A cowboy to her rescue...

but she’s not who he thinks she is.

Posing as her sister for Christmas is the only way to save her, but Maggie Lofton needs help—even if it means working with her twin’s cowboy ex-boyfriend, Liam Pike. But between the bull’s-eye on her back and the dangerous connection she’s forming with Liam, Maggie’s mission is harder than expected. Will their tenuous partnership be enough to shield her when the killer closes in?

Roughwater Ranch Cowboys

DANA MENTINK is a national bestselling author. She has been honored to win two Carol Awards, a HOLT Medallion and an RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award. She’s authored more than thirty novels to date for Love Inspired Suspense and Harlequin Heartwarming. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her at danamentink.com.

Also by Dana Mentink

Roughwater Ranch Cowboys

Danger on the Ranch

Deadly Christmas Pretense

Gold Country Cowboys

Cowboy Christmas Guardian

Treacherous Trails

Cowboy Bodyguard

Lost Christmas Memories

Pacific Coast Private Eyes

Dangerous Tidings

Seaside Secrets

Abducted

Dangerous Testimony

True Blue K-9 Unit

Shield of Protection

Act of Valor

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Deadly Christmas Pretense

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09893-9

DEADLY CHRISTMAS PRETENSE

© 2019 Dana Mentink

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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“You want to die? Such a pretty young thing?”

“You won’t kill me. Then you’d never know,” Maggie rasped.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he said. “But I will if I have to.”

“I...” she started.

She felt his body twitch, as if something had caught his attention past the railing down on the beach, his hand still pressing her windpipe. “Who’s the cowboy?”

Liam, she thought with a surge of hope. He’d followed her.

She wriggled but he tightened his grip, too, nearly shutting off her oxygen. “You give me what I want and don’t involve anyone else, or you know what will happen. It would be so easy.”

She was too oxygen deprived to reply.

“Hey,” Liam shouted from down below. “Get your hands off her.”

Without warning, the man released her and raced away down the stairs. The sudden movement sent her staggering. Her hips impacted the rusted railing. Gulping for air, it took a second for her brain to register that the railing had given way as she fell backward into nothing.

In God I will praise his word, in God I have put my trust; I will not fear what flesh can do unto me.

—Psalm 56:4

Dear Reader,

I am writing this letter as I sit in a bustling hospital emergency room, waiting for some test results for a family member. Time seems to slow down here, the conversations ebbing and flowing around me in this busy place. It strikes me that we have so many ways to quantify a human life, don’t we? We can measure the beats of the heart, the actions of enzymes, the microbes and platelets and pulses and respirations that keep a body alive. For all that, we cannot measure a person’s capacity to love, the intangible desire of one person to care deeply for another. That, my friends, is the beautiful inheritance from the Lord. He gives us the ability to love, because He first loved us. What a treasure, what a gift.

Thank you so much for reading my story. I hope it entertained and inspired you. Most of all, I hope you feel deeply that you are loved by our Father. If you’d like to contact me, feel free to send a note via my website at danamentink.com. There is also a physical address there if you prefer corresponding by letter. As always, God bless you, my friends, and thank you for joining me on this adventure!

Sincerely,

Dana Mentink

Dedicated to my parents, Bob and Lisa, who taught their children what love looks like.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Maggie Lofton punched the speed in her twin sister’s Corvette as a car rounded the corner behind her a little too fast. The twisting road cut along California’s central coast was lit only by the moon and her headlights. Was the person behind her a random stranger or the man she’d been warned about? Tammy’s terrified phone conversation from late the night before rang in Maggie’s memory.

“I took something from my boss’s house...but I had a good reason. I hid it in Driftwood with someone I trust. You have to get it before his nephew Virgil Salvador does.”

“His nephew?” Maggie had tried. “Why would he...?”

“Mags, I’m in trouble. Deep trouble.”

“The police...”

“No. I’ll be arrested. Just pick up my car at Fine Motors Garage and meet me at the lighthouse near the Roughwater Ranch on Thursday night. I’ll tell you everything. Don’t talk to anyone. No police. Please, Mags.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m safe.”

Maggie had gripped the phone tightly at the fear in her sister’s voice. Then the call had been abruptly cut off.

Oh, Tammy. Why do you get yourself into these jams?

A smile quirked her face as she imagined Tammy’s reply. “Because I fire first then aim, just like Daddy always says.”

Everything from bad romances, getting kicked out of her apartment, taking jobs that sounded too good to be true and were—Tammy had fallen into all of them and Maggie had been there to pick up the pieces. As she would be this time as well, if she could just figure out what new kind of trouble Tammy had landed herself in.

