Hank moved around the porch, aware that she was watching him.

The thought was exciting, and he felt a flush creep up his face as he realized that he found Stephanie a very desirable woman.

He knelt to examine the tear, just large enough to allow a big snake to slither through. “Where was the second snake?”

“In the sunroom.” She hesitated. “The door was open. I just assumed that it must have been left that way.”

Hank took a slow breath and examined the screen one more time. “I’m not trying to scare you, but I think someone cut the screen and let the snakes in. I think they left the door open, too.”

“Why would someone do that?” she asked, her voice losing confidence.

He stood up and met her gaze. “To run you off.”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Spring is in the air and we have a month of fabulous books for you to curl up with as the March winds howl outside:

 Familiar is back on the prowl, in Caroline Burnes’s Familiar Texas. And Rocky Mountain Maneuvers marks the conclusion of Cassie Miles’s COLORADO CRIME CONSULTANTS trilogy.

 Jessica Andersen brings us an exciting medical thriller, Covert M.D.

 Don’t miss the next ECLIPSE title, Lisa Childs’s The Substitute Sister.

 Definitely check out our April lineup. Debra Webb is starting THE ENFORCERS, an exciting new miniseries you won’t want to miss. Also look for a special 3-in-1 story from Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson and Patricia Rosemoor called Desert Sons.

Each month, Harlequin Intrigue brings you a variety of heart-stopping romantic suspense and chilling mystery. Don’t miss a single book!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Familiar Texas

Caroline Burnes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Caroline Burnes has written seventeen books in her FEAR FAMILIAR series. She has her own black cat, Familiar’s prototype, E. A. Poe, as well as Miss Vesta, Gumbo, Maggie and Chester. All are strays and all have brought love and joy into her life. An advocate for animal rights, Caroline urges all her readers to spay and neuter their pets. Unchecked reproduction causes pain and suffering for hundreds of thousands of innocent animals.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Stephanie Chisholm—She has come home to Pecos, Texas, to settle her uncle Albert and aunt Emily McCammon’s ranch estate. Once she returns to the small town she fled from years before, she realizes that her relatives may have been murdered and their cattle ranch stolen.

Hank Dalton—He is the rancher next door, a man who has learned the price of loving the wrong woman. He needs water on the McCammon ranch, and he’s not too proud to ask for it. Once he meets Stephanie, his belief system is challenged.

Familiar—The cat returns to Texas to help a young woman unravel events that led up to her relatives’ unexpected deaths.

Nate Peebles—A lawyer with a steadily growing list of “inherited” ranches.

Rodney Jenkins—He works on the McCammon ranch, and he’s always in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sam Hodges—Sheriff of Pecos, but with so much going on, should Stephanie trust him to help her, or is he bought and paid for by the people who are trying to kill her?

Johnny Benton—He was engaged to marry Stephanie, with her relatives’ blessing. When she fled the ranch life and Texas for a high-powered career in advertising, did he truly understand? Or has he carried a grudge for years?

Jackie Benton—Johnny’s wife of a decade. She seems eager to see Stephanie succeed in Pecos, but what truth lies beneath her smile?

Wanda Nell Hempstead—Works as a salesclerk, but she turns up all over town. What is her connection to the Bentons, and why does she hate Familiar so much?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

The tumbleweed blowing against the cemetery fence is so-o-o appropriate. If Oliver Stone decided to do a movie set in Hell, he’d locate here in Pecos, Texas, a place that looks like the ends of the earth. Hot, dry, and desolate don’t even begin to do it justice. The only thing worth looking at is Stephanie Chisholm, a woman with a lot of fortitude and grit, not to mention gams that could bring a guy to his knees. Look at her, standing with her shoulders squared and her jaw firm against the backdrop of funeral flowers and two open graves. Her dark curls are as wild and free as the Texas breeze. Even with grief in her eyes, she’s a magnificent woman. I’ve only known Stephanie for two days, but I know her well enough to know this is breaking her heart, but not her will. She’s come home to Texas to say goodbye to her uncle Albert and aunt Emily, the couple who raised her after her parents divorced—it seemed neither one wanted her. They were her real family, and now they’re dead.

Dead in a very suspicious manner, I might add.

Stephanie faxed me the coroner’s report—accidental death when a barn structure collapsed during a wind sheer. Right. I checked the Internet weather reports and Pecos, Texas, was the only town in the Southwest to suffer a wind sheer on May 26. Everywhere else in the region had perfect weather, except the one spot where the barn stood. Neighbors half a mile away didn’t notice any bad weather. No, this killer wind blew out of a perfectly clear sky and collapsed a barn that had been standing for fifty years. Yeah, a freak, killer wind. Stephanie is right. There’s something rotten in Texas.

Stephanie has come to the cemetery to pay her respects to her relatives, but I’m here to gather information. About fifty people are attending the gravesite rites. Some are obviously cowboys who worked for the McCammons. There’s one who looks like a young Rowdy Yates, lean and muscular and filled with that peculiar cowboy grace. He’s staring at Stephanie as if he’d never seen a woman, but she’s too busy controlling her emotions to notice him.

Beside the cowboys are a little cluster of city folk who don’t fit in at all. I look around and watch the mourners watching Stephanie. A few of the older attendees really seem upset at the deaths. There are some here, though, who arouse my suspicions. The way the McCammons died is one thing we’re looking into. The other is this new will that suddenly turned up. Stephanie has been completely disinherited. There is no mention of the McCammons’s plan to turn the ranch into a trust, something they’d often discussed with Stephanie.

Damn! Stephanie is crying. She isn’t making a sound, but huge tears are running down her flawless cheeks. Behind her sunglasses, her hazel eyes are filled with pain. Let me give her a little kitty nuzzle and a love bite. There, that made her smile. She’s pulling herself together, and just in time, too.

The minister is closing his service. So far, no one has spoken to Stephanie or offered a word of sympathy. The mourners are breaking up, and Stephanie is signaling me to join her at the Jeep we rented in Dallas. We’re not going to escape unscathed, though; here comes a blond woman with a determined stride.

THE SUN BROILED the back of Hank Dalton’s neck, and as soon as the prayer was over, he put his straw cowboy hat back on his dark curls, eager for the moment when he could remove the confining suit coat. Only his respect for Albert McCammon would have forced him into a black coat on a hot May day. Albert McCammon had been a genius with a herd of cows and some parched dirt. He’d spend many a hot day teaching Hank how to settle an injured cow or train a horse. And on those days, Albert had talked often of his niece, Stephanie Chisholm, a woman so beautiful the angels smiled in her presence and so smart she could accomplish anything she set her mind to.

Now, Hank found himself staring at the young woman, and she was even lovelier than Albert had described. He guessed her to be about thirty-five, a willowy five foot seven inches, with dark hair that looked like it was made for sensual moments spread across white sheets. For all of her beauty, she was struggling to hold back her tears. He liked the way she held herself straight, even though she had to know that everyone in town was talking about her, and the talk wasn’t pleasant.

