way and respect the confidentiality agreement. You can’t tell anyone they are filming here. We don’t want the media or rubberneckers milling around here.”

“I can’t even tell my friends?” Piper asked, aghast. “But—”

“Not even your friends,” Derek said.

“Especially not your friends,” Sawyer added. “Talk about gossip central. TMZ has nothing on Tiffany and Amber.”

Piper glared at Sawyer. “Shut up, twerp.”

“You shut up, Amazon.”

Groaning, Derek scrubbed both hands over his face.

Gunnar grabbed Sawyer by the back of the coat and pulled him away from Piper. “Both of you give it a rest. Why do you have to antagonize each other all the time? Sheesh.”

Violet flashed a lopsided grin. “So … is this what I have to look forward to?”

“I promise you they’re not always this bad,” Derek said.

“Oh, I didn’t mean them.” Violet waved her hands in denial. “I meant when my boys get older.”

“You have kids?” Gunnar asked in a tone that said he found it difficult to believe.

Violet faced him again, bemused by his attitude. “Eighteen-month-old twins. They’re with their nanny … in my dressing room.”

She shot him a look that dared him to comment on that fact.

Gunnar sent her an annoyed look. “Your kids are here?”

“Yes. In the bus, napping.”

“With a nanny.”

“Yeaaahhh,” she said drawing out the word, warily. “Where else would they be while I’m working?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe with their father? Or don’t you Hollywood types believe in raising your own children?” Gunnar crossed his arms over his chest and sent her a condescending look she itched to slap off his smug face.

Violet gaped at him, too stunned to answer right away. The reference to Adam landed a punch in her stomach and sucked the air from her lungs.

“Um, Gunnar … helloooo?” Piper said. “Sawyer and I have a nanny.”

He shot his sister a quelling look. “That’s different.”

“How?” Piper returned.

“It just is.”

Mac stepped into the breach, shouldering in between her and the loutish Colton. “Look, pal, I don’t know what your beef is, but if you—”

Violet grabbed Mac’s sleeve, and shaking herself from her momentary daze, she shoved her director out of the way. Planting herself toe-to-toe with Gunnar, she met his gaze with a steely glare. Even standing as tall as she could, he dwarfed her by over a foot, but she refused to let his size or his gruff manner intimidate her. “My husband is dead, you oaf! Not that you’d know that since you don’t keep up with ‘Hollywood hype.’“

She poked him in his broad, rock-hard chest. “And while I’m on location, I keep my children near me, in my dressing room, because there is nothing, nothing more important to me than my boys. I want to be a part of their lives and involved in raising them as much as possible with my filming schedule.” Fisting her hands at her sides, she raised up on her toes and stuck her face as close to his as she could. “Or don’t you military types believe in women having a career and earning an income to feed her family?”

Around them no one moved, and the only sounds Violet could hear were the pounding pulse in her ears and her own angry breaths sawing from her lungs. Gunnar’s hazel eyes bore into hers, unflinching, piercing, until her belly quivered with that disturbing energy again.

Finally he unfolded his arms and clapped slowly, mockingly. “Bravo, Ms. Chastain. You are very convincing as the offended and protective young mother. Oscar-worthy performance, for sure.”

Violet knocked his hands out of the way and crowded so close to him that her body bumped his muscled torso and sparks skittered through her veins. “You’re an ass, Gunnar Colton.”

He simply lifted a corner of his mouth in an aggravating grin and said in a cloyingly sweet tone, “Thanks, Tinkerbell. Now would you pretty please move your oversize dressing room from my driveway, so I can get to my cabin?”

Tinkerbell?

Violet held her ground, chewing the inside of her cheek and deciding her best response. This close to him, his body heat and pine scent surrounded her, teasing her senses, her ability to think going haywire.

“Oh. My. God!” Piper groaned. “Enough with the foreplay. Would you two just get a room already?”

Gunnar’s dark eyebrows snapped together, and he whipped his head toward his younger sister. “What?”

She shook her head smugly and rolled her eyes. “Come on, Gunnar. I may be sixteen, but I’m not naive. I know sexual tension when I see it, and you two are giving off so many pheromones that wild animals are going to start showing up here in a minute.”

Gunnar frowned and shot Derek a look. “What have you been teaching her, Doc?”

Derek lifted both hands. “Don’t look at me.” Then twitching a grin, he added, “And for the record, I agree with Piper. I’m also sensing a certain … vibe between you two.”

Violet’s mouth opened, but only a sort of choking sound came out. A sexual vibe between her and the boorish linebacker? No way …

Gunnar scoffed and backpedaled from their nose-to-nose standoff, grumbling, “Give me a break.”

With one last dark glance at her, the older Colton brother stormed back toward the SUV.

“So then you’re okay with them filming here as long as they avoid your cabin?” Derek called after him.

When Gunnar didn’t answer, Derek grinned mischievously at Mac. “I think that’s a yes. When do you want to start?”

Get a room? Gunnar gritted his back teeth as he stormed back to the Suburban. If Piper weren’t too old to spank …

He huffed out a frustrated breath. Who was he kidding? He’d never lay a hand on his sister in the name of discipline. But that mouth of hers! And when had his baby sister learned about sex and pheromones, for cripes sake? The idea Piper had become a young woman while he was deployed unnerved him, and the thought of some randy teenage boy coming sniffing around his sister …

Gunnar flexed and balled his fists a few times to work out the tension. He knew all too well what boys Piper’s age thought about girls. It was pretty much the same thing men his age thought about women—especially perky young women with short blond hair and Bambi eyes … sassy, petite women with ample curves and pouting lips that begged to be kissed …

Grunting, Gunnar scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn it, Piper was right. As annoyed as he was to see the film crew on the ranch property, Gunnar had found trading barbs with the feisty actress incredibly … invigorating, arousing.

Yanking open the driver’s door of the ranch’s Suburban, Gunnar growled under his breath. If he wanted to get involved with a woman—which at this juncture in his life, he did not—a spoiled and superficial starlet was the last person he’d consider for a fling. And a starlet with kids? He shuddered. No thank you. He was not a glutton for punishment.

Cranking the engine, Gunnar glared through the windshield at the people assembled on the ranch lawn, and a sour feeling gnawed his gut. He knew he’d been inordinately rude. Guilt kicked him for having assumed a hostile demeanor. But after the incident in town, his nerves were already jangling, and all he wanted was to go back to his cabin, reheat some leftover stew for dinner and kick back in his recliner for the Penn State football game—alone, without distractions. He wanted to think—or not think if his thoughts dwelled too long on the way he’d made a fool of himself in town or the fool of himself he’d made in front of the movie crew.