The car behind her edged closer, further proof that it wasn’t someone out for a leisurely evening drive. Was it Virgil, the nephew? She knew Tammy had taken a job caring for the elderly Bill Salvador in the nearby town of Sand Bar, but Maggie had never met Bill or his nephew.

The whole situation made no sense.

She had to get away from whoever it was long enough to make the meeting with Tammy and sort out the details. If it was the person her sister feared, he must have caught her trail as she’d blown into town. Further, if he believed the woman driving the green Corvette was Tammy, that meant her sister was still safe, in hiding maybe, waiting for Maggie to arrive for their rendezvous. But if Tammy was fine, why had there been no answer to Maggie’s follow-up texts and calls?

The car behind her was large. Black. So close now that the headlights blazed in her rearview mirror. The road was slick from a December frost. Dark. Was that a train whistle? Quickly she rolled down the window as the tires struggled to grip the icy road.

“Don’t they believe in streetlights here in Driftwood?” she mumbled, pressing harder on the accelerator. She knew every spark plug and bolt in the car, having given it a complete tune-up a month ago after she’d paid the outstanding loan and gotten it out of repossession for her sister.

Per Tammy’s instructions, she’d picked it up that very morning from a garage ten miles outside of Sand Dune. There was a formidable dent in the front driver’s side and the mechanic said it had been towed in to have the front axle replaced. Clearly, Tammy had been in an accident. Maggie jerked a look in the rearview. Had it been caused by the person currently glued to her bumper? Whoever it was swerved and accelerated. Maggie stomped on the gas. Her pursuer inched closer.

Teeth clenched, she gunned the engine, but it was all she could do to keep the car from lurching off into the split rail fence that now hemmed in both sides of the road. The black vehicle crept over onto the opposite lane until it was level with her driver’s door, forcing her within inches of the fence. She could see only a hint of the driver, not enough to decide if it was male or female or to notice any other identifying characteristics.

Whatever they wanted, they weren’t going to get it or anything else from Maggie until she knew without question that her sister was safe.

Tam Tam, I got your back, like always. Tam Tam and Mags, twin sisters and besties for the thirty-two years since they’d arrived together on the planet. That would never change.

The two cars flew almost side by side. The other fender tapped hers and the Vette shuddered and bucked, but she kept it on the road. Panic bit at her. Again came the sound of the train whistle. The speed disoriented her. Was it coming from beyond? Beside? She wanted to slow, but her pursuer had fallen back now, tucking in behind her.

Maggie wasn’t a reckless speedster and this all felt like some kind of nightmare. Knuckles white, she held on to the steering wheel and floored it, pulling several car lengths ahead.

Was this man actually trying to kill her?

No, she thought. He’s trying to kill your sister.

Teeth gritted, Maggie fought the steering wheel and the monstrous fear rising inside her.

Liam Pike dismounted his horse, banged his cowboy hat against his thigh to dislodge the dust and rammed a hand through his thatch of unruly auburn hair. His hip throbbed, courtesy of a 1,200-pound heifer who had taken offense at his notion to move her and the herd to the upper pasture on the Roughwater Ranch.

Now that he was in his midthirties, these little injuries seemed to hang on longer, adding to the collection of pains he’d accumulated in his time as a Green Beret. At least he’d finally managed to wrangle the feisty animal just after sunset, in spite of constant interference from a mutt named Jingles. An early Christmas gift from his sister, Helen, Jingles was rapidly turning out to be a four-legged disaster.

Resting his boot on the lower rail of the fence, Liam surveyed the road that bisected the rich pastureland on one side and the vast Pacific coast on the other. Phone pressed to his good ear, barn jacket shielding him from the California winter, he just barely picked out the distant whistle of the steam train. It eased his mind to know that he could still hear it, at least for the time being. “Little sis, I love you,” he said when Helen picked up the phone, “but we gotta talk about this dog.” His North Carolina accent was thick, thicker when he was tired and thickest of all when he wanted it to be.

“Isn’t he great?” Helen gushed. “The shelter said he’d been there for almost three months and no one wanted him. Can you believe that? They called him Goofy, but Jingles is much better, don’t you think, in light of the season?”

“Well, now...”

“He has natural herding instinct, doesn’t he? I know he’s got Australian shepherd in him.”

Liam tried to lasso the conversation back to the point. “Yeah, but that’s part of the problem. The critter won’t leave me alone. I can’t even take a shower without him wanting to join in.”

“Excellent. He’s devoted to you. You’re bonding.”

“I don’t—”

“Can you call me later, Liam? I need to see to an issue.”

An issue...