He shifted so that he could get a better view of her and noticed the black cat that seemed to lurk around her legs. What kind of woman traveled with a cat? He had a dog, Biscuit, a blue heeler that was indispensable working the cattle. But a cat? He wondered what Albert’s heeler, Banjo, would think about a cat. What would become of Banjo? If Stephanie didn’t want the dog, Hank would take him. In fact, Hank would be perfectly willing to take the entire McCammon Ranch. That was heavy on his mind as he stood among the mourners and listened to the service that concluded Albert and Emily’s days on earth.

“I wouldn’t be mooning after Stephanie Chisholm,” Jackie Benton whispered in his ear.

Taken aback, Hank glanced at Jackie. The blonde was normally easygoing. Hank suddenly remembered the old gossip about how her husband, Johnny, had been dumped by Stephanie.

“What? Stephanie is a man eater?”

Jackie shook her head, her eyes dancing with amusement. “No, she’s just a city girl. She doesn’t have any use for the ranch life.”

“Is that so?” Hank felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe Stephanie would sell the McCammon Ranch to him. If she wasn’t interested in ranching, she’d have to do something with it. A ranch couldn’t just look after itself.

“Her life is martini lunches, cocktail galas and art gallery openings. She’d die here.”

“But she has a link to the land. This was where she grew up,” Hank said, thinking about the thirty thousand acres that comprised the ranch. The big benefit to the McCammon land was Twisty Creek. Last year, Hank had an abundant water supply in the form of Charity Branch. But land developers had put in a subdivision north of his place and diverted the branch so that now, he was having to pump water in for irrigation and his cattle.

“From what Johnny told me, Stephanie always wanted to live in a city. Even as a teenager she was mooning and dreaming about the excitement of New York. She has her own advertising agency in New York now, along with her Fifth Avenue penthouse. She makes a ton of money—look at her. Those are designer clothes, and I should know. Look how they fit her. She’s a dress designer’s delight.”

Hank couldn’t tell if Jackie was envious of Stephanie or admiring. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to the minister, who was getting ready to say the last prayer before Albert and Emily were returned to the earth.

“I will say Stephanie has spunk,” Jackie allowed. “Folks around town feel that she abandoned Albert and Emily. There was a betting pool going down at the café that she wouldn’t even show up for the funeral. I guess she proved them wrong.”

“I didn’t live here when she was still in town, but I spent a lot of time with Albert. All I ever heard from him about her was a lot of praise. She made him proud.”

“That’s right,” Jackie said. “I think I’ll go over and invite her to the house for the meal.”

STEPHANIE FOCUSED on the Jeep only twenty yards in front of her. If she could just make it, then she could close the door, drive away, and give in to the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. Uncle Albert and Aunt Emily were dead. She’d never see them again. She’d been away in New York when they needed her. The guilt and grief were so heavy Stephanie stumbled.

“Ms. Chisholm!”

She turned to face the blond woman barreling toward her. Stephanie took in her expensive black suit, the Italian heels and the hat with a veil which settled perfectly on short blond curls.

“Yes?” she said, knowing that she’d have to talk to people to find out what had really happened. But she’d never seen this woman before.

“Ms. Chisholm, I’m Jackie Benton, Johnny’s wife.”

Stephanie took an involuntary step back. She’d scanned the crowd and hadn’t seen Johnny Benton, the man she’d been engaged to marry more than a dozen years before. The man she’d all but left at the altar when she’d run away to New York.

“Thank you for coming to the funeral,” Stephanie said. “Did you know my aunt and uncle?”

“Oh, yes, very well. They were delightful people. They came over to the house quite often on the weekends. They both adored Johnny. They looked at him like a son, and I think Emily was worn-out with cooking for the hands by the weekend. She enjoyed a break where I could pamper her a little.”

Shame struck hard at Stephanie. This woman was a stranger, but she’d looked after Albert and Emily. “You were good to my aunt, thank you.”

“Johnny felt like the McCammons were his second parents. And they were easy to be good to. They were some fine folks. Everyone in town is still in shock about their passing.”

Stephanie started to say something about how they’d been murdered, but she felt the sharp claws of the cat digging into the top of her foot. Familiar was right. Now was the time for discretion, not bravado.

“Where is Johnny?” she asked.

“He’s in Austin on a business trip. He just couldn’t help it, otherwise he would have been here. Why don’t you come out to the house? Some of the church people brought food there…” She hesitated. “They didn’t know where else to bring the food. No one knew if you’d be home or not.”

As much as it hurt, Stephanie realized Jackie was right. She hadn’t kept in touch with a single person in town. Often not even her aunt and uncle. She’d been busy, focused on her career, forgetting that her relatives wouldn’t always be around for her convenience.

“Thanks, but I want to go out to the ranch.”

Jackie looked down at the ground. “That might not be a great idea.”

“I have a lot of good memories there. I’ll miss Uncle Albert and Aunt Em, but I’ll be fine.”

“It’s just that…” She looked up and smiled. “Call us if you need us. We’re only about five miles down the road.”

“Thank you,” Stephanie said as she got in the Jeep beside the panting cat.

STEPHANIE ALMOST RIPPED the door of the Jeep as she got out and stomped—as well as a girl could stomp in high heels—across the ditch to the For Sale sign that was prominently displayed at the gate of McCammon Ranch.

“Who in the world put this sign up?” she said aloud as she began to wrench the sign from the dry ground. “The will hasn’t even been probated. Nothing can be sold until that’s done.”

When the sign wouldn’t come up, Stephanie went back to the Jeep, got in and put it in Drive. In a moment there was the sound of splintering wood. She looked in the rearview mirror with satisfaction. The realty sign had been flattened. McCammon Ranch was not for sale. Not for any price, and certainly not until the will left by her aunt and uncle had been thoroughly examined. She glanced at the black cat in the passenger seat. He seemed to have a smirk of satisfaction on his face, too.

“The people responsible won’t get away with this,” she said aloud.

The cat turned a penetrating green gaze on her. “Meow.” He nodded once to show he agreed.

“Thank goodness I heard about your P.I. agency, Familiar. Hiring you to help me unsnarl this whole mess was one of the smartest things I’ve ever done,” she said as she turned the rental down the driveway. Her gaze was critical as she swept it over the graceful oaks that lined the driveway. The fences were good, the pastures as lush as they could be in a heat wave, but there were no cows. Not a single steer or heifer. No horses. Not even a dog. A creepy sensation slipped over Stephanie. Where was all the livestock? She’d talked to her uncle only a week before, and he’d told her the spring calves had arrived without a single loss. So where were they?

She drove slowly down the winding driveway. The old white farmhouse came into view, and Stephanie again fought back tears. She’d managed to hold herself together at the funeral service because she had no intention of giving the lot of Nosey Parkers the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Now, though, there was no one to see her but the black cat, and Familiar seemed to have a real streak of compassion.