He squeezed the steering wheel impatiently as Violet Chastain’s dressing room bus lumbered down the driveway, out of his path. He cut another glance to the tiny woman who’d stood up to him like a warrior or a mama bear when he’d challenged her. The spark that had lit her brown eyes had intrigued him, enticed him. He sent an appreciative gaze over her formfitting green minidress and tan leggings, the spots of color the cold air put in her cheeks. With her pixie haircut, petite stature and gamine face, was it any wonder she conjured images of Tinkerbell for him? She was a grown-up Tinkerbell … with a hot body and lush mouth. And a dead husband. And kids.

Gunnar shook his head to clear it and jammed the SUV in gear as the bus finally cleared the road. The blonde actress stirred too many confusing and contradictory feelings in him. His gut told him she was trouble with a capital T. While the movie crew filmed in town and at the Double C, he’d do well to stay far away from the temptation and aggravation that was Violet Chastain.

Violet stamped up the steps into her tour bus, then stopped for a moment as a shiver rolled through her from the cold, from unspent adrenaline after her confrontation with Gunnar, and from … okay, lust, because Gunnar Colton, jerk that he was, had a to-die-for physique, a rough-hewn square jaw and knee-melting hazel eyes. Too bad he had the personality of an angry badger.

The rest of the Colton family she’d liked. Derek had been charming and gracious. Piper was clearly bright, if starstruck, while Sawyer seemed shy and soulful, his dark eyes keenly assessing, much like her Mason’s did.

As if her thoughts of her contemplative son had conjured him, Mason toddled out of the bus’s bedroom and spotted her. “Mommy!”

“Hey, sunshine!” Violet hurried to scoop her son into her arms for a hug. “All done napping?”

Mason gave her wet kisses, then pressed his chubby hands to her face. “Cold.”

“Yeah, it’s cold outside. Brrr!” She poked her chilled nose against his cheek, which still bore the impression of his blanket from his nap, and he shrank back giggling.

“Brrr!”

“Mommy!” Hudson’s voice preceded him as he came charging out of the bedroom with no diaper on.

Violet stooped to greet her second son, laughing. “Well, hello young streaker. Do you have a kiss for me?”

Hudson smacked a kiss on her face, then turned and darted away as his nanny appeared in the bedroom door.

“Hudson, you scamp! Get back here and put on some pants, mister!” Rani Ogitani propped a hand on her hip and shook her head. “I’ve never seen a kid with so much energy! And believe me, I’ve babysat for some rambunctious kids in my day.”

“Rani, I bless the day I found you. I don’t know what I would have done these past few months without your help with the kids.”

The nanny grinned. “Oh, probably hired someone else just as competent.”

“Not likely.” After going through three nannies in eight months, Violet had mentioned her child care troubles to an old high school friend, with whom she kept in touch through email. Her friend, Zoe Bancroft, mentioned that her babysitter was looking for a job as a full-time nanny and gave Rani high marks. A week later, Rani had moved from Louisiana to Beverly Hills to live with Violet, Adam and the boys.

Violet shook her head. “No one’s better than you, and the proof is in how my boys are thriving, even without—” a rush of emotion overwhelmed Violet, and her throat closed “—you know … Adam …”

Her nanny gave her a sympathetic smile. “They are thriving because of the love and attention you give them.”

Or don’t you Hollywood types believe in raising your own children? Gunnar Colton’s accusations reverberated in her memory, and she sighed.

“I wish you would tell that to the linebacker,” she mumbled, then wondered why she gave a fig what Gunnar Colton thought of her parenting skills. Perhaps because he prodded her working-mommy guilt over leaving so much of her children’s care up to Rani.

“Linebacker?”

“Never mind.” She stood and held Mason out to her. “Here, you take this one, and I’ll round up the streaker and finish dressing him.”

Rani held up a hand of refusal. “Wait.” She turned her head and coughed several times into the crook of her arm. “Sorry. I’ll take him now.”

Violet frowned. “Are you coming down with something?”

“I hope not.” Rani rested Mason on her hip and brushed his blond curls out of his eyes. “Maybe it’s just the changing weather or dry air or something. I can’t seem to shake this cough.”

“I’ll watch the boys for a while if you want to rest. I told the Yoders I’d be back for dinner, but if you need—”

“I’m okay. I grabbed a short nap while the boys were asleep. Besides, don’t you need to go over the new script for the barn scene they sent over this morning?”

“New script? They changed the barn scene again?” Violet’s shoulders sagged. “I wish they’d make up their minds. I wanted to be through shooting by Christmas. The boys should be in their own home on Christmas morning.”

Rani turned her head and covered another cough. “Mac still think that can happen?”

“It’ll be close.”

The hydraulic hiss of the bus door opening announced a new arrival, and Violet turned.

“Knock, knock,” Mac called as he poked his head around the corner. “Everybody decent?”

“Everyone except Hudson,” Violet said, meeting her director in the living area of the bus and scooping Hudson off the couch where he was bouncing on the cushions. She turned to ask Rani to grab a diaper out of the boys’ bag and discovered, as usual, Rani was a step ahead of her. The nanny tossed her a diaper and a toddler-size pair of overalls. Violet caught the diaper. Mac snagged the overalls and eyed them.

“I didn’t know they made these for tykes.”

Violet had the diaper fastened around Hudson in a few deft motions, then took the denim clothes from her director. “They make just about anything you can imagine in babies’ sizes. But I’m sure you’re not here to discuss toddler fashions. What’s up?”

“Just making sure you’re all right. If you think that Gunnar fellow is going to be a problem, we can look for another location—”

“I’m fine. And this ranch is perfect for the scenes at the lawyer’s house. I’m sure if we stay out of the big bad wolf’s way, he’ll stay out of ours.”

“Bad woff!” Hudson repeated. “Puff, puff, bwooooow!”

Mac gave Hudson a raised eyebrow glance.

“I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down,” she said to clarify as she struggled to button Hudson’s overalls while he hopped up and down on the couch. “The Three Little Pigs is one of the boys’ favorite stories.”

Her son filled his cheeks and acted out the scene from the fable while grinning impishly.

“Okay, I’ll sign the contracts with Dr. Colton then. Did you get a chance to look over the revised script? I’d like to shoot the barn scene tomorrow.”

Violet winced. “No, I haven’t. How much did the script change?”

“A lot. We decided to combine a couple scenes. Jan now has Matthew showing up while Grace confronts Luther, and the three of them have it out.”