There was something in her tone...something underlying the jovial teasing that made him think it wasn’t a routine situation at the Roughwater Lodge she managed. Prickles danced across the back of his neck. Was something wrong with his baby sister? It was not that long ago, while he was still deployed, that her best friend had been murdered on the Lodge property. Her scars ran deep and raw after the senseless tragedy. His protective instincts buzzed. “What’s—?”

“Stop worrying. It’s nothing I can’t handle, big brother. Go play with your dog.” She hung up.

He stared at his phone. Since his father train-wrecked their lives when Liam was a kid, it had been his number one job to care for Helen. Neither his past service as a Green Beret nor his current duties as a cowboy on the sprawling Roughwater Ranch diverted him from tending to her, whether or not she welcomed his assistance.

He heard only a dull hum in his left ear, courtesy of the otosclerosis that had wrecked his hearing and forced him out of military service. He could still get along with a hearing aid in the other, and he prayed every night that God would preserve that sliver of precious auditory function. He jammed the phone into his pocket.

The distant sound of the nine o’clock train whispered again through the December night and he thought with a pang of Tammy, the woman with whom he’d broken up eight months before. He remembered when they’d first started dating, he’d taken her for a ride on that historic steam train and she’d gone pink-cheeked with joy. Dark-haired, boisterous, impulsive Tammy.

Loneliness churned his stomach.

He felt rather than heard the movement behind him. Whirling around, hand on the rifle secured to his saddle, he found Jingles, tongue lolling, one ear up and one down, staring at him with that look of unadulterated adoration that made Liam squirm.

He gaped. “What are you doin’ here? I put you out with the respectable herding dogs behind the bunkhouse. Haven’t you caused enough trouble for one day?”

Jingles wagged his crooked tail, staring unblinkingly with those inscrutable amber eyes.

Liam folded his arms. “You busted out and followed me, didn’tcha? This has got to stop, dog.”

The dog sat, front feet turned outward in that odd pigeon-toed way of his, tail scuffing the grass. “Jingles—” Liam broke off abruptly as he heard the roar of an engine. The vibrations under his feet told him more than his ears. The car was coming too fast along the winding road.

He unlatched the gate and stepped through to get a closer look, Jingles glued to his boot heels.

The car came around the bend, a sleek green bullet. Everything twisted up inside him. He knew that car, a sweet 1972 Chevy Corvette that made his mouth water. Further, he knew the driver, the woman who’d left him and the little town of Driftwood without a backward glance. Tammy Lofton. It could be no one else.

He tracked her progress. Too fast, at the outer edge of control. She was always a bit of a lead foot, but why would she be driving like that? Why here? Now?

Then he saw the second car—dark, also moving rapidly—closing the gap.

“What in the world?” he said aloud, earning an answering yip from the dog he’d temporarily forgotten about. The second fact dropped into his mind, hard and sharp like a collar awl he used for making saddles. The train crossing was two miles ahead. He did the mental math calculations: Tammy’s speed, her pursuer, the train. No time to work out much of a plan.

“Stay here,” he shouted to Jingles, leaping onto his horse and urging Streak into a gallop toward the crossing. It took a few minutes of hard riding and a sneaky shortcut to catch up with her, Streak flying along the grassy field, above and parallel to her car.

“Tammy!” he hollered. “Stop!”

She was staring out the front window, hair concealing her profile, but the body language read fear, terror even.

“Stop the car,” he shouted as loudly as he could manage. “Train!”

But still she drove on, clutching the wheel as the other driver flew around the turn behind her.

Maggie’s nerves were screaming as she tried to escape her pursuer, momentarily distracted by a galloping horseman who appeared to be trying to keep pace with her. “One problem at a time,” she ground out through gritted teeth. The cowboy would have to wait. The horseman peeled off abruptly and she breathed a smidgen easier.

Glancing at the car behind her, she was thrilled when it dropped back several yards. She let out a shaky breath. Good, she thought, breathing slowing a notch. Go ahead and give up.

Instead he accelerated and rammed her. The Vette shimmied and slid. She screamed, fingers clawing the wheel for control. He was dropping back again and this time she wasn’t about to let him regain the advantage.

The Corvette was practically flying when, without warning, a man leaped onto the road twenty yards ahead. Strangely backlit by the moonlight, she could just make out the silhouette of the horseman who’d been tracking her. He must have taken a detour to cut her off. He was standing on the road, a big guy in a cowboy hat, broad-shouldered, arms held up in warning, like something out of a dream.

“Get out of the way!” she shrieked.

He waved one hand and fired a rifle she hadn’t noticed into the air. The shot cracked through the night. She had no choice but to jerk the Corvette around in a wide, bumping arc to avoid running him down. The tires jostled and jumped, taking her off the road. The wheels spun fruitlessly on the frosted grass and she struggled to control the bucking steering wheel. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the cowboy, still waving frantically.