As soon as she stopped the Jeep, the cat was clawing at the window to get out. She opened her door and he shot out by her feet. “Hey,” she called. “Don’t get lost.” But it was too late—the tip of his tail disappeared in the shrubbery by the front porch.

For a moment Stephanie indulged her memories. The last time she’d come home, nearly a year ago, Aunt Emily had met her at the door, the wonderful scent of baking apple pies wafting out on the breeze. Uncle Albert had come in from the barn, wiping his hands on an old towel so he could give her a hug without smudging her designer suit. She closed her eyes and relished the memory, determined to hold her aunt and uncle close to her in her heart if not in her arms.

“Ms. Chisholm?”

She whirled at the unexpected voice behind her.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Rodney Jenkins. I was your uncle’s chief wrangler. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. I didn’t want to go to the funeral.” A frown crossed his face. “I was afraid I’d have to deck some of those folks.”

“Rodney, where are the cows?”

His frown deepened. “You don’t know?”

She shook her head, aware that she dreaded his answer.

“They were sold at auction yesterday. The whole herd. The man who bought them came and got them this morning.”

Stephanie felt as if she’d been gut-shot. “Every cow?”

“And the horses. They were sold as a lot. Even your uncle’s blue heeler. They took old Banjo.”

The sensation of disbelief was quickly replaced by sheer, unadulterated fury. “Who did this?”

“It wasn’t the fault of the men who came for the cows,” Rodney said, kicking the dirt with his cowboy boot. “It was Nate Peebles, a local lawyer, who ordered the cows sold. He’s the one put up the For Sale sign you flattened coming in.” He smiled. “Good work.”

“McCammon Ranch isn’t for sale. Not now. Not ever.” She was surprised at the passion of her words. Not so long ago she’d fled the ranch, terrified that she’d spend her days cooking three meals a day for hungry ranch hands and her nights birthing calves and tending to sick stock.

Rodney held out his hand. “I’ll shake on that, Ms. Chisholm. Now tell me what I can do to help.”

Stephanie was about to answer when she heard a long growl and a feline howl of outrage. “What in the world?” She started toward the house with Rodney at her heels.

The cry came again, this time louder. Stephanie began to run. She rounded the corner just in time to see the rattlesnake lunge at the black cat. Familiar did an amazing leap into the air that ended in a flip on top of a rocking chair on the porch. Stephanie focused on the snake. It was at least six feet long. It moved toward the chair, its focus on the cat.

“Damn, it’s a timber rattler,” Rodney said as he drew his pistol out of his holster. “How’d it get inside the screen on the porch?”

“That’s a very good question,” Stephanie said cautiously. The snake had coiled. The tip of its tail, with fourteen rattles, quivered in the air giving the famous warning that the snake was about to strike.

“Don’t move, Familiar.” Stephanie opened the door and moved slowly onto the porch. “I’m going to distract it, Rodney, and then you shoot it.”

“I might chip up the porch some.”

Stephanie shook her head. “Blow the porch up, I don’t care, just kill the snake.”

As soon as she moved toward the snake, Rodney shot. He caught the snake in the head, and Stephanie scooped Familiar into her arms. She headed to the front door, and to her surprise, it was already open. She pushed the door gently, aware that Familiar was tensing in her arms.

“Yarrr-rrr.” His fur was standing on end and he hissed into the open doorway, alerting her to the fact another snake—possibly more—was inside.

“Rodney, I think you’d better bring your gun,” she said, feeling the knot of fear that had lodged in her gut. Rattlesnakes were always a danger, but none were more dangerous than those trapped inside a house.

“Ms. Stephanie, you come on out of there. I sure wish Banjo was here. He’d know what to do. That dog would ride out with your uncle, and if he came across a snake, he’d snatch it right behind the head and shake it until he broke its neck.”

“I’ll be getting Banjo back. And the cows. And the horses.” The spur of anger helped her overcome her fear. She walked to the screen and put Familiar out on the grass. “No matter how much you want to help, you’d only be one swallow for a big rattler. Now stay outside. Rodney and I will kill it. You did your job by giving the warning.”

Rodney lifted his hat and scratched his forehead. “Ms. Stephanie, do you always talk to your cat like that?”

She laughed. “Familiar isn’t my cat. He belongs only to himself, but I do talk to him.”

“Well, I can’t speak to his intelligence, but he sure did good to warn us about the snakes.”

Stephanie didn’t push the issue. If Rodney agreed to work with her, he’d have plenty of opportunity to see how smart the highly-rated feline detective could be.

“How do you want to handle this?” she asked Rodney.

He reached into his boot and brought out another gun. “I assume you know how to use this?”

Stephanie felt the heft of the pistol in her hand. Her uncle had spent a lot of time teaching her to shoot—and not to shoot. He’d explained that timing was everything in using a weapon. She sighted down her arm. “I used to be a pretty good shot. I’m a little out of practice.”

“Just don’t tell the snake,” Rodney said, grinning. “Now let’s get ’im.”

They eased into the house, walking softly and listening. They’d made it only as far as the sunroom when she heard the warning rattle. The snake was under a chaise. Rodney signaled that he’d move the piece of furniture so she could shoot the snake.

Stephanie got down on one knee, sighting on the coils of the snake. She had to hit it clean, and in the head, preferably. She was in little danger, halfway across the room. Rodney was the one she had to protect.

“Ready?” he asked as he moved closer to the wicker chaise.

“Go.”

He grasped the chaise and lifted it high. As he stepped back, the snake lunged. Stephanie pulled the trigger. The snake fell, writhing on the floor, headless.

“Nice shooting,” Rodney said, putting the chaise across the room. “I’ll get a shovel and take care of this mess. It’s a good thing your aunt Em wasn’t around. She’d have both our hides for shooting into the wall like that.” He pointed to the bullet hole.

“Aunt Em would have shot the snake herself.” Stephanie smiled, but the pain of her loss was suddenly too much to bear. She felt the tears welling.

“Emily spoke of you all the time,” Rodney said, his own eyes growing moist. “She was as proud of you as a new cow with a calf. She had a bulletin board in the barn, and she’d cut clippings from the New York Times when you had advertising successes.”

Stephanie managed to gain control of her emotions. “Thank you, Rodney. But I should have been here, helping them.”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am, now I have to disagree. Your aunt said you were doing what you needed to do at the time. ’Course she always felt you’d come home to Pecos and run the ranch when you got the city out of your blood.”

“I just never thought I’d have to do it without them.”

Chapter Two

Hank Dalton idled his truck at the gates of McCammon Ranch and studied the wreckage of the realty sign listing the property for sale. He understood a little more about the woman who’d occupied his thoughts for the last three hours. She might be a city woman with no interest in ranching, but she wasn’t going to be pushed by anyone. Stephanie Chisholm wasn’t going to give up McCammon Ranch until she was good and ready to do so.