Jan Teague, the lead writer for Wrongfully Accused, had won numerous awards for her past scripts, so Violet trusted her to do the right thing for the movie. But the constant last minute changes were exhausting to keep up with.

“I’ll have to burn some midnight oil—literally—” because her Amish host family didn’t have electricity and used oil lamps instead “—but I’ll be ready in the morning.”

Mac chucked her lightly on the chin. “That’s my girl. Things okay at the Yoders?”

Benjamin and Alice Yoder, an Amish couple with three children in Paradise Ridge, had agreed to let Violet live with them for several weeks in order to immerse herself in her role as Amish woman Grace Moon. Violet wanted to understand and appreciate the nuances of the Amish lifestyle, religion and traditions in order to bring more authenticity to her character. She was learning a tremendous amount about the Amish community while staying with the Yoders, but in order not to crowd and add chaos to the Yoders’ home, her boys and Rani were staying in the bed-and-breakfast rented by the film crew. She missed the time away from Mason and Hudson, but the arrangement was better than leaving them in California for several weeks while she shot the movie in Pennsylvania.

Mac pulled a frown. “I know the recent abductions and murders have the Amish community on edge.”

“Not just the Amish community. I’m a little spooked myself, but … yes, things at the Yoders are fine,” Violet said.

In recent weeks, three Amish girls had disappeared from the community, and two of the teenagers were later found dead in a remote cabin. The shock of the tragedy had sent ripples through not just the Amish families of Paradise Ridge but the film crew as well—especially since the real life events bore some similarity to the story line of the movie.

But Violet couldn’t credit the recent crimes for the odd jitters dancing inside her. No, the blame for her butterflies belonged to a certain sexy boor with soul-piercing hazel eyes. Gunnar Colton was far more dangerous to her peace of mind.

Chapter 2

“Mary, I want you and your brothers to deliver this food before school,” Alice Yoder said and placed a basket on the wooden table next to a burlap sack.

Violet looked up from her breakfast of fresh baked bread with honey, fried ham and scrambled eggs with homemade cheese. Her Amish family might not use many of the conveniences the modern world took for granted, but Alice Yoder’s cooking was heavenly.

“Ja, Mamm,” seventeen-year-old Mary replied, then glanced toward Violet and said, “Yes, Mother.”

Violet shook her head. “No, don’t speak English for me. I want to learn Dutch.”

Mary glanced at her mother, who gave a nod, and the teenager faced Violet again. “As you wish.”

Alice finished instructing her daughter about the delivery in Pennsylvania Dutch, and the only words Violet understood were a name: Caleb Troyer.

“Troyer? Isn’t he the man whose sister was kidnapped?” Violet asked, her gut pitching with empathy for the young Amish man.

Alice’s face reflected her concern for Caleb. “Ja. His sister, Hannah. He’s been working with the Englischers to find her, which doesn’t leave much time for preparing meals. It is our duty to look after Caleb and his precious daughters during this difficult time.”

Violet smiled. “I think it’s awesome the way the Amish community rallies around their neighbors in times of crisis.”

“Awesome?” Mary blinked and frowned.

Violet realized her slang use of the term must have confused the girl.

“Oh, by that, I mean that it’s wonderful. Kind and generous.”

Mary nodded and fingered the strings of her black kapp, the head covering worn in respect for God and signifying her unwed status. Because of her role as an unwed Amish woman, Violet also wore the traditional dress, apron and black kapp that she would wear as Grace during the filming.

“William, David, are you ready for school?” Alice called to her young sons.

The two boys ran in from outside, their cheeks ruddy from the cold, and Alice handed them their burlap bags. “Go with your sister, and take these to Caleb Troyer. Go now. Don’t be late for school.”

Violet shoved to her feet. “I’ll walk with them. I’d like to meet Caleb and his family, offer my assistance, as well.”

Alice handed Mary the basket and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “You may walk with Mary and the boys, but do not be offended if Caleb refuses your offer. We take care of our own but do not want outside influences or help from Englischers.”

“I understand.” Violet pushed away from the table and hurried to the door to catch up with Mary and the Yoder boys. “Thank you for breakfast, Alice. I’ll help you clean up when I get back.”

Alice waved her out the door. “No, you are our guest. Go on before the boys leave you.”

William and David had, in fact, already trotted to the road that led to the Yoder’s farm. Mary lifted a hand to wave goodbye to her father, tending the horses in the stable, and Violet, pulling on a thick cape for warmth, hustled to catch up, her feet crunching through the thick frost. Her plain leather lace-up boots and calf-length skirt of her dress made running difficult, especially on the uneven earth of the Yoder’s farm, but Mary lingered at the road, waiting for her.

“How far is the Troyer’s home?” Violet asked, readjusting her kapp, which had come askew as she rushed.

“Not far.” Mary pointed down the rural road. “It is the next farm. Only two miles.”

Violet chuckled, her breath forming a white cloud in the cold air. “Your definition of not far and mine are a little different. No wonder you all can eat so well and stay in shape.”

Mary angled her a shy smile and started to ask a question but was distracted by her brothers’ playful bumping and swatting of each other. “William, settle down.”

“I can beat you to the next road!” David shouted and took off running. William cast a quick glance to his sister then gave chase.

“David!” Mary called to no avail. She sighed heavily. “Boys are so …” She waved a hand in frustration, clearly searching for the right word that wouldn’t get her in trouble.

Violet caught the girl’s hand in hers. “Yes, they are! Very …” And she raised her own hand in frustration, then laughed. Mary’s smile broadened, and Violet clasped her other hand around Mary’s. “And they only get worse. Men are especially … aurgh!” Violet raised her eyes toward the sky in exasperation.

When Mary chuckled, Violet squeezed the teenager’s hand and studied her lightly freckled face. Her fresh-scrubbed, makeup-free skin glowed with the dewiness of youth and innocence. Her wide gray eyes held no guile, only an earnest love for life, and her dark brown hair was twisted up in the traditional modest bun.

“Mary Yoder,” Violet said, grinning, “do you have any idea how lovely you are?”

Her compliment obviously caught the girl off guard. A pink blush blossomed in her cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide a small smile before sobering a bit. She cast Violet a guarded look. “Vanity is a sin.”

Ah, right. That belief was the reason why the Amish had no mirrors in their houses.

“Hmm, in that case I know quite a few women—and men—in Hollywood who are in big trouble!” Violet returned with a wink.

