A sexy hometown hero returns to rescue the one who got away

Ten years ago, bad boy Nick Anderson left home—and a brokenhearted Shelby Stillwater in his wake. Now the retired navy SEAL has inherited the family ranch Shelby calls home. Almost in foreclosure, the property is being sabotaged to force a sale...and Shelby is in mortal danger.

As Nick and Shelby work together to stop the vandals, old passions and new threats arise. The ranch carries painful memories, and Nick’s not sure if he’s willing to work to save the land. But as he finds new purpose and a new home, he remains determined to keep Shelby from harm...even if it means risking everything he holds dear in the process.

“Six o’clock sharp. Wear something more civilized than jeans.”

“I have some black silk boxers that are formal. That do?”

Flushing, she scowled at him. “Stop it, Nick.”

Then his cocky grin dropped and his gaze turned serious. “You’ll be safer with me here, Shelby. I’m not going to leave until I find out who’s been doing these things and threatening you and the ranch. I promise you, I will catch them.”

With a nod, he headed out the door. “I’ll bring my things over later. Need to have a look around the place first.”

As she watched him walk down the steps, a warm tingle raced down her spine. Not from his quiet words or the relief they brought, but the awareness of him as a man and the unspoken intent lingering in his eyes, a sensual promise that could lead them straight down the road where they’d left off ten years ago.

And straight back into hell.

* * *

Dear Reader,

Everyone remembers their first crush. Sometimes we may wonder what happened to that cute guy who broke our hearts and got away.

Shelby Stillwater isn’t left wondering anymore when handsome Nick Anderson comes waltzing back into town after ten long years. Nick is the cute guy who was her first crush. Protective of her in high school, he was her best friend, until the day when he caught her crying and kissed her.

Nick abandoned her afterward, and Shelby never forgave him for walking away. But when Nick comes back to Tennessee for his father’s funeral, Shelby knows there is more at stake than opening wounds from the past. Someone has been sabotaging the Belle Creek ranch, where she lives, putting its operation deeper into debt. Shelby needs Nick’s help to save the only home she’s ever known.

For Nick, a former SEAL who has felt lost ever since leaving the navy, seeing Shelby fires his blood once more. He could never forget the soft feel of her mouth beneath his, or how her kiss drove him mad with desire. Now the old feelings have returned. Nick is a classic nomad, running away from his feelings. It will take all his self-control and discipline to work with Shelby to find the criminals trying to force him into selling Belle Creek to a powerful developer.

I hope you enjoy Navy SEAL Protector and Nick and Shelby’s reunion romance. It’s a story of two lost souls who never forgot each other, and of a homecoming they will always remember.

Happy reading!

Bonnie Vanak

Navy SEAL Protector

Bonnie Vanak

www.millsandboon.co.uk

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author BONNIE VANAK is passionate about romance novels and telling stories. A former newspaper reporter, she worked as a journalist for a large international charity for several years, traveling to countries such as Haiti to report on the sufferings of the poor. Bonnie lives in Florida with her husband, Frank, and is a member of Romance Writers of America. She loves to hear from readers. She can be reached through her website, bonnievanak.com.

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For Frank, my hero. I love you, always.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

No one was kicking her out of her home, even if she had to work double shifts until she dropped.

Shelby Stillwater swiped a hand across her sweating brow, righted the white cowboy hat on her head and then watched as the bartender poured another frosty pitcher of golden beer. Friday night at the Bucking Bronc Steak House. Tips should be good tonight, as long as she could avoid the ungentlemanly slurs and smile, smile, smile.

Brown curls bobbing as she walked and the white fringe at the hem of her short skirt swaying like reeds in a hard wind, she carried the pitcher to table fourteen. The gray-haired geezer with a belly spilling in a waterfall over his silver belt buckle tried to squeeze her bottom, but she danced away.

“C’mere, sweet thang,” he called out in a slur. “Lemme take another look at you.”

Look at this, she silently fumed, tempted to flip him her middle finger. Instead, she headed for another table, pad in hand, her back and feet feeling as if twin weights were dumped on them. The group of ten businessmen from Nashville had ordered enough food to feed a small country. Their bill was solidly into the triple digits and they might give her a triple-digit tip if she could avoid the octopus with the wandering hands.

A big tip meant a store-bought cake instead of homemade for Timmy. His sixth birthday was in a few days and she planned to celebrate it in style.

Shelby bustled through orders, patiently allowing a patron to switch tables three times “because the lighting isn’t good here,” and returned a steak when a grumpy woman said it was rare, even though the woman had ordered it extra rare. She generally liked waitressing and most guests were well-mannered locals who treated her well. But with the big country-music convention in the next town this weekend, the out-of-town guests were taxing her patience.

Shelby returned the credit card to table fourteen. Waterfall Belly belched, signed the check and the men left, talking loudly.

She peeked at the bill and stared at the tip.

A measly twelve dollars for a three-hundred-and-fifty-dollar bill? Anger simmered, but she refused to surrender to it. Already skating on thin ice with Bill, if she ran after the customers and told them what she thought of their “tip,” then...

Instead, she shoved the check into her apron and pushed on.

Later, she’d kick off the white cowboy boots, put up her feet and have a glass of white wine while watching Steel Magnolias, a favorite comfort movie. Gone were the days when her mother, in a rare moment of sobriety, would cuddle up next to her on the sofa and they’d watch the movie while munching on a tub of popcorn. Mom had named her after the tragic Shelby in the film. This Shelby preferred to think she was more the Ouiser type, tough and pragmatic.

I’m more like a tin daisy. But I’ve had it worse.

Living in her family’s car when they were evicted because her daddy couldn’t hold down a job was worse. Going to school in ragged clothing that she’d mended herself because Mama was sleeping off a hangover was worse.

But eighteen years ago, when Silas Anderson gave her father a job at the Belle Creek Ranch, things started to turn around. A sudden bout of grief made her pause and catch her breath. Silas had died last week. Funeral tomorrow. She’d felt genuine sorrow for the man’s passing. Silas had been more of a father to her than her drunken dad.

She’d put her own money into the ranch, reducing her salary for the job she did as the ranch bookkeeper, and paid for small repairs when things got broken. Lately, lots of things had been broken. Shelby would do anything to keep her little apartment above the garage. The Belle Creek was home. Silas and Dan, his nephew and the ranch manager, had allowed her to live rent-free for the past ten years.

Even though the ranch could face foreclosure, she felt confident things would work out with her help.

Timmy loved the ranch, more than he adored cake. I’ll make Timmy the biggest, best birthday cake with his favorite cinnamon icing. Maybe add sprinkles—he’s crazy about colored sprinkles...

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a grizzled, silver-headed man sit at a booth in her section. He wore a faded olive drab jacket decorated with many patches. Old Vern, who’d served many tours in ’Nam. Shelby forgot about the lousy tip. With a big smile, she headed for him.

“Hi, Vern. How are you?”

The elderly man brightened. “Right as rain, Shelby.”

For a few minutes she listened to him talk about everything from the weather to his grandchildren. Vern came in every Friday, probably for the company. He lived alone, and she knew he had little money. So every Friday, she paid for his meal on the sly, telling him they had a “special” for vets.

Seeing her manager frown and start toward her, she promised Vern to put in his order straightaway.

After doing so, head pounding from the grinding country music pumping through the speakers, her feet hurting, Shelby decided to steal a five-minute break. She headed into the back room that served as the employee quarters. Rows of steel-gray lockers lined the walls, where the women and men could safely stash valuables. There was a painkiller calling her name right now and...

Shelby ground to an abrupt halt.

The padlock on her locker hung open. Someone had snipped it clean through, probably with bolt cutters. Same as last Friday night.

Blood pulsing through her body, breathing ragged, she whipped her head around. No one about. Not even the lingering odor of cigarette smoke that hung in the air when Ann sneaked back here to take a few puffs.

Who could have done this?

She had to find out. If someone stole her purse, her one credit card that wasn’t already maxed out...

Or worse.

Shelby inched toward the locker, eyes pinned to the dangling padlock. With a hand that shook, she removed the lock and set it down on the bench seat. Please, don’t let it be like last week...

One, two, three!

She flung open the door and stepped back.

A nauseating odor slammed into her and she gagged. Shelby blinked hard, looking at the top shelf and the cause of the noxious smell.

A dead rat.

Shelby grabbed her purse where it hung on a hook inside the locker, her fingers fumbling for the clasp. Sure enough, just like last week, a white note with typed letters was stuffed inside it.

Leave the Belle Creek before we make you leave.

Shelby dropped her purse. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it down. Had to get rid of the rat before some happy customer came tripping back here in search of the restroom, freaked and called the county board of health. If Bill saw this, he’d fire her. Last week someone had dumped a dozen dead cockroaches into her locker. Bill had seen those and written her up. The manager had been on her case because Natalie, the new owner, had disliked Shelby ever since high school.

Shelby found a black plastic garbage bag and gloves. The dead rat was out the door and into the Dumpster shortly after. As she washed her hands in the bathroom sink, Ann sauntered into the ladies room.

Ann stopped short and gave her a quizzical look. “You okay, Shel? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

No, a dead rat. “Just tired.”

Her friend dabbed on fresh lipstick and touched up her hair. “Well, I’ve got something to put the spark back in your tank. Sexy-guy alert, table nine. Panty-melting hot.”

“Takes a lot more than sexy to dissolve my underwear,” Shelby joked back.

“You need a life,” her friend said with a good-natured grin. “Or don’t wear panties at all. Want to grab a drink after work at the Tipsy Cowboy?”

Ann had a brazen attitude, bleached blond hair and wore her skirts too high, but she was the best friend Shelby ever had.