He’d come to make her an offer on the ranch. He was going to be honest with her and tell her about the water situation on the Running Z. If she didn’t want to sell, he was going to see if he could work out some grazing rights on land that bordered Twisty Creek. The water situation was serious for him. As much as he would have liked to give her time to grieve her loss, he didn’t have time. He’d filed a lawsuit against the developers who’d rerouted the creek, but the legal system was too slow. His cows would be dead and his pasture land a desert by the time the courts ruled. He gazed at the tree-lined driveway and remembered the many happy times he’d driven over for dinner with Albert and Em.

He started down the driveway when he heard a gunshot. Pressing the accelerator to the floor, he pushed the truck to the maximum as he sped toward the white ranch house. As he pulled into the yard he saw Rodney coming out of the house with a huge timber rattler hanging off a shovel.

“Ms. Stephanie clean blew his head off,” Rodney said proudly.

“How the hell did that snake get into the house?” Hank asked. “Albert never said he had a problem with rattlers.”

“Good question. There was another one on the screened porch,” Rodney said. “This one was in the sunroom. I don’t recall Albert ever saying anything about snakes getting into the house, now that you mention it. Maybe the drought drove ’em inside looking for water.”

Hank walked to the porch, wondering who had a key to the ranch house. “They had to get in some way, and wherever they came from, we need to find it and block it off.”

“Let me bury these varmints and I’ll be back,” Rodney said.

Hank knelt down by the porch and began to run his fingers along the screen where it met the wooden floor. He was halfway round when he sensed someone watching him. He looked up into stormy hazel eyes.

“Who are you?” Stephanie asked.

Hank stood, taking in everything about her. She’d changed into jeans and a sleeveless gingham top that showed off slender arms with well-developed muscles. She might be a city girl, but she looked like she could hold her own with farm activities. He smiled. “I’m your neighbor to the north, Hank Dalton.”

“Mr. Dalton.” She held out her hand. “Uncle Albert and Aunt Em spoke of you. Thank you for attending the funeral.”

“Albert and Em were very good to me.” He sighed. “I hate to bring this up today, just after you buried your relatives, but I’m in something of a predicament.”

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

“Let me finish checking this screen.” He bent back to his work. “Those snakes had to have gotten in somehow.” He moved around the porch, aware that she was watching him. The thought was exciting, and he felt a flush creep up his face as he realized that he found Stephanie a very desirable woman.

“Those snakes scared the life out of me,” she said, walking along the inside of the screen as he checked outside.

“I’ll bet. Timber rattlers aren’t known for their pleasant dispositions. How’d you find them?”

“The cat. Familiar. He warned us before we came in.”

He couldn’t help it. He stopped and stared at her. “That black cat that was with you at the funeral?”

“That’s the one.”

“Where’s Banjo?” Hank bent to the task.

“He was sold. Along with the cows and horses.”

As she spoke, Hank found the tear in the screen. He stood up slowly. “Banjo was what?”

“Sold.”

They stared at each other, and he read her cold anger. “By whose directive?”

“I intend to find that out,” she said. “And then I’ll get back the cows and the horses. And Banjo. I can’t believe they sold my uncle’s cow dog.”

“I was going to offer to take him if you didn’t plan on staying at the ranch. He’s friends with my dog, Biscuit, and I’d give him a good home.”

“I have to get him back first.”

He could see she was being very closemouthed about her plans, and he didn’t blame her. Who in the hell would sell the stock on the ranch and even the dog? “Do you have any extra screen? I can patch this tear for you. Come sundown, you’ll want it tight. The mosquitoes here are big enough to carry you off.”

“I remember that,” she said. “I’ll get Rodney to patch it.”

“No problem. I’ll be glad to do it. A neighborly service.” He knelt and began to examine the tear. It was a perfect square, just large enough to allow a big snake to slither through. “Where was the second snake?” he asked.

“In the sunroom?”

“How did it get into the house?”

She hesitated. “The door was open. I just assumed that Uncle Albert must have left it that way.”

Hank took a slow breath and examined the screen one more time. “Ms. Stephanie, I’m not trying to scare you, but I think someone cut the screen and let the snakes in. I think they left the door open, too.”

“Why would someone do that?” she asked, her voice losing some of its confidence.

He stood up and met her gaze. “To run you off.”

SHE FOUGHT back emotion as she got the coffee pot, filled it with water and made coffee for Hank and Rodney. How many thousands of times had she watched her aunt Em do the whole process, smiling over her shoulder as she did so. She missed her aunt so terribly that she thought she’d double over with pain. Whenever she got control of herself, she was confronted with the harsh question: Why had she run away from this life? Why had she left the only two people who’d truly loved her throughout her entire life?

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and before she knew what was happening, Hank had turned her into his chest. His strong arms circled her, holding her gently.

“Crying’s about the only cure for grief,” he said softly. “You pen it up inside you and it’s going to cause a lot of damage later on.”

She was too far gone to stop herself anyway. She’d held it all in, until now. She’d endured the long flight home, the funeral, the emptiness of the house, but now, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

Hank’s hands rubbed gently up her back as she sobbed against him. She was bitterly angry and guilty and sad. The emotions ruled her, and she cried, soaking the front of Hank’s shirt. When the tears finally stopped, she stepped back and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t even know you.”

“We both loved them. I can’t tell you the times Em made coffee for me, just like you were doing. If you hadn’t started crying, I probably would have.”

His words were unreasonably comforting. Stephanie finished setting up the coffee and turned on the pot. She took a seat at the table, her aunt’s place, and saw the recognition in Hank’s eyes.

“I know you came here for a reason, but can I ask one question first?”

“Sure.”

He’d made his face expressionless. She wondered what he thought she was going to ask. “Were Uncle Albert and Aunt Em happy?”

The smile that spread across his face was instantaneous. “They were lucky people, in many ways. They loved each other and they were a team on this ranch. Albert worked and Em worked right beside him. I was lucky to see those two together. I always thought that kind of partnership was a lot of romantic sh—hooey. But it was real with them. Albert would go out to check the cows and long about noon, I’d see this horse coming in the distance and it would be Em. She’d have a picnic lunch packed for everyone. How she knew where to find us, I can’t say.”

“You worked with Uncle Albert?”

“We worked together. He had good hands, but a ranch can’t run under a hired hand. He knew that. I had the same problem, so after the hands were through for the day, we often ended up finishing together.”

“Did they…” She faltered. “Did they miss me too much?”

His face softened. “They talked about you all the time. About how you could live in any world you chose. They wanted you to come home, but only if that was your choice.”

“I should have come home,” she said, feeling the pressure of another bout of tears.

“Not unless the ranch was the life you want to live.” He reached across the table and touched her hand. “Stephanie, this is a hard life. The stock and the ranch always come first. If you aren’t willing to make that choice, you don’t need to try to live it. Your folks knew that.”

They both heard the screened door slam and they sat back. Rodney walked into the house. “The snakes are buried, but I have to say that ground is baked harder than a brick.”