The rumble of a car engine drew Violet’s attention to the large silver sedan that was driving rapidly toward them on the country road—far too rapidly considering how narrow the road was and how frequently the lane was used by Amish pedestrians or horse buggies, she thought, twisting her mouth in a scowl.

“Careful,” she said, taking Mary by the arm to tug her farther from the road, “give this idiot—” Violet stopped abruptly as the silver car skidded to a stop a few yards ahead of them, blocking their path. Her immediate thought was the car had been sent by the production staff to find her. Was there an emergency with her boys? If that were the case, why hadn’t they called her cell?

Violet patted her apron pocket—no phone. She’d left her cell on the bedside table at the Yoders’. Her pulse gave a little leap of concern, and she took a step toward the car.

The driver’s and passenger’s doors opened at the same time, and the two men who emerged wore ski masks. Alarm and confusion skittered through Violet, and even before she’d fully registered what was happening, she moved between the men and Mary. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going for a ride, sweetcheeks,” one of the men chortled as they advanced on Violet and Mary.

Icy comprehension slammed Violet. Panic exploded in her chest. “Mary, run!”

Violet staggered backward, spun, grabbed Mary’s sleeve as she scrambled to flee. But Mary was yanked from her grasp, and the girl screamed.

In the next second, a large hand seized Violet’s cape and yanked her backward. She whirled, arms raised, ready for battle. Adrenaline flooded her, fueling her fight, and every self-defense lesson she’d learned flashed through her brain.

Eyes. Throat. Groin. Do not let them take you to another location.

As a beefy arm slid around her waist, hauling her toward the car, Violet slammed her elbow behind her as hard as she could, stomped the man’s insole and reared her head back to smash his nose.

“Damn it, bitch! Stop that!” the man growled, digging his fingers in her arm.

She searched for Mary, fear for the Amish girl pounding through her.

“Fight them, Mary! Fight back!” she shouted as she struggled against her captor’s grip. She thought of Hudson and Mason, and her chest tightened. She wanted to see her babies again, couldn’t leave them orphaned. “Fight hard, Mary! Don’t let them get you in the car—no matter what!”

“Shut up!” the man holding her snarled and smacked his hand across her cheek.

“You bastard! Let me go!” Violet clawed at the man’s eyes. In her peripheral vision, Mary fell to the ground, and the other man snatched the girl’s head back by the hair. Fury exploded in Violet. “Don’t hurt her, you prick!”

“Such language,” her captor mocked, seizing her around the waist and lifting her easily from the ground. “What would Mamm and Datt say if they heard you? You’d be shunned, for sure.”

Violet aimed her boot heel at his kneecap and kicked. “I’m not Amish, jerk!”

Growling in pain, her captor loosened his grip and clutched at his leg. Violet struggled free and seized the opportunity. Gathering her wits and tossing off her encumbering cape, she assumed a combative stance.

“Nooo! Violet!” Mary wailed.

Violet jerked her gaze toward the teenager. The second man had Mary penned on the ground, his fist reared back.

“No!” Violet screamed.

The man’s hand bashed Mary’s jaw, and Violet flinched as if she’d received the blow.

“Not the face, idiot!” the other man shouted. “He said their faces can’t be messed up!”

The next punch landed in the girl’s gut. Mary cried out in pain, and, fury surging, Violet lunged at the man holding Mary. She threw herself on his back and wrapped an arm around his neck, squeezing, gouging at his face. “Get off her! Leave her alone!”

Immediately, Violet’s attacker grabbed the back of her dress and forcibly pried her off his partner. As she was dragged away, Violet struggled and fought the restraining arms. Twisting at the waist, she snagged her captor’s ski mask and dragged it off.

A prickle ran through Violet when she realized what she’d done. His face! She had a chance to identify the kidnappers. Look at his face!

But a blow to the side of her head caught Violet off guard, and she reeled back, tripping and toppling dizzily to the ground. She had only a split second to brace herself before a booted foot collided with her ribs. All the air in her lungs whooshed out from the impact, and a throb of pain ricocheted all the way to her skull. Violet curled in a ball to protect her ribs, her belly. Tears puddled in her eyes.

Hudson and Mason … she had to survive this to see her boys again.

“Damn it, get the girl in the car! We gotta get out of here!”

The ski cap was snatched from her hand, and she groaned internally. Summoning every ounce of her strength, Violet blinked her vision clear, focused on gathering details while she had the chance. The pair of paint-splattered work boots inches from her head faced the other direction. Her captor had turned his back. She angled her gaze up, glimpsed his short brown hair, bleeding nose, snarling mouth. Then he yanked the ski mask back over his face and turned toward her.

“Can’t leave no witnesses. I have to kill you now.” When he reached under his jacket, terror spurred Violet to action. She rolled away from him, despite the ache in her side, and sprang back to her feet. She risked a glance toward Mary. The girl was sobbing, still thrashing, still fighting the man who was dragging her by the feet toward the open car door.

Violet’s attacker advanced on her again, and a hunting knife flashed in his hand. Trembling, Violet backpedaled, scrambling mentally for a plan. She couldn’t outrun the men. They outweighed her, outnumbered her, had Mary’s life in their hands.

The knife-wielding thug edged closer. “Come on, bitch. You think you’re so smart?”

Disarm him, her brain shouted.

When he stepped closer, Violet swung her leg up in a roundhouse kick, aiming for his wrist. But at that same moment, he stabbed at her in an arc, and the blade jabbed deep in Violet’s thigh. Adrenaline masked the pain for the first several seconds, even when her assailant jerked the blade out and shoved her to the pavement. She landed with a bone-jarring, breath-stealing impact. The world around her blurred … slowed … muted.

Help! Help me, she screamed, but no sound came from her mouth.

Then white-hot pain seared her leg. She touched the wound and felt the sticky warmth of her own blood.

Straining to focus her eyes, she looked for her attacker and braced for another blow—the death blow.

“Get her arms!” The shout seemed to come from the end of a tunnel … underwater … from a deep well.

Then she heard a scream—piercing, terrifying, chilling.

Violet searched for Mary. She saw the men lift her and shove her in the backseat.

Still Mary fought, wrenched one hand free and grabbed the car door.

Violet sucked in a ragged breath. Mary! She stretched an arm toward the sedan and dragged herself an inch at a time. Her leg throbbed, but she ignored the pain. Mary! She had to help Mary.

One of the brutes slammed a fist in Mary’s gut, and the girl doubled over in pain. Her fingers slipped from the door. With a booted foot, the man shoved Mary inside and slammed the car door shut. “Go!”