“Rain check. Dan’s wife is babysitting Timmy as a favor and I don’t want to be late.”

Ann patted her shoulder. “You work too hard, hon. Let me know if I can help in any way.”

The kindness nearly made her dissolve into tears. Ann had boarded her horse at the Belle Creek, giving the ranch much-needed income, even if it was only rough board and not full. Shelby smiled. “You’ve already done enough, hon. I’ll be fine.”

As her friend left, Shelby realized the dull throbbing behind her temples had turned into a fierce headache. She stashed her purse behind boxes of sanitary napkins in the employee lounge and headed back onto the floor. Maybe the rest of the night would be uneventful. Please let it be calm, please...

The devil himself sat at table nine.

She forgot to breathe, forgot the dead rat in her locker. Forgot who she was. Good thing she wore a brass tag with her name on it. Time rolled back in a fog.

That kiss, those sinfully sexy eyes, smoldering at her as he lowered his mouth to hers...

You never forgot your first kiss. And no woman who still had a pulse ever forgot Nick Anderson.

Dark blond hair curled at the ends as it rested against the collar of his black shirt. He wore it longer now, and he was thicker in the shoulders and chest. He was a man now, instead of the teenager he’d been when she’d sobbed and told him to get out of her life. Still had the same languid grace as he relaxed back in the imitation-leather booth, his dark gaze scanning the restaurant with the same cool, searing intensity displayed ten years ago. Nick looked hungry, as if he needed a good meal...or a bad woman.

Already the dynamic inside the Bucking Bronc had changed. Female waitstaff sashayed instead of scurried and the men stood a little taller. No one here could best Nick’s six feet three inches. Or his mouth...

Two men stopped by his table and chatted. Nick’s heroism as a former Navy SEAL was a source of pride in these parts. She overheard a few invite him to sit with them and pay for his dinner, but Nick politely refused.

He must be back for his dad’s funeral. She’d been so busy trying to find ways to save his father’s ranch, she’d almost forgotten he existed.

Almost.

Shelby took her order pad from her apron. Tonight she had to have a steel backbone. Forget the honey-sweet flower attitude. The man deserved pure vinegar.

Be courteous. The pencil nearly snapped in her tight grip. “May I take your drink order?”

He turned. Soft light from the overhead lamp put the angles of his face into sharp relief. Shelby bit back a gasp at the jagged scar carved on one angular cheek. It looked as if a vicious animal had torn his skin apart.

It made him no less handsome; indeed, it made him look more ruthless and dangerous.

Nick dropped the guarded expression, replaced it with a heavy-lidded assessment. “Shelby Stillwater. You are a lovely sight for weary eyes like mine. What are you doing here, darling?”

At sixteen, the compliment would have thrilled her. Now she was older and wiser to his charms. “I’m working. And you?”

Nick’s gaze shuttered and a slight tension rippled through his muscled body. “I returned for the funeral.”

His Deep South accent was barely noticeable. And this Nick was different. Still charming and suave, but something lurked beneath the surface. Not the scar—Shelby dismissed that, for she’d never let such superficial markings bother her. But shadows lingered in his dark eyes.

“Nice of you to finally come home. Too bad you were too late to say goodbye to your father.”

His expression darkened. “Soon as Dan found me and contacted me, I was on my way back here. I dropped everything because he was sick.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said in a gentler tone. No matter if Nick didn’t care when Silas fell ill, the man was still his father.

He gave a rough nod.

“Where are you staying?” She didn’t want to be polite to this man, who’d broken her heart ten years ago when he’d pushed her aside like the boys in high school who called her “trailer trash.” But Nick was Silas’s son, and for the sake of honoring his dad, she’d mind her tongue.

Long as he didn’t kiss her again. Your tongue wouldn’t mind that, huh?

Shelby told her dancing female hormones to get lost and mentally recalled the dead rat. Worked wonders for lowering a libido.

“At the ranch.” Nick stretched an arm along the booth as he watched her.

She managed to conceal her surprise. “I’m sure your cousins will be happy to see you.”

Nick’s gaze turned hard. “Doubt it. Dan and Jake won’t want me around long.”

She blinked in surprise. “You’re always welcome, Nick. You were the one who left.”

Everyone in town knew how Silas and Nick had clashed like two stubborn bulls in an arena, while Dan and Jake got along with the old man just fine. Shelby didn’t understand how Nick could leave home and only return for his father’s funeral.

Her parents had been drunks, and when they left town, Shelby barely noticed. But Nick came from a long line of solid, upstanding Barlow denizens. Andersons had served on the town council for as long as anyone could remember, and the Belle Creek had been an icon in the community for years, sponsoring 4-H competitions and Little League teams.

Something flickered behind his dark gaze. “I’m ready to order. Why don’t you sit a minute, take a load off? You look as if you’ve been running ragged.”

Pride struggled against the need to do exactly as he said. Weariness won. Shelby perched on the edge of the booth and put her pad on the table. Best not to show how much her hands shook, let him know his raw animal heat could still affect her, like a blast furnace. “Thanks.”

“Where are you laying your head at night these days, darling? Apartment in town?”

Nick’s deep, smoky voice made the question sound sinful and inviting. Shelby tapped her pencil against the battered order pad. “Silas converted the space above the garage into an apartment for myself and Timmy.”

The scar on his cheek turned white as his jaw tightened. “Timmy?”

“My nephew. My sister and her husband are living overseas in Iraq. He’s an engineer—got a very lucrative twenty-four-month contract.”

Nick’s mouth thinned, and he shook his head. “You couldn’t pay me enough to live there. Did three tours in Iraq. Managed to survive, despite all the suicide bombers.”

She knew this, knew it every day, and worried one day her sister and brother-in-law might not return home. “It’s why they left Timmy with me.”

“Still the same Shelby, living in the same place, taking care of everyone,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers. “Darling, are you ever going to leave the Belle Creek? That old place has been trapping you there for years.”

Shelby bristled at this truth. She’d given up her dream of traveling in order to care for Timmy. It was a reality she’d cheerfully accepted, but hearing it from his sexy mouth made it hurt. “My sister and her husband couldn’t pass up this chance to make good money. They’re moving back here when they return, and they promised I could live with them to save money for travel. Now, are you ready to order?”

“I’ll have sweet tea, salad with raspberry vinaigrette, the chicken, baked potato and carrots.”

“You like breasts or thighs?”

His eyes moved in a slow caress over her body that made all her hormones sing. “Both look good to me.”

Damn that color rising to her cheeks. Nick chuckled. “Breast meat. Grilled.”

After scribbling down the order, she stood. “Be right up.”

He smiled, a genuine smile that added tiny lines to the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes and dimpled his right cheek. A bedroom smile that she suspected had lured many women into his arms. “It’s good to see you again, Shelby. You’re the one person in this town I like seeing again.”

She wished she could say the same. The sooner Nick Anderson left, the better for her. The man had a habit of disarming her, shaking up her world. In a world that was already pretty rattled, she liked the idea of stability.

After she brought his food, Nick didn’t dig in right away, but kept looking at her, as if she was steak and he was starving. “It really is good to see you again, Sweet Pea Shelby.”

The nickname caught her off guard, and coaxed an uncertain smile to her mouth. “No one’s called me that in years.” Not since her parents had become more interested in alcohol than their daughters.

“Too bad,” he said softly.

For a moment she stood looking at him, her heart pounding like a war drum. Nick still had it. And damn her, she still wanted it.

Shelby hurried off to take another order. She stopped by to check on him ten minutes later. As she went to take his salad plate, his fingers brushed against hers. A tingle rushed down her spine and he stared at her.

Shelby became aware of her too-rapid pulse, the knot of desire centered low in her belly.

Vern waved at her and she turned, but Nick laced strong fingers around her wrist. “Wait,” he said softly. “Isn’t that Vern Dickerson?”

“He comes in here every Friday.” Her heart beat triple-time at the hint of steely strength restraining her, and yet his grip was gentle. “I think he’s lonely.”

Nick nodded. Without ceremony, he picked up his meal and glass, and walked over to Vern’s booth, sliding in opposite him. “Hi, there, sir. I’m Nick Anderson. Mind if I sit with you? I hate to eat alone. Don’t want to bother you, so I’ll leave if you wish.”

Vern beamed. As she left to take care of another customer, Vern began regaling Nick with stories of his time in ’Nam, Nick listening intently. Her heart softened.

When Vern excused himself to the restroom, Shelby stopped to refill Nick’s sweet tea.

“Sweet Pea, give me Vern’s check. A man who has served like he has shouldn’t have to worry about his next meal.”

“Already taken care of,” she told him. “And thank you.”

Nick blinked. “For what?”

“For spending time with an old man who is absolutely thrilled to sit with the hometown hero.”

His expression darkened. “He’s the real war hero.”

Vern returned, and Shelby left them alone. A few minutes later, the elderly veteran waved her over and asked for the check. Shelby went into her usual dialogue about the special veterans plan. Vern thanked her, then the two men stood and shook hands.

“Been a real honor to spend time with you, sir.” Nick nodded at him.

Beaming, Vern saluted him. “Same here, sailor. You ever need someone to jaw with you about the service, I’m your man.”

Vern left, his shoulders a little less stooped, his gait a little less unsteady.

Shelby began clearing the table of Vern’s dishes as Nick sat down and asked for his own check.

“That was so nice of you,” she told him.

“You’re the nice one, Sweet Pea. Vern knows.”

“Knows what?”

“That you pay for his dinner every Friday. Thank you, Shel.”

Her gaze met his dark one and in the depths, she felt something stir. Not mere desire, but something deeper, and more lasting.