Stephanie rose to get him coffee. “Mr. Dalton found the hole in the screen.” It felt odd calling him something other than Hank, especially with a huge dark stain on his blue shirt where her tears had soaked him.

“Rodney, I think someone cut the screen and put the snakes in the house.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Rodney eased into a chair, worry on his face.

“Good question. Who’s been around here lately?”

“The real estate man was here. He had a key to the house. Johnny Benton came around yesterday, with his wife. They said they’d come to tidy the house in case folks came out here. Someone had to get the clothes for Albert and Em.” He looked stricken at the pain that crossed Stephanie’s face. “Sorry, Ms. Stephanie.”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Not your fault, Rodney. It’s my fault that strangers had to pick out my folks’ funeral clothes.”

Disapproval crossed Hank’s face, followed by sorrow. He started to say something, then closed his mouth.

“I’ll give you a hand patching the hole. Then we’d better check the rest of the house.”

“If there was another snake, Familiar would have warned us.”

Hank let a chuckle escape. “A snake cat. Now I’ve seen it all.”

“Familiar is a lot more than that,” Stephanie said, and she finally felt the darkness shift from her heart. “He’s a detective.”

“Like a private eye?” Rodney was laughing.

“Exactly. And I’ve hired him to look into the murder of my aunt and uncle.”

Rodney paled. “Murder? It was an accident. That building collapsed on them.”

A heavy silence settled on the table. Rodney sipped his coffee. “It was sort of strange,” he said at last. “Not a cloud in the sky.”

“What time did it happen?”

“About 1:30 in the afternoon.” Rodney frowned. “Em normally wasn’t outside at that time, but she musta gone to help Albert with that old tractor. It was giving him fits. We’d all gone up to the Twisty Creek pasture to ride the north fences. There’d been a lot of trouble with someone cutting the wire.”

Stephanie kept her face carefully blank. “How long had that been going on?”

“About four weeks,” Hank answered. “They were cutting the fence between the Running Z and McCammon. Just about every other day we’d have to separate the herds. It was becoming very annoying.”

“Did you ever catch who was doing it?”

“We never could get ’em. We found some tire tracks and the sheriff sent out a deputy to make a mold, but we never heard a thing about it. ’Course Albert and Em were killed…” His sentence trailed off.

He didn’t have to finish. No one was interested in catching fence vandals after the tragedy of a double death. Stephanie felt Hank’s gaze on her, and she stared at him. His eyes were as green as a winter rye pasture, set perfectly in his rugged face. His dark hair contrasted with his tanned skin, completed with a straight nose and lips that made her think of the pleasures of kissing.

“I’ll check with the sheriff and see what he matched with those molds,” she said, clearing the thoughts of Hank from her mind.

“Rodney, we still have a few hours of light. Why don’t we ride those fences?” Hank asked.

“Sure thing. To be honest, I’d be glad of the company. Not much cause to check the fences now, though. The cows are gone.”

Hank’s smile was lopsided. “That’s right. The only harm would be that my cows could get some water from Twisty Creek.”

Stephanie realized then what he’d come to ask her. “Hank, you’re welcome to the creek and the pasture until I get Uncle Al—my cows back.” She saw his eyebrows lift at her emphasis. “But you might still want to ride that fence. We need to collect evidence, and the wind coming up this evening might destroy it.”

“Let’s search the house and get busy,” Hank said. He put his coffee cup in the sink and headed through the dining room with Rodney.

The door closed behind them and Stephanie began to clean up the kitchen. Through the closed door, she heard Rodney’s voice.

“She’s smart and she’s pretty, Hank. Wonder why she ain’t married?”

THE HOUSE HAD BEEN FREE of additional snakes. Only the black cat had been found, asleep, in the bedroom that had to be Stephanie’s. The room had been done in pale ivory eyelet lace, the carpet a dark beige. It reflected a certain sophistication, even for the nineteen-year-old girl who’d lived in it. The pale blond furniture would not be the taste of most young girls, and Hank realized it even as he lifted the dust ruffle and checked under the bed. An old pair of cowboy boots caught his eye and he pulled them out. They were well-worn, the heels rounded and the toes scuffed. He put them back and turned to the closet.

Several formal gowns reflected high school dates and glory. He moved a few abandoned pairs of shoes and determined the closet was empty of snakes.

“Meow.”

He turned to find the black cat watching him. He didn’t believe a word that Stephanie had said about the cat’s detective agency, but he found the feline’s stare unsettling. It was as if the cat were assessing him. Maybe that was just a cat’s personality. He was a dog man—no use for sleeping critters too lazy to even catch a mouse.

He stepped past the cat and felt a sharp, intense pain in his calf. He looked down and saw the cat had deliberately snagged him. “Hey!”

Familiar turned him loose and trotted back to the closet. “Meow.”

He had the strangest sense the cat wanted to tell him something. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Timmy in the well?”

The cat gave him a long hiss.

“So, for all your many talents, you don’t appreciate Lassie jokes?” He realized too late that he was talking to the cat as if it could understand him.

“Meow.” Familiar disappeared in the open closet and began to scratch at the carpet.

“I think that’s a reason to get evicted from the house,” Hank said, walking over to catch the cat. He’d put him outside and let him scratch some tree trunks or fence posts.

He leaned into the closet and saw that Familiar had moved several pairs of shoes. He clawed at the carpet. Curious, Hank got down on his knees. The carpet had been pulled loose from the corner of the closet, and not by the cat. He lifted the flap, pulling it out to reveal a trap door. Hank hesitated only a moment before he pulled the door free and looked down to see the ground below the house. It was an escape hatch. In case of fires, he supposed.

He looked at the cat. It did seem the feline had known about this and decided to show him. “I’ll get a board and nail it up,” he said. If someone was sneaking around McCammon Ranch, he didn’t want them to be able to slip into the house. The cat’s gaze was so intense, he found he couldn’t look away. At last he realized what the cat wanted. “Okay, thank you,” he said, flipping the carpet back and feeling like the biggest kind of fool for talking to a cat.

He found an empty-handed Rodney at the other end of the house. They walked out together, headed for the barn.

THE OLD OAK BOX was still tucked in the wall safe behind the Remington where Uncle Albert had always left it. Stephanie carefully removed it from the safe and carried it to the kitchen.

Her heart lurched painfully, but she kept the tears at bay. Everything about the ranch held a memory. Most of them the best in her life. She’d cried enough, though, her face against Hank’s strong chest. In all of her years in New York, she’d never felt as safe as she had those few moments in Hank’s arms. That, she thought with a crooked grin, was the illusion of the cowboy. It was true they were men of honor who could be counted on for a dramatic rescue. She’d never known braver men than those who worked with her uncle on the farm. She’d seen them risk life and limb for a few moments of glory on a thrashing bull or rodeo bronc. The local weekly rodeo would start at eight Friday night in Pecos. She had half a mind to ride out there and watch for a little while. Maybe, along the way, she’d ask around to see who’d bought her uncle’s cows.