Violet stretched out a trembling arm. “Noooo!”

With a squeal of tires, the silver sedan screeched away.

Horror punched Violet as she collapsed on the road, sobbing, “Mary!”

Chapter 3

Nausea roiled in Violet’s gut. Her leg was on fire. Her head throbbed.

But the worst pain came from her heart. She felt flayed, raw. She was tormented by the knowledge that the kidnappers had taken Mary, had hurt Mary. God only knew what they had in store for the Amish girl.

Violet pressed a hand to the gash in her leg, curled in the fetal position and sobbed harder than she had since she was a child.

Mary! They had Mary!

Her head swam, and the road seemed to rock beneath her.

On some level, she knew she needed to get help. She was bleeding, losing consciousness and aching from head to toe.

But she couldn’t erase from her mind’s eye the look of terror on Mary’s face as the animals shoved her in the backseat.

“Mary,” she muttered, feeling her strength seeping from her.

The clop of horse hooves rattled through her skull, and a sudden shadow blocked the sun from her eyes.

“Mein Gott!” a male voice said.

Gentle hands rolled her onto her back, probed the wound on her leg and lifted her.

A vague image of a dark beard, black hat and grim mouth wavered before her. She moaned in protest as the man moved her. “Mary,” she rasped.

The man said something to her in Pennsylvania Dutch as he laid her on a hard surface. The scents of dirt and horse sweat filled her nose, and she struggled not to retch. Near-blinding pain reverberated through her as the surface below her lurched into motion, bouncing roughly down the road. A buggy …

Violet’s vision dimmed. Her consciousness faded in and out as her Amish rescuer jerked to a stop, shouted words she didn’t understand. But a name filtered through the haze.

Troyer. She’d been on her way to visit Caleb Troyer. It was the next farm … not far.

“Mary …”

She heard more voices—urgent voices, young voices. “Violet! What happened?”

Hudson? Mason? No … David and William.

More German. Another name—Dr. Colton.

A bandage was wrapped quickly and tightly around her thigh. Dizzying pain shot through her. And then she was being lifted again.

This man was younger, strong, capable. Caleb Troyer?

“Hold on, Violet. I have you,” he said in English, his voice compassionate and soothing. “We will get you to the doctor.”

She tried to speak, had to tell them … what?

“Where’s Mary?” one of the young voices asked. Mary …

Violet’s mouth was dry, and her tongue felt swollen to twice its normal size. She tried to speak, tried to tell them. “Took … her …”

“Easy, ma’am. You are going to be all right. Dr. Colton is a good doctor. The best.”

“Mary,” she rasped, curling her fingers in the front of Caleb’s shirt. “Took Mary …”

Caleb stilled, met her gaze with piercing gray eyes. “What?”

“They … took Mary …”

Pain filled Caleb’s face, and his jaw tightened. She felt the tremor that shook him.

He set Violet down in another buggy and shouted something in Pennsylvania Dutch to the other man. As Caleb Troyer cracked a whip at his horses, sending the buggy forward with a lurch, he added, “And find Emma Colton. Tell her to meet me at her brother’s office!”

Peering over the top of the résumé he held, Derek Colton studied the attractive blonde sitting across his office. “Your credentials are impressive, Ms. Phillips, but I don’t see any references here.”

Amelia Phillips’s fingers tightened slightly on the arms of her chair. “Well, no. I didn’t list any because—”

The door to Derek’s office flew open. “Dr. Colton, come quickly!” his receptionist blurted without preamble. “We have an emergency.”

Derek frowned as he lurched to his feet. “What is it?”

“An Amish woman. Caleb Troyer brought her in. She’s bleeding badly and unresponsive.” His receptionist jumped out of his way as he rushed to his office door.

His gaze flicked briefly to Amelia Phillips. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to finish later.”

Amelia nodded, her hazel eyes wide with concern. “Can I be of help?”

Derek hesitated, giving her a quick assessing glance. “I … yeah. Scrub in. Nancy will show you where everything is, then meet me in exam room two.”

He turned without waiting for a response and hustled to the sink to wash his own hands and don a pair of latex gloves.

Caleb Troyer stood in the waiting room with a petite woman limp in his arms.

“Bring her back here, Caleb!” Derek shouted, motioning to the exam room where a vast array of top-notch medical equipment waited. When Derek had opened his practice in Eden Falls, Gunnar had quietly funded the purchase of state of the art facilities, setting Derek up to provide most any treatments or tests his patients needed.

Caleb hurried into the exam room and laid the woman gently on the exam table. “I don’t know her name. Isaac Lapp found her on the road and brought her to my house. Her leg has a deep cut, and her head has a large bump. Bruises and scrapes …”

Derek stepped closer to begin his examination, and his breath froze in his chest when he saw the woman’s pale face. “This is Violet Chastain, the actress! I just met her yesterday. Why would—”

Caleb caught Derek’s arm in a firm grip, stopping him. “We need to get Emma here. The woman was still conscious when she arrived at my house. She said someone kidnapped Mary Yoder. I think the men who took my sister have Mary now, too.”

Derek’s pulse kicked, and he muttered a curse word under his breath as he began peeling the homemade bandage off Violet’s leg. “Have my receptionist call Emma and Tate. You can wait out front for them, tell them what you know.” He jerked a nod toward his patient. “Thank you for bringing her in.”

As Caleb left, a scrubs-clad figure bustled in drying her hands on a sterile cloth. Derek arched an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

“You have to be quick when lives are at stake, right?” Amelia peered past him to the exam table and snapped on a pair of gloves. Immediately, she clipped a pulse ox monitor on Violet’s finger, then grabbed the blood pressure cuff from the countertop. “Heart rate 60. BP is 80 over 65. Oxygen 90 percent. Starting 2L oxygen now.” She retrieved the oxygen tank and non-rebreather mask from the corner of the room and settled the mask over Violet’s mouth and nose.

Derek cut Violet’s skirt off her so he could work better, then opened his mouth to ask Amelia for a thigh cuff, only to find her turning from the cabinets with one in her hand. Amelia met his gaze. “Where do you keep your IV kits?”

He jerked his head toward the cabinet across the room. “Top shelf, left side. How are her pupils?”

“Even and responsive to light. Her skin is cool and clammy.”

While Derek applied the thigh cuff, Amelia started a saline IV, finished undressing their patient, draped her with a sterile sheet and assessed Violet’s other wounds.