“Shouldn’t you be working instead of wasting the customer’s time?”

Shelby stiffened. The honey-sweet voice hid the acid behind those words. She didn’t need to turn around to know that the owner stood behind her. The woman had been in the kitchen an hour ago, barking orders and giving the evil eye when Shelby asked the head chef about a cake recipe with cinnamon.

With her cascading wispy blond curls, big blue eyes and stylish clothing, Natalie Beaufort caught many male eyes in small-town Barlow. Big Chuck Beaufort, her wealthy dad, spared no expense on his youngest daughter. Natalie boarded her show horse, Fancy, at the Belle Creek, so Shelby had to force herself to be polite. The ranch needed the fees to survive. It was no secret Big Chuck coveted the ranch’s lush four hundred acres for some pie-in-the-sky amusement park called Countryville. The man had been bragging around town about his latest plan.

Maybe Nick didn’t care about the land that had been in his family for five generations, but she did. The thought of seeing the rolling hillside, the duck pond where she’d gone swimming on many a hot summer day, the horse pasture, the faded red barn and the rambling outbuildings turned into a tourist trap made Shelby nauseous. And furious.

Natalie slid into the booth across from Nick, pretty as you please, pushing Shelby aside. “Well, hello, stranger,” she cooed. “Nice to see you again. And what are you doing here at my restaurant?”

“Leaving.” Nick gulped down his tea and slid out from the booth, his gaze centered on Shelby. “I’ll see you later, Shelby.”

Silently laughing, she nodded at Nick.

He dropped several bills into the check folder and then looked at her with those sleepy bedroom eyes, now sharpened, as they centered on her mouth. He touched her cheek and she startled, the contact sizzling between them like a crackling electrical line. Nick gently stroked a thumb over her trembling lower lip.

“Maybe I should have stuck around ten years ago and finished what I started with you.”

Whistling, he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and strode off.

Natalie pouted so much she looked twelve instead of twenty-six.

“Get back to work,” Natalie told her in a sullen voice.

Humming, Shelby cleared the table and dumped the dishes in the wait station near the bar. The recent troubles came back to haunt her. Nick was staying at the ranch. He’d been away for ten years and had no idea of what he was waltzing back into on the Belle Creek.

As she headed into the kitchen, a dreadful thought struck her. Nick returned for the funeral, but what if Silas left the entire ranch to his son?

Impossible. Dan had faithfully remained on the ranch as foreman, aiding his uncle. Silas and his only son, Nick, had been estranged for years.

Silas would never leave the Belle Creek to Nick, the man who wanted nothing to do with the ranch and would probably sell if it was his.

And if he was the new owner of the Belle Creek, she faced a real possibility of being homeless once more.

Chapter 2

Nick had never wanted to set eyes on the Belle Creek Ranch again.

Ten years ago, he’d thought the same about Shelby Stillwater, and not for the same reasons.

Sweet Pea Shelby. Damn, the girl had turned into a woman, and what a fine-looking woman. One night, upset over yet another fight with Silas, he’d come home and saw her sitting in the cabin, where he’d gone to sleep off the Jack Daniel’s. He hadn’t cared she was barely sixteen and he was old enough to know better. She looked so lost, as forlorn as he’d felt, so he’d kissed her. Her mouth had been warm and sweet, and the kiss had seared him to his very bones, so much that his dick had turned as hard as stone in his jeans and he knew if he’d stayed, he’d have done something very, very wrong.

Shelby was too nice for his brand of wicked.

And now she was legal. Very legal. With those big green eyes, thick brown curls with a hint of honey and sunshine spilling past her shoulders, all those curves and that spark in her eye, she made him think of hot, wet kisses in the night, and things men wanted to do to women who roused them to the point of madness. Long, slow sex. Fast, hard sex.

When he’d touched her, the past rushed back like a tornado. Her skin felt warm and soft as satin, and her mouth...

Nick pushed Shelby out of his mind. Tomorrow was the funeral, and then he’d be gone again, this time never coming back. He’d never return to Shelby or the ranch. Odd, he’d thought the old man would live forever, for Silas Anderson was one tough bastard.

Not too tough for the pneumonia that rattled his lungs and ultimately claimed him.

Nick parked his Harley in the curved driveway of the two-story white farmhouse and adjusted his backpack. Two elegant carriage lights tastefully accented the front porch, with its rows of white wicker rocking chairs and baskets of flowers. House...? Hell, this was a mansion compared to some places he’d slept.

He whistled. When he’d left, last time for good, the farmhouse had weathered paint, finicky plumbing and heat, and wood floorboards that creaked when you tried to sneak up the stairs. This kind of renovating took plenty of money. He knew, too, because over the past year since he’d left the teams, he’d found odd jobs doing construction and flipping houses.

His gut curling into a knot, he walked up to the double doors with the half-moon windows above them and rang the silver bell. Soft chimes sounded inside. Even the doorbell had changed from the sharp, annoying buzzer. He half expected a butler named Jeeves to open the door.

Instead, his cousin Dan did, and stood for a moment silently assessing him. Nick did the same. Five years older than Nick, Dan looked a little thicker around the waist than last time, and there were threads of silver in his dark hair. No welcome in his blue eyes, either. Once they’d been close. No longer. Not since the day Nick packed all his things and left for good. Abandoning the family, Dan had called it.

Survival, Nick termed it.

In a starched white shirt, black trousers and polished loafers, Dan looked more like a banker than a cowboy. Nick became aware of his shabby jeans, the faded black T-shirt beneath his collared chambray work shirt.

“Hi, Dan. Good to see you.”

“Nick. You’re here, finally.”

Dan engulfed him in a hug that felt stiffer than a new board. Nick hugged him back a little more enthusiastically. He wasn’t going to be a jerk, even if Dan wasn’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat.

“Come on in. You can hang your things in the hall closet. Felicity doesn’t like jackets strewn about the house.”

Nick shrugged out of the frayed backpack containing all his worldly goods and then removed his leather jacket, placing it on a padded hanger in the closet. A black Stetson with a turquoise band sat on a shelf. Nick removed it and stroked a thumb along the brim.

“I remember this well,” he mused. “Bought it at a rodeo when I was sixteen.”

The remark made Dan thaw a bit. “You used to wear it in school.”

Nick grinned. “Wonder if my head has shrunk since then.”

Dan’s smile faded. “Felicity doesn’t like hats worn inside the house. But you can take it with you upstairs to your room and wear it on the ranch. Come, I’ll introduce you to my wife and children.”

The hallway was lined with white marble, and elegant framed paintings hung on the cream walls. The entry to this house wasn’t stacked with boots caked with mud and horse droppings. The antiseptic atmosphere made him feel as if he should have wiped his feet more before entering.

Dan led him into a living room with overstuffed brown leather furniture, a stone fireplace and gold lamps. A pretty but brittle blond woman dressed in a severe navy-blue dress was perched on the edge of the sofa. Next to her were two young boys with buzzed-cut brown hair dressed in neatly pressed trousers and white shirts.

Dan introduced the woman as his wife, Felicity, and their two sons, Mason, eight, and Miles, six. The little boys looked solemn.

Nick shook Felicity’s hand, which felt as damp and listless as the Southern heat. He sat on the leather chair opposite them.

“Thanks for letting me bunk here tonight,” he told her.

She gave a desultory wave of one hand. “It is your home as well, Nicolas.”

Dan stood by the sofa, as stiff as his starched shirt. “Did you eat dinner yet, Nick?”

“I ate at the Bucking Bronc earlier. Didn’t want to impose.”

Felicity seemed to sit even straighter. “It is no imposition. We already ate, but there are leftovers. Breakfast will be ready at seven o’clock sharp tomorrow. The funeral home requests family be there at nine thirty. We arranged to have two limousines. You may ride in one, unless you would rather provide your own transportation.”

“I have my bike,” he offered.

Her nostrils flared in apparent distaste. “You may ride in the second car, then. We expect promptness and we must respect the funeral director’s wishes. The services will begin at eleven sharp. We have a few house rules. No shouting, running, hats worn inside the house or jeans at the dinner table. We dress for dinner, which is six o’clock sharp. Boots with spurs are worn outside only.”

With all this “sharp” grating sharply on his last nerve, Nick wished he’d booked a room at the local motel. Then he remembered there was a country-music convention in town and there were no rooms. Maybe the barn. Might be a tad warmer sleeping with the horses than in this cold house.

He glanced at the dusty Western boots on his feet. “This is still a farm, right, Felicity?”

Felicity blinked. “Of course it is. But we are civilized people, and we must adhere to the rules in order to act as civilized people, not wild hooligans.”

A dull flush crept up his neck. Damn if she didn’t sound like old Silas himself, with the rules and the “hooligan” accusation. Maybe the old man had rubbed off on her. Or he’d died earlier and his ghost possessed this woman.

“I won’t be much in your way.” He gave her a pointed look. “After the funeral, I’m gone.”

He’d think the idea would have pleased her. Instead, she kept twisting her hands together. What was wrong with this woman?

“Where’s Timmy?” he asked. “I saw Shelby at the restaurant and she said you’re babysitting.”

Felicity sat straighter. “He’s downstairs in the recreation room.”

Recreation room? Dollar signs began pinging in his head. He wondered how much money Silas had sunk into this house. Unease gripped him. The old man had always been frugal, but this house cost money. Maybe the rumors he’d heard of the ranch being in debt were more than rumors.

Not your problem.

Dan stood and gestured to him. “I’ll show you to your room.”

He thanked Felicity again, and followed Dan up the sweeping staircase to the second-floor landing, his boot heels stomping firmly on each step.