She put her mind back on the task of getting the will. She’d known about the document since she was fifteen years old, when Albert had sat her down and explained what a will was and where he was putting it. He was a man who took care of loose ends.

She took a breath, willing herself to be calm, and opened the box. A sheaf of letters and documents covered the top. Beneath that was Aunt Em’s jewelry. Stephanie blinked the tears away and lifted the papers out. She couldn’t look at the jewelry. Not now. She didn’t want to see the emerald pin that Albert gave Em on her fortieth birthday. It was in the shape of a clover, for good luck.

Trying to shut out the memories, Stephanie sorted through the documents. She was surprised to find letters from Albert to Emily. The date was 1961, and the postmark was from Pecos, Texas, to the University of Texas in Austin, where Em had gone to college. There were at least sixty letters, all bundled with a ribbon. Stephanie put them aside to read later, when her heart wasn’t so wounded. At last she found the will. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been afraid the document was gone until her fingers curled around it. She opened it up and read the simple terms. The ranch and all contents had been left to her with the instruction that she create a trust.

She gazed out the window and saw Hank and Rodney riding off on two of Rodney’s personal horses. Thank goodness for the wrangler. There wouldn’t be a grazing animal on the place if he hadn’t kept his own.

The empty fields made her think of the terms of the trust. Albert had seen the handwriting on the wall. Subdivisions and developments had begun to eat away at the ranches. Land was more valuable for a home site than a pasture, so he’d left instruction in his will that McCammon Ranch remain a working ranch. The profits from cattle sales were to be plowed back into the ranch, for hands and materials to keep it going. The house, should Stephanie choose not to live in it, would be the residence of the ranch foreman.

It was a gift to future generations of Texans, those who might never see a working ranch, except for one created by a trust.

Stephanie gripped the document tightly. She had every intention of seeing Albert’s dream come true. Now all she had to do was find out what in the hell was going on and who in the hell had put a For Sale sign on the ranch.

She went to the phone and dialed information for Kemper Realty, the firm on the sign. In a moment she was talking to the realty receptionist.

“Who listed McCammon Ranch?” she asked.

“That would be Todd Hughes,” the woman said. “Would you like to speak to him?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” she said sweetly.

In a moment she heard a baritone voice identifying himself as Todd Hughes.

“I’m Stephanie Chisholm,” she said, listening to the silence on the other end. “I just ran over a For Sale sign on my ranch. What can you tell me about it?”

“Ms. Chisholm?” There was disbelief in his voice. “I had no idea you were in town. I was led to believe you wouldn’t be coming for the funeral. Where are you staying?”

“In my home.”

There was another long pause. “I believe you need to talk to Nate Peebles.”

“Who the hell is that?” she asked, her voice still sugary sweet.

“He’s an attorney.” Hughes cleared his throat. “He owns McCammon Ranch. Or at least he will when the will is probated. He’s the one who told me to put up the sign.”

Stephanie dropped into one of Uncle Albert’s hand-made chairs. “He what?”

“Albert McCammon left the ranch to him. I saw the will myself. The process of probating it has already been started. It’s just a matter of time before—“

“He ordered the livestock sold?” Stephanie knew she was shouting and didn’t care. In the bottom of her heart, she’d thought it was a mistake. That someone, acting on Albert’s best interests, had taken it upon themselves to sell the stock. She’d thought it would be a matter of explanation and everything would be put right. Now, she saw her assumption had been wrong. Dead wrong.

“Mr. Hughes. I have my uncle’s will in my hand. It states clearly the ranch goes to me, so that I can establish a working ranch trust, per my uncle’s wishes. I advise you to take the ranch off the market. Now tell me who has the livestock?”

“I didn’t handle that sell.”

“Who has the cows? And the horses. And Banjo.”

“Avis McElhanney.”

“And where would I find him?”

“He has a place down on County Road 17.”

Stephanie had a bad feeling. “A ranch.”

“Not exactly. It’s a holding lot for the meat packers.”

Stephanie didn’t bother with a goodbye. She slammed the phone down, returned the will to the wall safe and ran out of the house. Behind her, Familiar came at a dead gallop. By the time she opened the truck door, the cat flew past her and into the passenger seat.

Stephanie tore down the driveway, the SUV slewing in the gravel as she made a curve. She had to get to McElhanney’s before the cows were either killed or loaded into transport trucks. Those red Angus cows were Albert’s pride and joy. If anything bad happened to those cows, she was personally going to dig out Nate Peebles’s heart with a spoon.

Chapter Three

Hank had ridden the western fence line while Rodney rode east. The wind had begun to pick up a little, and Hank was glad for the breeze. It was still hot, but at least the air was moving. He’d chosen Flicker, a red roan mare, from the six horses Rodney kept in the McCammon barn. She was a willing mount with an easy trot and tireless energy.

The land dipped slightly and he came off the rise and reined Flicker to a stop. He couldn’t believe it. The fence was still up, but obviously not for long. A bulldozer sat against the fence, perched to plow it down.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked himself as he rode up to the piece of heavy equipment. No one was around. It was as if the dozer had been driven to the ends of civilization and then abandoned. But he knew better. Someone would be back, and in a matter of minutes, that person could rip out what would take months to replace. He slipped the key to the dozer into his pocket and followed a heavy set of tire tracks that led out. Someone had brought the dozer, unloaded it and left.

Hank had no doubt the intended target for the dozer was the fence. There wasn’t anything else around to take down. He turned Flicker to the east and headed back to the ranch at a gallop. Someone was dismantling McCammon Ranch as fast as they could. Like it or not, Stephanie was in for a real fight.

When he pulled up to the barn, Flicker was tired and hot. After dismounting, he uncinched the mare’s girth and walked her to cool her.

“Hank, thank goodness you’re back!”

He turned to see Stephanie running across the barnyard toward him. He lifted the saddle off Flicker’s back with one hand and carried it into the tack room. “What’s wrong?” he asked, turning to face her.

“Uncle Albert’s cattle are at McElhanney’s feed lot. They’re going to be killed in the morning.”

Hank’s mouth was a tight line. “I don’t think so. Those cows were sold illegally, from what you tell me. Hop in my truck. We’ll ride over to McElhanney’s and see what they have to say.”

When Stephanie opened the truck door, the black cat leapt inside. Hank gave the cat a look. “Biscuit’s going to be very irritated when he smells cat in his truck.”

“Familiar has to go.” Stephanie sighed. “Sorry. That sounded very bossy. The cat needs to hear all of this.”

Hank got into the truck and started the engine. “Avis McElhanney has run his feed lot and slaughterhouse for the past twenty years. I wouldn’t sell a dead coyote to him, but he’s convenient. The way he treats animals is a shame. Did you find out who sold the cows?”

“I did.” She looked out the window, and he knew she was composing herself. He could only imagine what it would be like to come home for funerals and then find the place she expected to inherit being sold out from under her. “A man called Nate Peebles. Do you know him?”