Satisfied that Amelia knew what she was doing, Derek finished unwrapping the pressure bandage Caleb had tied around Violet’s leg and frowned at the deep gash. “Looks like she was stabbed. There’s separation through several layers of muscle and—”

Amelia dabbed the wound with a piece of sterile gauze, absorbing some of the pooling blood so that Derek could better examine the severity of the injury, then flushed the wound with saline. He flicked a startled glance to her as she ripped open a suture tray before continuing. “Thanks.” He carefully probed the wound with a long swab. “The femoral artery appears to be intact, thank God, but several smaller veins will need ligation. What did you find?”

“Abrasions and contusions to her head and face but nothing critical.”

“Okay, push fentanyl and midazolam. Let’s get her sewn up.”

For the next hour, Derek labored over Violet’s laceration, ligating the torn blood vessels and suturing the layers of muscle and skin. While he worked, Amelia monitored the actress’s vitals and cleaned the less serious scrapes and bumps. With gently probing fingers, she felt Violet’s scalp and searched her hair for other wounds. “In addition to the bump on her forehead, she’s got a rather large knot just over her right ear. External swelling. Do you want to send her to the hospital for a CT scan?”

“No need. I have a machine here. I’ll have my tech do a scan when I’m finished with her.” With the crisis past, Derek paused and watched Amelia work for a few seconds, remembering how she’d anticipated his every need, known and executed protocol without his directives, and ably and efficiently assisted him on every aspect of Violet’s treatment. “I appreciate your jumping in the mix and helping out. You were a model of professionalism and composure under pressure.”

Amelia cut a quick awkward glance toward him as she wiped disinfectant on Violet’s scraped cheek. “I’m glad I could help.”

Derek bent his head over his suturing, pulling closed another small stitch. “You did more than help. Your nursing skills may have made the difference in saving Violet Chastain’s life.”

Amelia’s head snapped up. “Violet Chastain?”

Derek pulled a grin. “The one and only … our patient.”

Amelia’s hazel eyes widened as she studied her patient’s face. “Holy cow, it is! I thought she was Amish … I mean, the dress and …”

Derek chuckled. “Violet’s here filming a movie. She plays an Amish woman, which explains her clothing.” He frowned as he snipped the surgical thread he’d just tied off. “Someone should call her director, let him know about Violet. I have his number in my desk.”

Amelia nodded and chewed her lip. “If her laceration is a knife wound as you suspect …”

When she let her sentence trail off, Derek eyed her, puzzled by her obvious uneasiness. “The police are already on their way, if that’s what you’re asking. We have reason to suspect a girl Violet was with when she was attacked was kidnapped.”

Amelia’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! How horrible!”

“Exactly.” He lowered his gaze to Violet’s wound and began applying an antibiotic ointment and pressure dressing. “She’ll need a tetanus booster before she leaves, but you can wake her up. I’m finished.”

Derek removed his latex gloves and headed to the sink to wash up, cutting side glances to the nurse who’d performed so admirably under pressure. References or not, he wanted someone with her ability and cool head on his team. “Ms. Phillips?”

Amelia glanced at him.

“I think you’ve just been baptized by fire. If you want the job, it’s yours.”

A bright smile lit her face, and he was struck again by how attractive she was. “Thank you, Doctor. I accept.”

“Ms. Chastain?”

Violet angled her head toward the door where an auburn-haired woman and tall, rugged-looking man with light brown hair waited.

“Yes?” she said weakly, her body and emotions both drained to empty.

“I’m FBI Special Agent Emma Colton, and this is my brother, Philadelphia detective Tate Colton. We’re working the case involving the abduction of Amish girls in the area. If you feel up to it, we need to ask you some questions,” the woman said.

Though she had no energy, a heavy heart and a painkiller-induced daze muddying her thoughts, Violet knew she had information the police needed to rescue Mary. “I’ll do my best.”

Emma Colton stepped in and moved the chair beside Violet’s bed. Tate was propped against the wall, a mini-recorder in hand, ready to take her statement.

“Tell us what happened to you and Mary.” Emma flipped open a notepad. “Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out, no matter how minor the detail may seem.”

Violet tried to shift into a position more conducive for the interview, but her weak arms gave out and her injured leg, elevated with several cushions, throbbed in protest. Sighing and sinking back into her pillow, Violet let her mind rewind to that morning, to Mary’s sweet smile.

Vanity is a sin.

Violet’s heart wrenched, and moisture puddled in her eyes. “I was … walking with Mary to Caleb Troyer’s farm. Taking him food.” She wet her dry lips and squeezed the blanket covering her. “Mary’s brothers had run ahead.”

With effort, Violet related the whole terrifying incident from the moment the silver car had screeched to a stop in front of them, blocking their path, to the gut-wrenching moment the men shoved Mary into the backseat and raced away.

“You said you were able to pull one of the men’s ski masks off.” Emma met her gaze. “Did you see his face?”

Violet nodded. “Briefly. Just a glimpse.”

“Could you describe him to a sketch artist to compose a rendering?” Tate asked.

Violet shifted her gaze Tate. “I’ll do whatever I can to get Mary back.” More tears flooded her sinuses and dripped from her eyelashes. “They hurt her. Hit her.” She shook her head, and guilt stabbed her. “It’s my fault.”

Emma frowned. “What is your fault?”

“I told her to fight them. To resist. She did and … they hurt her.”

Emma wrapped her fingers around Violet’s wrist. “Don’t take this on yourself. The only ones to blame are the bastards who took her and the evil men behind this online sex ring.”

Violet’s heart lurched. “Sex ring?”

Emma and her brother exchanged dark glances, and Violet felt her gorge rise. She swallowed hard to keep from retching.

“The kidnapped girls are being solicited online for sex and other depravities,” Tate said grimly.

Violet trembled, imagining innocent Mary Yoder in the hands of such sick men, forced into perverted situations and abused for the pleasure of vile men. “Dear God … Mary!” She divided a stricken, panicked glance between Emma and Tate. “You have to find her! She’s just seventeen! She just a precious, innocent girl, who—”

“I know. I know.” Emma squeezed Violet’s fingers, interrupting her. “We’re as appalled and disgusted by this case as you are. And we are doing everything we can to get these girls back. I promise you. The information you have could be key to recovering not only Mary but …” Emma paused, and through their joined hands, Violet felt the FBI agent shudder. “Caleb Troyer’s sister was taken, as well.”

A bone-deep fatigue and grief washed through Violet. She closed her eyes, searching for the strength to continue the interview. Mary’s life, the lives and innocence of the other missing Amish girls lay in her hands, in her ability to remember and identify her attackers.