At the hallway’s end, Dan opened a door. Nick blinked. Once this had been his room. No longer.

The bedroom had been converted to a guest room with a white queen-size bed, a pink ruffled spread, pink walls, white girlish furniture and a white rocking chair with bright pink cushions by the window. Nick gave a rueful shrug.

“Felicity thought you might like to be in your old room.” Dan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Except we did some redecorating, thinking you’d never come home again.”

“No worries,” he said easily. “I’m not staying long and I’ve stayed in worse places. Maybe not as pink, though.”

Dan flashed a brief smile at the joke as Nick dumped his pack on the white carpeted floor.

“Bathroom is through that door.” Dan pointed to a connecting door. “No one else is on this floor, so you don’t have to worry about interruptions.”

“Just my boots,” Nick joked.

Dan jammed a hand through his short hair. “Ah, about the boots, don’t worry about it. Felicity makes the rules mainly for the staff, who come into the house to use the office downstairs. Not family.”

Am I still family? The question hovered on the tip of his mouth, but he only nodded.

“Where’s Jake?” he asked.

“He’s at his girlfriend’s, but will meet us at the funeral home.”

Lucky bastard. Maybe his girlfriend had a spare room for Nick. A room with less frills and less Pepto-Bismol decor.

“I’ll need a suit for the funeral,” Nick told him.

“Already taken care of. You can wear one of Jake’s—you’re about the same size. Felicity hung it in this closet.”

As his cousin made to leave, Nick sat down on the pink chair. He was twenty-nine now, no longer the rebellious teen who looked up to his older relative for advice. “Stay a minute, Dan. Tell me what’s been going on. All I heard was rumors about the ranch having financial trouble.”

Dan stood by the bed. “There’s been a lot that’s happened since you left, Nick. Maybe if you had stuck around, if you had cared enough, things would be different.”

Tension squeezed his guts. Once he and Dan had been close. No longer, for the cold anger flaring in his cousin’s eyes told him everything. “I couldn’t.”

No use getting into the past, how Silas had browbeat him until Nick felt smothered, and how if he hadn’t left, he’d have either turned into a ghost of himself, or he’d have gone mad. The old man had kicked him out when he was only sixteen, telling him to “learn to straighten out and you can return.”

Nick survived six months being homeless, living by his wits, until the bitter cold weather drove him back, humiliated and ashamed, to his father. He remained at home another three years and then joined the navy.

No one knew the real reason he stuck it out. He preferred to keep that reason private.

Still, Dan should know his decision wasn’t capricious. “You remember that day when I was fourteen and I found the puppy by the roadside? How I begged Silas to keep it?”

His cousin nodded. “Always thought it was a bad deal that the dog was so sick you had to put it down. Tough call, but Silas said it was for the best.”

Nick gave his cousin a level look. “The dog was fine. I secretly brought him over to the vet to have him checked over. He didn’t need anything more than a deworming, Dan. Silas wanted me to shoot it because he said I needed to grow a set of real balls, and not get all ‘female’ over a damn stray dog.”

Dan blanched. “Silas would never do that.”

Nick gave a grim smile. “Oh, he would never do that to you. But me, he did crap like that all the time. Guess you’ll never understand. But before you go judging me for leaving here, understand I had my reasons.”

His cousin looked away, but not before Nick caught a flash of guilt on his face. “Silas could be tough, yeah. But if he didn’t take us in after my dad died, we’d have been really bad off, Nick. I guess that’s why I could forgive anything he did.”

“You had your reasons for staying, just as I had mine for leaving.” Nick stood and went to his pack, then unzipped it. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

Dan started for the door. “Like Felicity said, it’s your home, too. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Make sure to lock your window before you go to sleep.”

Lock his window on the second floor? Nick looked up, but his cousin was gone.

Nick went to the closet and opened the door. A black silk suit hung there, the dry-cleaning plastic still encasing it. He tore off the plastic and then tried on the suit. A little tight around the shoulders, but it would suffice.

He hung it up and then went into the adjoining bathroom to shower. When he emerged, in clean jeans and a gray T-shirt, the two boys stood in the doorway. Nick waved them in. They entered, their big blue eyes wide.

They watched him as he unpacked and rummaged through his clothing.

“Daddy says you’re a hero. You’re a Navy SEAL,” Mason said.

Hero? The thought soured him, even as he appreciated his cousin’s compliment.

“I was a Navy SEAL.” Nick hung a hat on the bed’s post.

“Mommy doesn’t like hats on the bed,” Miles informed him.

Wonder if Mommy likes anything on the bed, he thought, and sighed. The boys stood opposite him, so stiff that they resembled wooden bookends.

He wasn’t good with kids, except his best friend Cooper’s family, and these boys looked too wary, too uncertain of this stranger in their home.

Their home, not his.

Nick dug into his knapsack. He removed his one good white shirt, wondering if Felicity had an iron he could borrow. Judging from the woman’s attitude, she probably kept a dozen.

The gun case was stashed at the bottom. He removed it and stared at the pistol encased within.

He’d have to keep his SIG Sauer locked up and wondered if Silas still kept his shotguns and rifles in the downstairs study. Ah, hell.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he felt a bout of piercing grief at what had been lost between himself and the old man. Silas had taught him how to shoot when Nick was ten. Took him hunting in the mountains, and had pride in his first kill.

The old man showed him how to be an expert marksman. Insisted he take care of his weapons, clean them and make sure they were locked up, away from curious fingers.

It was one of the few areas they had in common and didn’t clash about.

“Is that a gun?” Miles asked.

Nick nodded, replaced his sidearm in the backpack.

“Can we see it?” Mason said, his voice growing excited.

Giving his cousin’s son a long look, Nick shook his head. “Hands off. I never let another man handle my sidearm.”

The boy pouted a little until hearing the word man.

“Dad wants to take me hunting, but Mommy says guns are dangerous,” Mason said.

“They are, if you don’t know how to use them. Maybe your dad can convince your mom to let you go hunting next year, when you’re a little older.”

“Daddy keeps a gun under his pillow,” Miles told him, but clammed up when Mason frowned at him.

Odd. Dan had always been a bit squeamish around guns. Necessary on a ranch, but his cousin let Silas do the shooting. Why would he feel the need for home protection with a gun, especially with vulnerable children living here?

Next he removed a small black velvet box and opened it, studying the gold winking in the lamplight.

“What is that?” Mason asked.

Nick removed the pin and showed them. “That’s my Budweiser, my Navy SEAL pin. Only real Navy SEALs get these.”

The boys examined the pin with avid interest while Nick went to the window. He lifted the curtains with the back of one hand, peering into the darkness at the twin carriage lights on the garage. Shelby lived out there. Cute, curvy Shelby, who had turned his world upside down ten years ago with that killer kiss...

“If you’re sleeping here tonight, make sure to lock your window. We all have to make sure the house is locked tight before we go to bed,” Mason told him.

Nick recoiled. He glanced down at the ground two stories below. “Why?”

“So no one breaks in, like they did last month.”

Crime, here at Belle Creek? “What happened?”

“Someone went into Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom.” Mason looked troubled.

Nick squatted down by the solemn little boy. “What happened?”

“Daddy says not to talk about it outside the family,” Miles told him.

Nick smiled. “I’m family. You can tell me.”

Miles seemed to consider. “Someone stole Mommy’s favorite pen.”

“Pin,” Mason amended. “They went into our parents’ bedroom and took Mom’s jewelry. Her favorite pin. It had a silver horse with emerald eyes. It was right after that when Readalot died—”

“Daddy was real upset,” Miles interrupted.

“I’ll tell it, Miles.” Mason looked at Nick. “Readalot was our champion jumper. He won lots of competitions. Shelby went into the stables and Readalot was dead in his stall. He was our champion jumper. Hank, the ranch hand, say the horse was healthy as an ox. Someone killed him.”

He needed to find out what the hell was going on around here. Then he remembered he didn’t live here anymore.

Nick ruffled the boys’ hair. “Don’t worry about it. Do as your mom and dad tell you. I’m sure things will be fine.”

But they stared at him with those big eyes. “Will you stay here? Maybe if we have a real Navy SEAL stay here, the bad things won’t happen.”

Tightness formed in his chest. Bad things happened all the time, and he couldn’t do a damn thing to prevent them. But these were young, innocent kids, and while they didn’t deserve lies, they also didn’t deserve adult worries. “We’ll see,” he said vaguely. “I’ll do everything I can while I’m here, okay?”

The words were more BS than the droppings in the pasture, but both boys looked relieved.

“Now, go downstairs to your mom. I’m sure she’s worried about you being up here with big, bad cousin Nick.” He winked at them and they grinned in pure male camaraderie of doing something they shouldn’t.

When the boys left, Nick fingered his SEAL pin. Hell of a price paid for getting it, but not as much as his brothers in arms, who had paid the ultimate price with their lives. The pin meant everything to him. But he’d left the teams after his hospital discharge, when he knew he couldn’t perform up to par, knew he would never be at the top of his game again.

And now he felt more lost than when he’d stormed away from the ranch and Silas’s iron grip when he was nineteen, never looking back.

No reason for him to stay now. But as he gazed out the window, he saw a car pull into the driveway by the garage. Light from the dual carriage lamps showcased a woman climbing out—a woman with dark hair and a gentle sway to her hips.

Shelby. The mouth-watering, kissable Shelby.

He watched her walk across the drive toward the house. Nick checked his appearance in the mirror, finger-combed his hair and went downstairs as the doorbell rang.

Miss Shelby Stillwater. His blood surged, hot and thick. He thought of that kiss and how it had made every cell inside him alive and aware.