“Some folks call him a lawyer. I think that’s too classy a label.”

Hank turned onto County Road 17 and he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. “Hang on. Tell me about the will Peebles claims to have.”

Stephanie’s jaw squared. “He says Uncle Albert and Aunt Em left everything to him. Every single thing.”

Hank was stunned by the idea of it. “That’s impossible. Albert meant to leave it all to you. He said so more than once. He said maybe you’d come home and run the ranch like you’d been taught.”

Stephanie felt the wind whipping through the window and was glad that it dried her tears before she could shed them. “Peebles says the will I have isn’t legal. There was a new will. One Uncle Albert signed just before he died. Peebles says there’s nothing I can do.”

“What about the cows?”

Her jaw had firmed and her eyes were hard and dry. “I have enough money to buy them.” She turned to him. “Could I put them at your place until I decide what I’m going to do? We could mix the herds and let them all stay by the creek.”

It was the most sensible solution. The same solution that Albert would have made, had he been alive. He cast a glance at Stephanie. With her perfectly shaded makeup, her expensive earrings and her manicured fingernails, she didn’t look like a rancher. But she thought like one. She had that same generous spirit and determination that had allowed cattle ranchers to stay in business for decades. He was developing a healthy respect for her, and Hank Dalton didn’t give his respect out lightly.

In the distance he could see the ramshackle barn where McElhanney kept his livestock standing in manure and filth until he was ready to either kill them or load them onto trucks to ship. Hank pulled beneath the shade of a dying pecan tree.

“Stephanie, this isn’t going to be pretty. Maybe you should stay here. I’ll be glad to negotiate to get your cows back.”

“Where are they?” She got out of the truck and slammed the door. “If he’s harmed them in any way…”

Hank accepted he wasn’t going to be able to protect Stephanie. She’d grown up on a ranch. She knew what was what. He motioned for her to follow him as he led the way to the office. Maybe they could set a price and he’d arrange to have the cattle shipped in the morning.

Stephanie strode into the office with Hank and the black cat one step behind her. Hank had to hide a smile as he watched her walk to the desk, put her hands on her hips and lean down into Avis McElhanney’s surprised face.

“You have my uncle’s herd of red Angus. I want them back. Now.”

McElhanney’s surprise turned to bluster. “I bought those cows fair and square. They’re mine. They’re due to be shipped out tomorrow.”

“How much did you pay for them? I’ll buy them back.”

Hank lounged against the door frame. It didn’t look like Stephanie needed any help. She was doing just fine.

“Twenty thousand dollars.” McElhanney’s grin was smug. “Take it or leave it.”

Hank straightened up, ready to do whatever was necessary.

“That’s outrageous,” Stephanie said.

McElhanney smiled. “You want the cows back, that’s what you’re going to pay for them.”

“Ten sounds more reasonable.” Stephanie reached into her back pocket and brought out a checkbook. “I’ll give you a check for ten right this minute.”

“Twenty, or I’ll call in my staff and butcher the whole lot tonight.” McElhanney’s smile widened. “Seems to me like I have the upper hand in this negotiation, little lady.”

Hank stepped past Stephanie, leaned across the desk and grabbed McElhanney by the shirt collar. He snatched him out of his chair so hard the man was across the desk and standing on his tiptoes in front of Hank. “I want to see the bill of sale you have for the cattle. Now.”

“Well, I don’t—I didn’t get a bill.”

“Stephanie, pick up the phone and call 555-1313. That’s my foreman, Junior. Tell him to bring the hands over here right now. We’ll ride your uncle’s horses home and get your cows. Mr. McElhanney has no bill of sale, then he has no legal right to the cows.”

“You can’t do this! I’ll have you in prison.”

“You can recoup your losses from Nate Peebles,” Hank said as he pushed McElhanney into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him. “You weren’t going to report the income on the cows, were you? A nice little tax dodge.” He nodded as he talked. “I may just give a call to the IRS and see if they’ve audited you lately.”

McElhanney caught his breath. “You are a downright bastard, Hank Dalton.”

“You’re a crook and a scoundrel. Now I wouldn’t go any further with this name calling or I’m going to call you an empty colostomy bag and it’s going to be true because I’m going to stomp the hell out of you.”

McElhanney backed against the wall. Familiar leapt onto the filing cabinet next to him and hissed.

Hank turned to Stephanie, who was smiling. “Keep an eye on him. If he tries to use the phone, jerk it out of the wall. I’m going out to get the cows ready. We’ll just drive them back home.”

“Saddle a horse for me, if you get time,” she said. “And where is Banjo?”

Hank turned to McElhanney. When he didn’t speak, Hank reached out and grabbed his shirt again. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to thump you into next Sunday. Please, please give me a reason.”

“The dog is locked in a cage in the barn. He kept trying to go home.”

Hank pushed McElhanney back against the wall, knocking the breath out of him again. “One word of disrespect to Ms. Chisholm, and I’ll make you regret it the rest of your life. Got it?”

Familiar arched his back, fur puffed out and growled.

McElhanney cowered against the wall and nodded.

CIMARRON TROTTED up to the rear of the herd as Stephanie caught up with Hank. From behind, she couldn’t help but admire his seat in the saddle. And his shoulders. And the way he used his body to control his horse.

He heard her horse and turned over his shoulder, a smile breaking out on his face. “How does it feel to be a cattle rustler?” he asked. He leaned back so he could address Familiar, who was reluctantly seated behind Stephanie on Cimarron’s back. “Now I’ve seen a lot of things, but I’ve never seen a cat ride a horse.”

“It feels wonderful to be back in the saddle, at least to me. Familiar isn’t thrilled, but riding back was preferable to staying with Avis McElhanney, that creep.”

“You look good in the saddle,” Hank said, his gaze taking in her legs and posture.

“Cimarron is still as good a ride as she was two summers ago.” Her smile faltered. “Uncle Albert bought her for my birthday. She’s six now.”

“I know she’ll be glad to get home.”

They both turned at the yipping of a dog. Banjo broke out of the ditch, herding a stray heifer. The dog sent the cow back to the herd, then changed directions and went after a calf that had strayed into someone’s front yard.

“He’s the best cow dog I’ve ever seen,” Hank said.

“Uncle Albert adored him. He slept on the bed with them.” Stephanie held on to her smile. She had to get to the place where every good memory didn’t bring pain. Uncle Albert and Aunt Em wouldn’t want her to suffer for them. They’d want her to be happy, and she knew they’d be happy if they could see her moving cattle down County Road 17 and back to McCammon Ranch.

“Used to be every rancher in the county drove his herd to market like this,” Hank said. “Now the roads are too busy. City folk don’t like the inconvenience of traveling behind cows.”

“City folk like me?” Stephanie asked. She felt his cool gaze assess her again.

“You don’t look too refined this minute,” he said. “You’d better check a mirror. You’ve got a streak of dirt down your right cheek and what looks to be, naw, couldn’t be what I think it is, right by your right ear.”