Can’t leave no witnesses. I have to kill you now.

Icy fear settled over her like a cold morning fog. “They … they meant to kill me,” she rasped.

“What?” Tate asked stepping closer to the bed, his brow furrowed.

“Because I saw his face. I can identify him and—” she shivered “—he said he had to kill me.”

Emma and Tate exchanged worried looks.

“I think they believed I would die from my wounds … or they wouldn’t have left me.”

The monitor registering her heart rate began to beep loudly, and Derek Colton, followed by a blonde woman in scrubs, hustled into the recovery room. “Interview’s over. Her heart rate is too high.”

Emma scowled. “Derek, we still have questions about—”

“The interview is over,” the doctor repeated firmly. “For now. My patient needs rest, not more stress.”

“We need to arrange protection for her.” Tate slid the mini-recorder in his shirt pocket. “If word leaks out that she survived the attack, the thugs who stabbed her will come after her.”

Violet’s stomach pitched. “Oh, God.”

“We can post an officer at the door of your hospital room,” Emma offered.

Violet raised a trembling hand to her temple and shot a pleading glance to Dr. Colton. “Please … can’t I recover at home? Hospitals … there’s no such thing as privacy for a public figure at a hospital. There’ll always be another patient or dietary worker or orderly looking to make a fast buck selling info about the famous patient in room 323.” In the case of her late husband, the leak had been a candy striper confiding to the wrong friends that she’d delivered flowers to the Adam Ryder, who was recovering from a drug overdose. Except Adam hadn’t recovered and the media frenzy had been salt in an already bitter wound. Violet sighed. “News that I survived the attack is sure to get out if I go to the hospital.”

“Do you really think the bed-and-breakfast where the movie crew is staying will be any more private?” Dr. Colton asked. “You need to be somewhere a medical professional can keep tabs on your progress or any setbacks.”

Violet frowned, too tired to have to deal with major decisions but desperate not to be thrust into a volatile situation. “I can … hire a private nurse.”

“Derek,” Emma started, clicking her ball point pen closed and clipping it to her pad, “we have plenty of rooms at the ranch. With Tate and I both staying in the main house until this case is closed, she’ll have protection. Plus you can check in on her anytime.”

Derek arched an eyebrow, and Violet shook her head. “I couldn’t impose. Surely, there’s some other—”

“The ranch is the perfect solution. Privacy, protection, someone there around the clock …”

“But—” Violet glanced from one Colton to another “—I …”

“Unless you have serious objections or a comparable, viable alternative …” Derek folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head, inviting her to state her case.

“I … I …” Violet’s muddled and weary brain blanked.

“Then the ranch it is. Doctor’s orders.” Derek lifted the corner of his mouth in a Denzel Washington–worthy grin.

“And you’re not an imposition. We’re glad to have you,” Tate said.

Violet’s head spun, and she couldn’t be sure if it was the painkiller or the speed of changing events. “My kids …”

“Bring them and their nanny. The nursery hasn’t been used since Sawyer outgrew it. Your boys will love it.” Derek headed for the door, aiming his finger at his siblings. “I’m going to take care of another patient now. No more questions for her until she’s had a chance to sleep a few hours.”

Tate scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll go make arrangements to transfer her to the ranch. We’ll need a way to distract the media long enough to get her in a vehicle without detection.”

Violet’s heart sunk. “The media is here? Already?”

“We had to notify your director, and word got out.” Emma sat back in the chair and pulled a face that expressed her low opinion of the paparazzi. “Don’t worry. We’ll get rid of the vultures before you’re moved. I promise we’ll keep you and your family safe.”

“Vampires.” Casting a disgruntled glance to the gathering of reporters and photographers crowding the parking lot, Gunnar left the ranch’s SUV at the back door to Derek’s office and punched the keypad to the security system to let himself in his brother’s clinic. He’d been having a late breakfast with Emma at the main house when his sister had been called in to Derek’s clinic to follow up on a new development in the Amish kidnapping cases. Apparently another girl had been abducted, and the bloodthirsty media couldn’t wait to broadcast the juicy details of the poor girl’s misfortune. “No comment!” he shouted to the news crew that shoved a microphone in his face and tried to shoulder their way into the clinic. “Get lost or we’ll arrest you for trespassing.”

He yanked the door closed and stalked down the hall, grumbling under his breath. He found Derek in his office and folded his arms over his chest. “So … what’s going on? Emma was all cryptic on the phone about needing the SUV and some muscle for a transport.”

Derek rose from behind his desk. “That’s right. First we have to send a decoy out, a goose for the paparazzi to follow, then we’ll load Violet and her kids in the SUV for you to drive to the ranch.”

Gunnar frowned. “Violet? As in Chastain? As in the starlet I met yesterday?”

“The same.” Derek motioned for his brother to follow. “She’s back here.”

“Whoa. Hold up, Doc. Are you telling me you got me out here to play chauffeur for an actress?”

Derek faced him. “We need your help, and we needed the SUV. It’s important that Violet not be followed. We have to protect her, assure her privacy.”

“Why?” Gunnar grumbled. “That part of the contract you signed yesterday for them filming on the ranch? I asked to be left out of that, remember?”

Derek frowned and stepped closer, pitching his voice lower. “This has nothing to do with the movie. Violet is my patient. She was attacked today and nearly bled out. The girl she was with was kidnapped.”

Gunnar stiffened, straightening his back and raising his chin. A prickle of guilt for his surly assumption slithered down his back. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Violet got her attacker’s ski mask off for a moment and saw his face. Emma fears the guy might come after Violet. Try to kill her to keep her quiet.”

Gunnar drew his brow into a V. “Hell.”

“Guess you saw the cameras outside?”

“Out in force.” Gunnar rubbed his unshaven chin, an itch of suspicion starting between his shoulders. “So I’m part of some police operation to get Violet into hiding somewhere?”

“Exactly.”

His fists clenched. He might be highly trained and capable of this bait and switch transfer, but the idea of putting his skills on the line left him unsettled. When he’d left the military, he’d thought his “operation” days were over. Helping execute Emma’s plan was an uncomfortable reminder of his last mission in Afghanistan—and his greatest failure.

A high-pitched squeal rang down the hall, and Gunnar turned in time to see a blond-haired toddler race into the corridor giggling … and then a second, a carbon copy of the first.

A young woman of about college age appeared, her face pale and her eyes reflecting deep fatigue. “Come on, you rascals. Not today. Rani is too tired to play chase.”

“Patients?” Gunnar asked Derek.