Maybe it was time to stay. At least until he could figure out what the hell was going on around here.

Chapter 3

The funeral had been a quiet, dignified affair. No one shed a tear, except her.

But as she’d stood by the graveside, watching the others throw flowers on the casket, she saw Nick rub his eyes. Maybe he and Silas had been on bad terms, but the man was his father.

Shelby had sidled over to Nick, who was standing alone and looking lost, and clasped his hand. He’d looked startled, and then a little grateful.

Now, as they sat in Silas’s downstairs study in the farmhouse, Nick looked neither. Guarded, perhaps. No...wary. And quite uncomfortable, as was she. The last thing she wanted to do, after the emotion of the funeral and the strain of helping to host the reception at the house afterward, was to listen to the reading of the will. She only wanted to collect Timmy from the downstairs rec room, where he was playing with Mason and Miles, then go to her apartment. Maybe take Timmy riding on his pony later.

Lord knew they needed to return to some form of normalcy.

Normal certainly had not been last night, when she’d gotten Timmy from this house. Nick had been in the hallway, leaning against the staircase, his long, muscled body looking hot as sin as he’d hooked his fingers through the loops of his belt hoops. He looked ready for sex.

It had taken all her willpower to murmur a polite greeting and tear her gaze away from him instead of ogling him like a schoolgirl. Fortunately, Felicity had been in a hurry and practically threw Timmy into Shelby’s arms. She’d made a quick introduction of Timmy, and then fled with her nephew as if a blond devil was on her heels.

Today’s somber occasion reminded her that Nick was only here temporarily. Shelby was certain he’d leave right after this. Perhaps even faster than the last time he’d gone away, leaving only the angry rubber of his tread marks on the front drive.

Silas’s lawyer, Kurt Mohler, had gathered them together in this room. Shelby sat straight in the leather chair, trying to keep her nerves from jumping like water on a hot skillet. She doubted Silas had left her anything in his will, but her main concern was keeping her little apartment above the garage, at least until Heather and Pete returned from Iraq.

On the leather sofa, Dan and Felicity and Dan’s younger brother, Jake, looked attentive.

She and Nick perched on the wing chairs near the sofa, while Kurt, who seemed restless, paced before the fireplace. Finally the lawyer turned.

“Silas made his last wishes very plain and clear. Daniel, I want you to know that as the family lawyer, if you wish to contest his will, you have the right to do so. However, it will be a lengthy court battle, which is something I’m sure you can’t afford.”

Her stomach clenched in tight knots. This wasn’t a good start.

Dan frowned. “Why would we want to do that? Uncle Silas was always good to us.”

Kurt removed a gold pen from his suit pocket and began fiddling with it. “As you know, the ranch is deeply in debt.”

She watched Nick frown, his gaze sharp as he scrutinized the attorney. Judging from his reaction, Nick had no idea how bad things were around here. Having done the books for the ranch, she thought she knew. But Silas also liked to handle the family’s personal bills himself and there was the matter of the ranch mortgage.

He’d never let her know the exact amount, only muttered that he’d take care of it.

“How much in debt?” Nick demanded.

Dan stiffened. “That’s not for public knowledge.”

Without his gaze leaving the attorney’s face, Nick snapped, “I’m not the public.”

“All parties in this room need to know what liabilities Silas faced, as well as the assets he owned,” Kurt assured him. “It’s why I asked all of you here.”

The attorney looked at Nick. “Silas took out an equity loan on the house to pay for repairs, using the ranch as collateral. His estate owes the bank two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on the mortgage. I’m afraid he fell behind in payments.”

Dread curled through her. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars! She’d known it was bad, but not that bad. Silas had been nonchalant when he’d mentioned he owed money. No wonder he always looked so pinched and worried.

“What about the assets?” Felicity asked.

The woman had a poker face. If she had shed a single tear, Shelby hadn’t seen it. Felicity hadn’t always been this cold and brittle. Not until all the mysterious incidents started around the ranch, and Silas had mentioned that money was tight.

Secretly Shelby wondered about the odd coincidence of the sabotage happening concurrently with Silas’s announcement. Dan managed the ranch. He knew Silas owed money, and maybe he’d mentioned it to his wife. Felicity had high standards. She’d insisted on the elaborate renovations to the house. Was she also behind the vandalism as well, acts designed to make Silas sell the ranch?

“The assets are the ranch and the house and all the outbuildings, a life insurance policy, a policy to pay for the funeral and all associated costs only, and a very small investment account.” Kurt stooped and looked at them grimly. “There is a very good offer on the table for the ranch, and the house, from Chuck Beaufort. More than enough to pay off the loan, with a nice sum to purchase a new house in a good part of town.”

Dan looked uncertain. Felicity reached over and squeezed her husband’s hand. “What does Mr. Beaufort plan to do with the ranch? He’s a developer, not a farmer.”

Kurt’s gaze was impassive. “He has plans for a theme park, which will bring in plenty of tourists and new business to town. The view of the mountains is splendid from the pasture.”

Clenching her teeth, Shelby fisted her hands in her lap. Chuck Beaufort would take the serene pastures and the wild, overgrown forest, with its tangle of brush, and bulldoze everything. The Belle Creek had been in the family for generations. Maybe she didn’t have any kind of family connection to the place, but it had been the only real home she’d ever had.

How could the lawyer propose they sell? Had he ever ridden over the lush pastures at dawn in spring, fresh dew beading the grass, the leaden sky bursting into gold as the sun peaked over the mountaintops of the Smokies?

Had he ever hung on a fence railing, listening to the wind sweep over the hills, watching the children play in the yard as the horses peacefully cropped the grass? The air was so pure and fresh here, it hurt her heart to think of the ranch turning into a concrete playground for wealthy people.

Her hands clenched tighter. Barlow was a sleepy community, a typical small town, except for when the country-music convention came to town. It offered nothing to her. She planned to leave for the bright lights of Nashville when Heather and Steve returned from Iraq. Heather promised they’d all get a place in the city big enough for Shelby while she pursued her dream of traveling to Paris to learn art.

But she’d always imagined the Belle Creek would be here if she ever wanted to visit. She couldn’t imagine Barlow without the sprawling ranch.

She also couldn’t imagine it without Silas. He was the heart of this place. Fresh grief made it hard to swallow past the thick lump in her throat.

A deep frown touched Nick’s face. “The ranch always made money in the past. What happened that the old man got into such debt?”

The question was directed at Dan, who avoided looking at Nick. When Nick swept his gaze around the room, the lawyer also didn’t meet his eyes.

“This is a good working ranch with a reputation for producing excellent studs and show horses.” Nick leaned forward, his gaze hard. “The Belle Creek always had at least two dozen horses boarded here to provide a steady monthly income and we won hard cash in equestrian jumping competitions. Silas was a hardheaded businessman who pinched pennies. There’s no reason for it to be operating that much in the red.”

Silence draped the room. Jake grinned, but it looked forced. “We have only three boarders left, Nick. Things are not always as they seem, cuz.”

His brother ignored the statement and gestured to the room. “Mr. Mohler, I’m not selling the Belle Creek. Uncle Silas told me five years ago when he named me as his trustee that I should never sell the ranch, no matter what. It had to stay in the family.”

Relief swept through Shelby. She found it oddly appealing that Dan was a champion of the old man, when they’d clashed over managing the ranch in the past.

Nick rubbed a hand over his chin. He looked uncomfortable. Shelby felt a dash of pity for him. Even though he had abandoned his family, it had to hurt, knowing his father had overlooked him in favor of a cousin.

The lawyer cleared his throat. “I have here a letter from Silas to you, Nick.”

As he handed over the envelope, Nick looked at the letter as if it was a snake.

“I suggest you read it in private, when we are done here. I’ll want to meet with you soon in my office downtown, Nick.”

Felicity frowned. “What does Nick have to do with any of this? We know Dan is the trustee. Silas told us he was leaving everything to Dan, with provisions for Jake.”

Kurt looked uncomfortable. “Silas came to me six months ago to update his trust and his will. There is a small provision for Dan and Jake, amounting to a total of twenty thousand dollars to be divided evenly. That provision comes from the life insurance policy, so that is solid cash. Both of you will also receive a few acres of land each.”

Shelby’s stomach did a flip-flop. She had a bad feeling about this.

“Then who gets the house and the ranch?” Jake demanded.

Kurt looked right at Nick, the man who couldn’t care less about any of this, who hadn’t been home in ten years. “The will states that Silas left almost everything to Nick. The house, the ranch, the horses, all the assets. It is his to do with as he pleases. Including the investment account, which I’m afraid only amounts to ten thousand dollars.”

“What?” Felicity shrieked.

Dan looked pale and Jake laughed. Nick said nothing, but went very still, his hands curling around the letter, as if he wanted to crush it.

Or crush Silas.

“Well, at least the old man’s funeral is paid for,” Jake joked.

“That isn’t funny,” Felicity snapped.

She didn’t dare breathe. She wasn’t mentioned at all in this family drama. For a moment she wondered why the lawyer wanted her here.

Didn’t Silas remember her at all?

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Kurt turned to Shelby. “Miss Stillwater, there is also a provision in the will for you.”

She waited, nails digging into her palms.

“Silas arranged to give you the apartment over the garage. It’s yours to occupy as long as the ranch remains in the family. You can’t sell it, of course, but you’re free to live there and he made it clear no rent will be charged as long as you occupy it.”

A little of her tension fled. She managed a tight nod. “Thank you.”

The lawyer nodded. “Silas always thought highly of you. He loved you like you were his daughter.”