Stephanie put a hand up and felt the dirt and something else. Something that could be sweat or worse. She brushed it away. “Thanks, Hank. You’re compliments are about as sweet as your disposition.”

He was still laughing when she closed her legs on Cimarron and leapt forward to check on the front of the herd. They only had about two miles to go, and so far she hadn’t heard any sirens coming after her. McElhanney must have been thoroughly cowed, no pun intended, not to call the police. She smiled. She’d won the first battle, but the war was far from over. Hank had told her about the dozer. As soon as she got back to the ranch, she was calling a towing company to move it. The owner could pay for the towing and the impound. That was what happened when someone trespassed on ranch property.

She saw the white fence post that marked the edge of the McCammon property. They’d made it. She looked behind her at the cows as they meandered on home. There wasn’t any point to make them hurry. They were just happy to be away from the place where they smelled death.

She leaned forward in the saddle and asked Cimarron to gallop. The little quarter horse mare responded with a blaze of speed. Stephanie let out a whoop, and then remembered Familiar was right behind her. She reached back to steady him. “Sorry, fella,” she said. “I just got carried away. This is my first cattle drive, and I just had a brainstorm. I could set up greenhorn drives. That way I’d never have to sell a single cow again.”

Greenhorn cattle drive. Sounds like hell. Who in his right mind would want to sit on top of a horse for hours on end, pushing cattle from one place to the next. I can just imagine how it was in the glory days of the west. A bunch of old men, riding horses for days, no baths or showers unless they hit a creek or it rained, bad food, sleeping on the ground. Right. A dream come true. Not for this kitty. As soon as we get to the house, I’m going to get something to eat and recline on a soft bed. I think I’m getting saddle sore!

But I learned some interesting things today. Whoever is behind all of Stephanie’s troubles is someone who can move fast and get things done. Nate Peebles. I think it’s time we paid this lawyer a visit. If I can get a ride into town, I can do a bit of sleuthing on my own. Hank, it seems, will have his hands busy with Stephanie.

I’ve been watching the two of them. He’s attracted to her, but just when it seems he’s going to make a move, he backs away. Then he gets this stern look on his face. And when he mentioned her being a city girl, he wasn’t teasing. There’s something there, but I don’t know what.

As to Stephanie, I think she’s beginning to find joy in the life she once disdained. I know she was engaged to marry Johnny Benton before she left for New York City. She told me that her folks liked Johnny and sort of pushed him on her. She went along with it as long as she could. A few weeks before the wedding, she returned his ring and left for the city. She did her best to fulfill her aunt and uncle’s dreams for her, but she had to have her own dream. Now, though, the pressure is off, and she’s beginning to enjoy the ranch. And Hank.

Now, I wonder what kind of menu Stephanie is going to offer for my dinner tonight. I gave her my brochure, which lists all of my kitty needs: heavy cream, fresh salmon, something crunchy, any type of grilled seafood or chicken, catnip treats for when I need some herbal help, scratching post, clean litter on those days when I have to stay in and think. She’s a great hostess—I’m looking forward to dinner.

HANK SAT BACK at the table and gazed at the faces of his cowhands and Rodney. They were replete and satisfied. Four of the men got up to go outside and smoke cigarettes, and the others followed. Finally he was alone with Stephanie. He stood up and began to help clear the table. Stephanie had surprised them all by putting out a spread that was as delicious as it was colorful.

“Where’d you learn to cook like that?” he asked as he helped her load the dishwasher.

“Aunt Em taught me a lot, and then I took some cooking classes in the city. Believe it or not, I entertained a lot. Advertising has a lot of wooing the client involved.”

“What did you advertise?”

“All sorts of things. Brokerage firms, baseball teams, news programs. We did a lot of television.”

“Did?” He’d heard her correctly, but he wasn’t certain what tense she’d meant to use.

She turned to face him. “I may not go back.”

He didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “Really?”

“Is that so shocking?” She stepped past him so that her face was hidden from his view behind her dark curls. “I had an idea today. I need to investigate it before I talk about it, but I may be able to keep the ranch running.”

“Want to bounce it off me?”

She turned to him, smiling. “We say that a lot in advertising where we try ideas out on one another.”

“Ranching has gotten very sophisticated.” He laughed. She was easy to talk to, and even though she had a fancy job in a big city, she didn’t act like she thought she was better than others. And she looked so excited about the scheme she’d hatched. He couldn’t help but wonder what her idea might be.

“Thank you for your help today, Hank. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“It wasn’t anything.” He wanted to reach out and pull her against him, but it would be completely inappropriate. He’d met her only that day, and Stephanie was a grown woman who knew her own mind. She wasn’t the kind of woman to be attracted to a rancher.

“It was a lot. I don’t know what I would have done. That creep would have killed the cows and both of us know it.”

“He would have done his best to kill them.” Hank leaned against the refrigerator. “Where in tarnation is that cat?”

“According to his contract—“

“Contract?” Hank asked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I told you, he’s a legitimate detective. According to his contract, he’s served grilled seafood or chicken. I made some snapper for him. He ate and now he’s taking a snooze.”

“He is something else. I think if McElhanney had made a move toward you he would have bitten his nose off.”

“Or worse. I take a lot of comfort in Familiar. Now Banjo is home, too, so I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re frightened, I can stay.”

She walked up to him. “I’ve never had a man stay with me because I was frightened of anything. I won’t start with you.”

“I didn’t mean—”

She put her fingers on his lips. “I know what you meant. I’m okay, Hank.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I’m really okay. I know how to shoot a gun, and believe me, I will.”

“I’m going to block that trapdoor in your bedroom before I go.”

She nodded. “That room was originally designed for a child back when the ranch house was built in the 1800s. I’d forgotten all about it. If you’ll do that, I’ll finish cleaning the kitchen.”

Rodney had left the supplies in the bedroom, and it took Hank only a few minutes to hammer a board across the trap door. It wasn’t the prettiest carpentry job he’d ever done, but it was effective. No one could sneak into the house.

While he was there, he took a quick look around to make sure no one was hiding in the extra bedrooms or closets. He found Familiar asleep on a down comforter in a guest bedroom. When he returned to the kitchen, Stephanie was running cold water into the coffeepot to set it up for the next day.

“I’ll be going then.”

She put the pot down and walked up to him. “Thanks.”

Her lips were so inviting, turned up to him. He wasn’t a man to pass an invitation like that. He bent down to kiss her, intending a light kiss. When she opened her mouth to accept his kiss, he pulled her tight against him. The kiss was as surprising as it was unexpected.

When she drew away from him, he released her, though his gaze lingered on her lips. He’d never felt such a dizzying array of emotions before. He touched her cheek, wanting to draw her back to him for another kiss. He was about to do just that when she spoke.

“Thank you, Hank. I’ll ride over tomorrow and make sure my cows aren’t causing any difficulty for you.”

He’d been dismissed. “Yes, ma’am. If you’re done with me, I guess I’ll be heading home.”

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