“No. They’re Violet’s twins and her nanny. Your passengers.”

Gunnar’s gut pitched. Being around kids was hard enough without being responsible for them, even if only for the few minutes it took to drive them to—

“And where am I taking them?”

Derek continued down the hall, waving Gunnar forward. “The ranch, of course.”

Gunnar’s steps faltered. “What?”

Derek stepped into a room where Emma and Tate conferred in one corner and a blonde nurse tended to the wisp of a woman laid up in a bed. Gunnar almost didn’t recognize the injured woman as the same pixie who’d stood up to him yesterday. Violet Chastain’s eyes looked hollow, sunken and desperately sad. Garish cuts and bruises marred her porcelain skin, and her cheeks, which had sported spots of color as they’d sparred yesterday, now had a sickly pallor. Propped with pillows, her leg was bandaged, her foot bare. The scrubs she wore hung loosely on her petite frame, making her appear even tinier and more defenseless.

Her doelike brown eyes met his as he stepped in the room, and instead of the crackle of attraction he’d experienced yesterday, Gunnar felt mule kicked. She held his gaze only long enough to register his presence, then turned away.

An image of the broken bodies that had littered the marketplace in Kabul flashed in his mind’s eye, and his breath hung in his lungs. Violet Chastain’s vulnerability raked through him, scraping raw memories. He shuddered, and fisting his hands at his sides, he crammed the haunting echoes of the bombing down, locked them away. In their place, a protective instinct and warrior spirit surged to the forefront. Some bastard had done this to her, had beaten her and kidnapped an innocent Amish girl. Fury poured through him until he shook with it. A mandate to defend her, to avenge her, to heal her blindsided him.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Emma said when she saw him. “So here’s the plan. Derek’s receptionist has volunteered to be our decoy. She’ll be dressed up in some of Violet’s clothes, sunglasses, hat, the works, and Tate will pretend to be escorting her back to the movie set. They’ll leave, and with luck, the media horde will give chase, clearing the parking lot for us to sneak Violet and her kids through the back door and into the SUV. You take them all back to the ranch, making sure you aren’t followed, and get them safely into the house. Simple as that. Got it?”

“Got it.” His voice sounded rough and raw even to his own ears, and when Violet raised a gaunt look to him, he experienced another gut kick.

Tate turned to Derek. “We’re ready. Can she be moved now?”

Derek shifted his attention to the blonde nurse. “How are her vitals, Amelia?” The nurse rattled off the information while Derek checked Violet’s bandaged leg. “Okay. She’s good to go. Gunnar, she’ll need that wheelchair behind you.”

“Decoy leaving now.” Tate headed up front to escort the receptionist out the front door.

Gunnar retrieved the wheelchair and rolled it to the bed. While the nurse lifted Violet’s injured leg, removing the pillows beneath it, Violet began gingerly scooting her healthy leg toward the edge of the bed.

“Wait,” Gunnar said, then scooped her carefully into his arms and set her down in the wheelchair.

She hissed in pain, and he narrowed a concerned look on her. “Okay?”

Violet nodded. “It wasn’t you. Any movement hurts my leg, but I’m all right now.” She gripped his hand. “Will you make sure Rani and my kids get in the car safely?”

Her hand felt so small on his, and the plea in her expression burrowed deep inside him. Gunnar’s mouth dried. “Of course.”

The nurse took her position behind the wheelchair, ready to roll Violet out when the coast was clear, and Gunnar marched down the hall to prepare the nanny and two toddlers to leave.

The nanny—Rani, Violet had called her—looked up when he entered the exam room where they waited. Her eyes were bleary, and her cheeks were flushed. Gunnar frowned at her haggard appearance but assumed the nanny was simply upset over Violet’s injuries. She had the twins occupied with a snack of graham crackers and juice but rallied when she spotted him.

“Time to go?” Rani asked, then covered a cough.

“Soon. Do you have car seats for the kids? We’ll need to install them before we leave.”

She nodded and pointed to the corner of the room where two safety seats, three suitcases and a large diaper bag waited … along with two pet carriers.

“She’s bringing animals?” Gunnar groaned, visualizing whimpering little Chihuahuas or yipping Pomeranians.

Rani nodded. “Romeo and Sophie.” She paused to cough, then added, “They’re part of the family. She doesn’t go anywhere without them.”

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from commenting on Hollywood divas and their portable mutts, Gunnar stepped close to the nearest carrier and peeked inside. A fuzzy black-and-white cat blinked back at him, three black spots decorating his nose. Gunnar arched an eyebrow, not sure if cats were an improvement over snippy dogs or not.

Once Tate called to report they had the entourage of reporters following them across town, Emma checked the parking lot for stragglers, then gave the all clear. Derek helped Gunnar load the luggage and cats and buckle the safety seats in the SUV, while Emma assembled everyone at the back door. When Derek gave the signal, Gunnar hustled Rani and the twins, one boy in each arm, to the Suburban. Derek buckled one boy in while Rani tended to the second. Gunnar swept the parking lot with an encompassing glance, and Amelia wheeled Violet out.

“Gunnar, will you do the honors again? It’ll save time,” Emma asked, hitching her head toward Violet.

He answered by stepping to the passenger door and silently lifting Violet into the front seat and fastening her seat belt for her. He caught the faint scent of flowers as he leaned across her, and he gritted his teeth when an inappropriate spark of attraction spun through him.

“Damn!” Emma snarled behind him, then thunked him on the back. “Hurry up! Get the door closed.”

Gunnar jerked back and closed the passenger door before facing his sister. “What’s wrong?”

“Across the street. The car parked by the tree.” She gave her head a slight hitch toward the street, her face taut with frustration and disgust. “Telephoto lens.”

Amelia raised her head to look where Emma indicated, and she drew a sharp breath. Ducking her chin again, the nurse kept her head down and hurried back inside the clinic with the wheelchair as if she were the celebrity needing to stay out of sight.

Gunnar scowled at Emma. “Make sure the car doesn’t follow me.” Then to Derek, he said, “Let’s move.”

Chapter 4

Derek piled in the far backseat with Rani, and Emma took the middle seat with the twins while Gunnar drove. He kept an eye on his side and rearview mirrors, and while he didn’t see any vehicle following them, he drove a circuitous route back to the ranch.

No one breathed easily until the Suburban was inside the gates of the Double C and hidden by the trees surrounding the property. Gunnar parked in front of the main house, and the loading process was reversed, except that he carried Violet all the way into the living room. He settled Violet on the long couch and helped her prop up her leg.

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