She warmed a little to the man. And then he added, “But you are not family, only an employee of the Belle Creek. Silas made it clear that only family is to have what funds he left. I don’t blame him, as I know your family’s history with the ranch is circumspect, specifically your father and how he left here owing money.”

Talk about a dose of ice water. Holding on to her pride, she sat straight and managed a tight smile. Nick, however, wasn’t smiling.

“That’s not necessary, Mohler,” he said in a quiet, dangerous voice. “Shelby is not her father. Show her some respect.”

She didn’t need Nick defending her. Her smile grew tighter. “Nick, he’s right. I’m not family.”

Shelby locked gazes with the lawyer. “I’m also not my father. Or my mother. I’ve been employed by the Belle Creek for ten years and in those ten years, I’ve paid back every cent my daddy owed. I’d appreciate it if you would not confuse me with my parents.”

As the lawyer started to stammer, she gave him a singularly sweet smile. “Are we clear on that, Mr. Mohler?”

He nodded and fumbled with his papers. Nick gave her a winsome grin. She ignored it, far too upset inside. Well-mannered Southern girls did not speak back, especially not to wealthy attorneys. But she was so damn tired of people in Barlow bringing up her parents, as if they waited to see if she’d pass out cold in her home from drinking too much.

Not that she really had a home. Her home depended upon the whims of what the family did with the ranch.

Shelby’s troubled gaze flicked back to Nick. Not family. Silas’s only son, Nick. He was the sole owner of the ranch now.

Nick stared back at her, the scar on his cheek turning white. “The will states Shelby can live here as long as I keep the ranch. What if I decide to sell?”

“Then she, along with everyone else, will have to leave.” Kurt didn’t look at her.

Felicity was rocking back and forth now, her jaw clenched so tight it could pound nails. The woman looked ready to rake her claws over Nick. Or scream. Or do both. But unlike Shelby, Felicity was a well-mannered Southern lady and she would not say a word.

Not until she was alone in her bedroom with Dan. Shelby didn’t envy Dan for that.

Jake leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “How much did Uncle Silas owe? He never told any of us about this.” His glance went to Shelby. “Not even Shelby here, who kept the books. Uncle Silas was very private about that.”

“He was very far behind in payments, and the loan had a balloon due four months ago. The bank already started foreclosure. The total amount needed to prevent this is fifty-nine thousand, seven hundred and fifty. The bank needs this by the end of the month.”

They had one month to come up with nearly sixty thousand dollars. She glanced at Nick. No, he had that time to come up with that cash.

“The ranch is worth much more than the mortgage, Nick.” Kurt handed him a white business card. “Come and see me first thing Monday morning and we’ll go over everything, including Chuck’s offer to buy Belle Creek. He’s offering nearly a million in cash. I can help set up a meeting. Chuck is a business associate.”

Shelby couldn’t think, could barely register what had just happened as Nick stood and shook the man’s hand. The lawyer exited, and Felicity almost ran out of the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she left the Oriental carpet, her hapless husband trailing her. Jake looked stunned for a minute and then shrugged. He slapped Nick’s shoulder.

“Welcome home, cousin. What a sly trickster that Silas is. Let me know if you’re going to sell and I’ll move my stuff in permanently with Lynn, not just my toothbrush. Maybe see about getting on with a horse farm in Kentucky.” Jake grinned and left.

She was alone with Nick. He stood and went to Silas’s big mahogany desk. How many times had she seen the old man sit there, dusty boots sprawled across the faded Oriental rug, frown lines denting his forehead, much as they were denting Nick’s now? Silas had always brightened when she’d entered these hallowed quarters, inviting her to sit and talk.

He’d made her feel comfortable and at home, not like the hired hand she had been. Silas would insist on brewing them a little tea, and they’d sit, as fancy as if they were sipping tea in the queen’s parlor. She’d tell him all about how Readalot performed his paces that day with Jake, and then how the horse kept nosing in her shirt pocket for the apple he knew she’d hidden as she curried him. Silas had listened to her, really listened, as his tired blue eyes met hers over his teacup.

The thought that he wouldn’t be around anymore to listen to her talk about her day, ask in his deep, gravelly voice how she was doing, caused an unbearable clench of grief.

Nick turned from the desk, with its neat piles of papers and files. His gaze was bleak. He lifted a hand to her and she saw he had the letter.

“Shel...”

Frozen in shock, she could only stare as a kaleidoscope of disastrous possibilities whirled through her mind. Nick was now in charge. Nick, who had kissed her and left, making her feel as abandoned as a shelter dog. Nick, who fought hard with Silas and didn’t care about the ranch’s legacy, or his heritage.

“I didn’t want this,” he said, and the letter shook a little in his hand, as if a breeze caught it. “I need time to sort things out.”

Time? “You have less than a month, by the look of things.” She tried to make her voice light, but an undercurrent of bitterness laced her tone. “The bank looks to foreclose if they don’t get sixty thousand dollars by then.”

His eyes closed, and his long, dark lashes nearly swept over his elegant cheekbones. Such a handsome man, even with that sinister scar. It was a shame a man had such great lashes. No mascara for him.

She realized she felt slightly hysterical.

He opened his eyes, and a determined glint shone there. “You’ll always have a home here, Shel. You and your nephew.”

“Sure.” Now there was no disguising the anger in her voice. “As long as the ranch remains in the family. Because as the lawyer said, I’m not family.”

No longer could she remain here, trying to be civilized. Emotion boiled in her stomach and she walked out of the room, not bothering to close the door. Only when she reached the privacy of her apartment over the garage did the tears come. She let them flow. Grief was better than the haunting thoughts about the future stabbing her mind.

Would Nick do as the lawyer suggested and sell the ranch? She couldn’t even entertain that possibility.

Because if Nick decided to sell the ranch, it would be the worst for her. She and Timmy would be homeless, with no money, and nowhere else to go.

Chapter 4

Alone with the past.

Nick sat in the big leather chair behind Silas’s desk, staring at the paneled walls of his father’s study. He’d always hated this room. It was here that Silas lectured him, yelled at him and then finally shook his head in disgust, announcing that Nick was useless.

The day he ran off to join the navy, he never felt more determined to prove the old man wrong. He’d sweated, strained and broken bones to become a Navy SEAL.

And swore he’d never return to this room. Well, here he was, the echo of his father’s voice bouncing off the walls, a ghost from the past.

Nick fingered the letter the lawyer had given him. There had to be a reason why the old man gave him everything and dissed Dan. To torment Dan like Silas had tormented Nick? Only one way to find out. With grim amusement, he looked at his hands as he took the brass paper opener to slit open the envelope. Hands that had held a weapon steady while facing insurgents were now trembling.

The old man certainly could be as scary as a terrorist at times. His psychological methods of wearing you down had honed Nick’s stubborn streak to never give up. Never quit.

Unfolding the letter, he read the first two paragraphs. Unable to stomach more, he crumpled it up, his palm now shaking with anger, and threw the paper toward the empty fireplace. His father’s portrait, stern and stately, hung over the mantel.

“Damn you to hell, Silas,” he said hoarsely to the painting. “Damn you.”

Clever bastard knew Nick would not accept the ranch, and would sign his birthright over to Dan and leave nothing behind but dust in his wake. Except Silas hit on the one thing he knew would guarantee Nick would stay—challenging him not to fail.

You are the only one who can save the Belle Creek from foreclosure or development, Nicolas. I leave this world counting on you. Don’t disappoint me and fail at this one thing I ask of you.

All his life, the old man warned Nick would become his biggest disappointment. Never once did Silas say he was proud of Nick. Or even that he loved him.

Eyes wet, he stared at the portrait. “Why couldn’t I ever be good enough for you?”

All the medals he’d won, the missions he’d accomplished, the work he’d done with the teams, and Silas never said a word. Never reached out to the son who’d stormed out of here, angry at a father who thought him useless.

Until now.

Too late.

He should call the lawyer, tell him he didn’t want the ranch and arrange to have Mohler deed it over to Dan. Dan and his ice-cold wife could have the place and decide to sell. Nick retrieved the letter and fished out his phone, ready to contact the man. And then a face stabbed at his brain.

Shelby. If he did this, Shelby would be homeless. He wasn’t certain if Dan would let Shelby and Timmy stay at the ranch, rent-free.

Nick smoothed out the paper and glanced at the letter again.

I’m counting on you. Things are very bad at the Belle Creek.

How bad was bad? The ranch never failed to earn money.

For the next half hour, he sat at the desk, ruminating over the tremendous responsibilities Silas had saddled him with. Nick took out a piece of paper and a pencil, and began jotting notes. Seldom one to make snap decisions, he called Dan on his cell. Minutes later, his cousin joined him in the study. Face sullen, Dan crossed his arms at the chest and didn’t look at him.

He leaned forward, keeping his voice low and earnest. “I’m sure this comes as quite a shock, Dan...”

“I’ve worked here for years, and Belle Creek is my home,” Dan snapped. “How do you think I feel? Silas shut me out again. He never listened to me, or agreed to implement the ideas I had to make the ranch more child-and family-friendly. He was stuck in the past. And now everything I’ve poured into the ranch is about to go up in smoke. If you sell, I’m left with nothing. Nothing!”

“I haven’t decided yet about selling.”

“This is my home,” Dan said tightly. “My family’s home. More than yours. But it’s said and done. You going to sell?”

Loaded question. “I need to evaluate all the angles.” Nick studied his cousin, seeing the worry lines denting his face, the purple shadows beneath his eyes. It wasn’t right. Dan had managed the ranch for years, and for Silas to cut him off entirely had been cruel. No matter what his father’s intentions, Nick knew he had to win his cousin’s loyalties first.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Nick tapped the pencil on the desk. “First thing Monday, I’ll go into town, see Kurt Mohler and draft a legal agreement. You and your family stay here at the Belle Creek, with you as manager of the ranch, and as soon as the bank is paid back, I’ll increase your salary by fifty percent and give you twenty-five percent of the ranch’s profits as soon as its operating in the black.”

No tension left those rigid shoulders. “And if you sell?”

“You get ten percent of the cash left over from the sale, after the bank is paid.” He thought of Jake and Shelby. “I’m offering similar deals, with less percentages, to Shelby and Jake.”

Dan blew out a breath. “That’s a sweetheart agreement for you. I get a much smaller percentage if you cut everything and sell.”

“It’s more than fair. Call it an incentive to keep the ranch operational. But the agreement also includes stipulations.” This was the hard part, and he wasn’t certain if Dan, who had run the ranch as he’d pleased, would agree. “Your salary goes into a fund to help operate the ranch and that includes paying the salaries of the stable hands. You’ll still live at the house, rent-free, and you’ll have an allowance for food, spending money and necessities. It’s the only way I can corral the expenditures until we come up with a way to pay back the bank. I’m going to trust you to help the ranch get back on its feet, but you have to trust me, too.”

His mouth flattened as Dan leaned back. “You just returned, Nick. Why should I trust you won’t sell and run off?”

“The legal agreement. It will bind us both here. First, tell me why Silas had no money. He was never one to carry debt. What happened?”

His cousin didn’t meet his eyes. “Who knows? It’s expensive to run a ranch these days. If that’s all... I have to talk to Felicity about all this.”

Dan pushed away from the chair, clearly finished with the conversation. He left, but in a considerably better temper than when he’d first walked into the study.

Nick watched him leave, his mind clicking over the facts like a well-oiled machine. Now was not the time for emotions, and Dan’s were running high after the funeral.

He had savings. But not even close to sixty thousand dollars. And Dan and everyone else seemed loathe to provide any information about why the ranch had slid into such dire straits.

Tucking his phone away, Nick left the study to change his clothing. He took the letter, hoping to get answers from the one person he knew would tell the truth.

* * *

She knew he’d come knocking at her door someday. All the years since he’d been gone, Shelby kept telling herself Nick would return. Now he stood on the landing outside her apartment, a big man taking up half the front window Silas had installed when he’d renovated the place ten years ago.

Why did he have to do it when her eyes were swollen and red from crying, and her hair a frizzy mess?

He’s not here to seduce you, she warned herself. Shelby crumpled up the tissue and threw it in a wastebasket, then opened her front door.

Tall and leanly muscled, he wore a clean black T-shirt and blue jeans. Gone was the somber funeral attire. Somehow she liked this better. It was a clear reminder of the cocky man he’d been, the one who had almost coaxed her into sex all those years ago. A wicked-looking pistol was tucked into a holster at his leather belt.

He was carrying and the sight of the weapon comforted her a little. With all the vandalism at the ranch, it was good to have a man around who knew the business end of a pistol. Dan was hopeless when it came to guns and Felicity was too squeamish. Jake knew how to shoot, but he joked he was a lover, not a fighter.

Shelby’s hungry gaze traveled down from the flatness of his stomach and the muscles rippling beneath the tight T-shirt to the polished brass buckle with a bucking bronc on it. Her gaze traveled a little lower to the interesting bulge just below...

Did I just look at his crotch? Oh, stop it, Shel!

Fortunately, he didn’t appear to notice. Nick’s expression was all business. “Shelby, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need answers about the ranch.”

She stepped aside as he walked in. Typical Nick. Direct, no dancing around, but clearly stating his intentions.

Except when he kissed you, a little voice inside her head nagged.

With a desultory gesture toward the tiny living room, she perched on the wing chair that had been a real steal at a garage sale. Nick sat on the blue-and-white-striped sofa with the stain on the back that she’d hidden by pushing it against the wall.

He gazed around at the landscape paintings on the bright yellow walls and the vase of daisies she’d placed on a round table by the front window.

“Place looks real good, Shel. You’ve made it into a home.” His glance landed on the art easel and the board upon it, tucked into a corner. Nick pointed to the landscapes. “Did you paint those?”

She nodded, folding her arms across her chest. Painting had been a favorite pastime, but with the long hours she worked lately, it had to be set aside. Keeping her home mattered more.

A home she could easily lose, depending on his whims. “What do you want, Nick?”

He opened his palm, showing a piece of crumpled white stationery. “What’s happened at the Belle Creek that it’s losing so much money, Shel? Silas wants me to save it from foreclosure...or a sale to Beaufort.”

Honest, direct. Relief calmed a little of her jangling nerves. She took in the bleakness on his face, the firm set of his lips.

“Come into the kitchen and I’ll make us coffee.”

He squeezed into one of the two chairs in the postage-stamp kitchen, his big frame seeming to suck up all the space. Nick pushed a hank of dark blond hair away from his brow with an impatient gesture as she measured the grounds and started the coffee.

Too shaken by his nearness to sit, she leaned against the sink. “What exactly did Silas say in that letter?”

Nick shook his head. “Tell me what’s going on around here.”

“Same old Nick. Always your needs first before anyone else’s,” she countered.

He leaned forward, locking his intense brown gaze to hers. “No, Shel. I put your needs first ten years ago. ’Cause if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have walked out of here leaving you a virgin.”

Old hurts surfaced, needling her. “Maybe I needed to lose my virginity back then, hotshot. Did you ever think to ask?”

Intent flared on his face. “No need, darling. If I’d made love to you, I would have been inside you so deep that no matter who took you after that, the memory of me would always linger,” he said softly.

A furious heat crept up her chest, to her throat, warming her cheeks. Shelby hoped he’d think it was anger.

“Is this why you’re here, Nick? To taunt me with our past?”

Regret touched his face. “No. But I swore I would go to hell first before following through on what I wanted to do to you. Not what I had to do.”

As an apology, it sucked. Made him look noble and self-sacrificing while leaving her looking like a horny teenager eager to explore her newfound sexuality.

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” she said coolly. “The coals of that particular fire got stamped out long ago when you turned around and ran, never looking back.”

Now it was his turn for his cheeks to turn ruddy. Nick’s guilty gaze darted around the kitchen. Damn if he didn’t look like he did ten years ago, all adorable and contrite when he’d kissed her and confessed that he had condoms in his back pocket.

Condoms he’d never used with her.

She gestured to the paper. “What did Silas say to you?”

He shook his head, rubbed a hand over his chin. “It’s private. I need to know exactly why the Belle Creek is losing money. Miles and Mason said there was a break-in and Felicity’s jewelry was stolen right after Readalot died.”

Nick had been gone a long time. He didn’t know the troubles they faced. “I found Readalot in his stall. He was young, only eight, but he died during the night. The vet said it was natural causes. Maybe a heart attack. That was the first suspicious incident. He was very healthy. About two days later, someone broke into the house and stole Felicity’s jewelry. A couple of gold bracelets and her favorite sterling-and-emerald pin. Jonah Doyle and his men dusted, took notes, but found nothing.”

His gaze widened. “Jonah Doyle? He’s working for the sheriff?”

“He is the sheriff now. There have been other incidents as well, small things that are frustrating, but when you run a ranch, it all adds up. Fences broken, a horse trailer that was in perfect working order and suddenly had two flat tires. Stuff like that.”

Leaning back, Nick frowned. “Who is threatening the place? Why are almost all the rental stalls vacant? I did an inspection and the security system isn’t the greatest, but it works. So what’s going on?”

The coffee machine pinged, indicating it was ready. Shelby remained motionless, her heart hurting and her throat tight.

Nick lowered his voice, the deep, gravelly tone sexy and yet oddly soothing. “I want to make it right, Shel. I’m not back to hurt you, or anyone else. But I want answers. Now.”

Take-charge Nick. Maybe he could save the ranch. She pushed a hand through her unruly hair.

“Sabotage. I have no idea who is doing it, or how they gained access to the ranch, but it has to be someone very familiar with the workings. The security system...” he suggested.

She sighed. “It’s fake. Silas had me stop paying the monthly fee over a year ago to save money. It’s pretty bad, Nick.”

A low curse tore from his throat. “Tell me everything.”

“Beaufort isn’t the first developer to make Silas an offer. There have been others. He’s offering the least money, though. Silas refused. He said the ranch has been in the family for generations, and it would remain that way.”

“Stubborn,” he muttered.

She gave him a calm look. “Like someone else I know.”

Shelby fetched two cups, adding cream and sugar to hers, and added a sprinkle of cinnamon to Nick’s cup from the container on her spice rack.

“You remembered.”

He offered a smile that erased the hardness in his eyes, and made her lady parts ache with yearning. Same killer smile that could coax women into his bed, same charm that tamed the wildest horse.

Stay immune to that charm, Shelby. He’s dynamite.

She sat at the table, turning the cup around in her hands, the familiar tightness squeezing her stomach. This time, it was as much Nick’s nearness as her anxiety over the ranch’s failing business.

“Tell me exactly what your role is at Belle Creek,” he ordered Shelby.

“I handle the accounting, deposits, invoices and data entry for the farm. And payroll. Everything but the family’s personal finances.” Shelby sighed. “And the mortgage. I had no idea Silas had the ranch that much in debt.”

“How much did Silas pay you for that?”

Shelby shook her head. “Nothing, as of the last year. I stopped taking a salary and living off my waitressing job when I saw the income was dropping. I wanted to help save money.”

Nick stared at her. “Are you a saint?”

Anger surfaced, but she struggled with her temper. “No, I’m pragmatic. Silas gave me a place to live, rent-free. It was my way of paying him back.”

“I have a new offer to make.”

She listened intently. Maybe she wouldn’t get tossed out after all. Nick offered her a real salary, with a ten percent increase once the ranch operated in the black, and a five percent share in the profits. If he sold, he’d give her a flat cash fee of fifteen thousand dollars after all debts were settled. He intended to draft the agreement to have them work together to make the ranch solvent.

Jake would get the same offer.

“Jake might not like it. He’s family, and he’s the one who runs the stables and handles the horses. I’m only the bookkeeper.”

Nick gave her a wry smile. “I doubt it. I suspect you run this ranch more behind the scenes than Dan or Jake.”

Warming to his praise, she hid a smile. Very perceptive of him.

“When did the losses start?” he asked.

“We started losing boarders about eight months ago, right after three Realtors first approached Silas about selling some of the land to him for development. This section of Tennessee, with its main artery only forty-five minutes to Nashville, is prime real estate for those wishing to commute to the city.”

“The ranch has a solid rep. What happened to Jack?”

At the mention of the ranch’s top-notch trainer, she shook her head. “He moved back to Kentucky. Someone made him a lucrative offer at a very big stable. And then the social-media posts began.”

She fetched her laptop from the bedroom and opened it on the kitchen table, then navigated to the ranch’s business page on social media.

Nick narrowed his eyes as he scanned the posts. She winced as he came across the most recent, virulent posting.

Don’t board yer horses here. They kill them for dog food.

“I don’t need to see more.”

She shut the lid, glad to switch off the ugliness of the words. That posting had been mild compared to others that accused them of stealing money.

“The posters create anonymous social-media accounts and then shut them down by the time we notify Facebook. No one seems to be able to track them down.”

“I can.”

Hardness filled his gaze, making her shiver. She’d never seen this side of Nick before, dangerous and purposeful. Small wonder he’d been a SEAL. Pity the enemy who ran into him.

Maybe Nick was exactly what the Belle Creek needed to pull through this mess.

“Someone hacked into our social-media sites and said that Belle Creek was letting its horses starve. There were horrible photos of starving horses, probably photos stolen from animal-rescue sites. Rumors spread, and soon no one wanted to board their horses here. The reviews on travel sites have been much, much worse. Anonymous posters saying that we deliberately beat the horses and never muck out the stalls. Business was starting to taper off before, and now it’s positively at a standstill. The only two boarders we have left are Chuck Beaufort’s daughter Natalie’s mare, Fancy, and my friend Ann’s horse.

He studied the liquid in his cup, the dusting of spice floating on the top. “Someone was trying to make Silas sell. Small wonder the old man didn’t capitulate.”

Loyalty to his father surfaced. “It would take more than vulgarities on social media and a few threats to bring him down when he was alive.”

“No, it took his own damn stubbornness. Why the hell didn’t he see a doctor when he was that sick?” A pulse ticked at the side of his neck.

Fresh tears threatened. She sipped her coffee, ducking her head to hide them. “Doctors are expensive and he said home remedies worked fine for him. He said that up until the EMS came to take him to the hospital.”

He slid his hand across the table as if to comfort her, but she drew back. The less skin contact they shared, the better. Nick gave a rough nod.

“I’ll stay, for now. If you agree to work with me on finding out who the hell is doing all this.”

His voice lowered. “It means working close with me, Shel. Can you manage?”

At her little nod, the tension left his broad shoulders.

“I’ll find whoever is doing this. And they’ll pay.” He lifted his mug in a salute. “To you, Silas. Wherever the hell you are, I hope you know you roped me into this place good.”

Tipping back his mug, he took a large swig of coffee.

And coughed violently. Liquid sloshed over the cup’s side as he slammed it down.

“Sweet Jesus,” he gasped, still choking.

Nick raced to the sink, twisted the tap and grabbed a glass from the dish drainer. He chugged the water and then set down the glass.

“It’s cinnamon, just as you used to like in your coffee.” Bewildered, she stared at him.

“That’s not cinnamon,” he muttered. Nick strode straight to the small spice rack on the counter and began pawing through the bottles. He found the cinnamon, uncapped it and sniffed.

“Someone isn’t just messing around with Dan and his wife, Shel.” He held out the bottle.

Her eyes watered and her throat closed up as she inhaled a whiff. Shelby coughed violently. Nick fetched her a glass of water.

“Drink,” he ordered.

She did, and the tightness eased in her throat a little. “What is that?”

“Cayenne pepper.” He studied the little glass container clearly labeled Cinnamon. Shelby’s heart dropped to her stomach, and her pulse raced.

Whoever was threatening her at the restaurant had followed her here as well.

The implications slowly dawned on her. “I don’t have cayenne pepper in the house. I threw out that bottle that came with the spice rack. I was going to make Timmy a cake for his birthday. With cinnamon frosting.”

“Who knew this?”

Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. I asked at the restaurant if someone had a recipe...”

And Natalie had been there, in the kitchen, looking things over, claiming that her father wanted to make sure everything was up to par. Natalie, who must have overheard Shelby talking about Timmy’s allergies and how cayenne pepper was dangerous to him. Shelby shivered, remembering how Timmy liked to lick the frosting off the spoon...

“Timmy’s allergic to cayenne pepper. It could have sent him to the hospital.”

Nick settled his hands on her trembling shoulders. “That’s it. I’m moving in with you until we clear this up.”

Oh, hell no. She waved a hand. “I’ll have the locks changed.”

“And whoever did this will break inside again. No protests, Shel. I’ll sleep on that couch. It’s a foldout, right?”

“You can’t. What about Dan? You have your old room at the main house...”

Nick’s mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. “Felicity turned it pink with flounces. If I stay there, I’ll start singing soprano and want to paint my nails.”

Not taking chances, she marched the spice out of the house and tossed it into the metal can by the garage door, making sure to clamp the lid down tight. As she trotted back up the stairs, her head pounded. Timmy could have been badly hurt with the cake she’d planned to make him. If he’d gone to the hospital, she had only catastrophic health insurance coverage. The bill would wipe her out.

Not to mention how sick her nephew would have been.

“C’mon, Shel. It’ll be okay. I promise.” Nick held her shoulders, his thumbs stroking in soothing circles. The caress sank through her wool sweater and suffused her entire body with heat.

It took her back to years ago, when he’d done much the same the night he saw her crying in the cabin over the loss of her dog. Silas had put him down because Rex had grown old and feeble and could barely walk. Silas had been gentle and compassionate, but firm.

And losing her pet, who had been her best friend, who had seen her through her parents leaving her, had crushed Shelby.

But no longer was she the softhearted teenager with stars in her eyes each time Nick Anderson drew near. Shelby jerked out of his embrace.

“I’ll be fine. If it means checking out all the spices, my refrigerator and packing a loaded pistol under my pillow like Dan does, no one’s going to get to me. Or Timmy. No one is breaking in again at the house or your place.”

She spread out her hands helplessly, frustration biting her. “Jonah said without the security cameras recording who goes in and out, the person would be hard to catch, with the staff traipsing in and out of the house.”

Rubbing the nape of his neck, Nick frowned. “Jonah Doyle can be a jerk, but he’s right in that. Anyone could have gotten into the bedroom. First thing we do, get those security cameras back up.”

Shelby shook her head. “Silas owed the alarm company a lot of money.”

“No need for an alarm company. I’ll set up a new system to monitor them from here.” His mouth compressed. “I’ll wire them myself.”

“Fine. I can show you where the cameras are.” Her jangled nerves made it feel like ants were crawling beneath her skin. “But you’re not staying here. My apartment is too small and that couch has a thin mattress.”

Nick shrugged. “I’ve bunked in much worse, and tighter spaces. It’s my skill set.”

But not around her. Never around her. It was hard enough breathing the same air as him. How could she sleep with him in the next room?

Then her gaze fell to the pistol hanging on his belt. Timmy’s welfare came first. She could control her raging libido for her nephew’s sake. Shelby walked away, hugging herself as she stared out the front window.

“So what if I haven’t had sex in eight months?”

“Been that long, huh?”

Shelby whirled to see his wide, Cheshire cat grin. “You heard.”

Nick tapped his ear. “Another skill of mine. I know how to listen, darling.”

Making a note of that, she gave him a pointed look. “Okay. You can stay here. But this is my house and my rules. You sleep here.” She pointed to the sofa. “You’ll share a bathroom with Timmy, not me. I have my own and plan to keep it that way. And no flirting and suggestive remarks or cussing. My nephew is only five.”

Nick spread his hands out in a gesture of innocence. “I’m innocent.”

Right.

He stood close enough for her to count the bristles on his chin. Nick had shaved in a hurry, neglecting one spot. Memories assailed her. Sixteen years old, scraping her fingers over his chin and then kissing that one particular spot.

Shaking free the memory, she glanced at her watch. “Felicity wants us all to dine together at the main house. Six o’clock sharp. Wear something more civilized than jeans. She likes to dress for dinner.”

He considered. “I have some black silk boxers that are formal. That do?”

Flushing, she scowled at him. “Stop it, Nick.”

Then his cocky grin dropped and his gaze turned serious. “You’ll be safer with me here, Shelby. I’m not going to leave until I find out who’s been doing these things and threatening you and the ranch. I promise you, I will catch them.”

With a nod, he headed out the door. “I’ll bring my things over later. Need to have a look around the place first.”

Watching him walk down the steps, a warm tingle raced down her spine. Not from his quiet words, or the relief they brought, but the awareness of him as a man and the unspoken intent lingering in his eyes, a sensual promise that could lead them straight down the road where they’d left off ten years ago.

And straight back into hell.

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