What was he doing? Finally the piercing noise and commotion ahead sank into her panicked brain. The clang of signals and flash of lights told her the sickening truth. She was about to drive directly into the path of an oncoming train. She slammed on the brakes but the speed was too much. The whistle pierced the night like a shriek as the Corvette skidded through the signal light, heading straight for the tracks.

She wrenched the wheel and the car whirled in circles, dizzying her. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought her vehicle would hurtle onto the tracks, but it halted some ten feet back, illuminated by the red flashing train lights.

The dark sedan that had been pursuing her came to a sudden stop in a shower of loose rocks, engine idling. She sat, panting, shaking convulsively. In the rearview she saw the cowboy sprint up to her pursuer’s car, shouting something. Paralysis stole her ability to move. What should she do? At least one of her car’s tires was shredded; she’d heard it explode. Get out and run away from her pursuer and the cowboy? Or stay until the showdown behind her was finished? Should she take her chances with the darkness or the cowboy?

Tammy, what kind of a mess have you gotten us into this time?

She shoved open the door and stepped into a deep rut that sent her to one knee. The cold pierced her body but it hardly registered past the fear. The Corvette had spun and come to a halt facing her pursuer, his headlights blinding her.

“Step away from the car,” a voice shouted. It was low and husky. Angry. The cowboy. It had to be. Was he shouting at her? She squatted next to the open driver’s-side door. The Vette had skidded to a stop on a grassy clearing. The slight odor of rubber burned her nostrils and she looked down to see the remains of her ruined front tire. She wasn’t going to be driving out of there, even if the way wasn’t blocked by the sedan. The train barreled on, the noise waning in the distance. For a fleeting moment she wished she could run after it. Instead she was left to cobble together her own escape plan. There was no convenient cover nearby, no structures to hide behind or even trees to conceal her.

The cowboy took a few steps toward the stranger’s idling car. “I said get out of the vehicle, mister, unless you want your tires flattened,” he shouted again.

While both men were distracted, she should run. But her shaky legs would not cooperate. She clung to the car door, trying to steady her nerves.

A half second later the sedan jerked into Reverse, squealed backward until the driver peeled around and floored it, receding into the distance.

“Coward,” she heard the cowboy say.

The sound of his boots plowing through the grass toward her car made her pulse ratchet even higher.

What should she do? What would Tammy do?

He stopped at the other side of her car, silent. More movement sounded in the still night and, all of a sudden, a sturdy white dog raced around the side of the car and barked.

She screamed.

At the sound, the animal lunged forward, swabbed a wet tongue over her forehead and sat, tail wagging.

A hysterical squeal rose to her lips but she kept it in. The boots came closer, until the cowboy rounded the front fender of her car.

“And you teased me about my driving,” he said. A strong Southern accent colored his words though she could not make out his features, only the hint of a wide chin and a cowboy hat.

What is he talking about? Teased him?

“Tam?” he said. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Tam. The pieces fell into place. This had to be Liam Pike, Tammy’s ex-boyfriend.

She leaned her dog-dampened forehead against the metal. What were the chances she’d hit town, nearly get driven off the road, narrowly avoid being hit by a train and finish up by running into her sister’s ex?

The dog let loose with a howl.

Maggie felt like doing the same.

TWO

Liam rested the rifle on his shoulder, frustration and confusion warring inside. Wouldn’t have been prudent or safe to take a shot and risk return fire with his horse nearby, a nutty dog and Tammy in the vicinity. Still, he would have felt a surge of satisfaction at shooting out the guy’s tires. It would’ve been easy; he was an expert marksman. At least he wasn’t losing hold on that.

He reached out a hand and helped her up, her palm freezing cold in his. Tammy Lofton. He’d always admired her impulsivity, the unfettered abandon with which she approached life, but this was sheer recklessness and just plain nuts.

“What in the world are you playing at, Tammy?” Saying her name aloud brought back the anger he’d felt at being unceremoniously dumped for another guy; a computer programmer she’d met when applying for a new job. That stung. “You could have been killed or caused a train wreck.”

He realized she’d backed up, palms half raised as if he was an approaching mountain lion. He stopped, blew out a breath and tried for a calmer tone.

“Tammy, it’s Liam. Sorry if I scared you. Tell me why that guy is after you. Must be something bad to rile you into forgetting there’s a train crossing.”

She didn’t answer, just stood there frozen.

“Liam,” she finally said, almost making it sound like a question. Poor light, scary situation, confusion. Understandable.

“Yeah,” he said bitterly. “Glad you remembered my name. Least you can do since we dated for four months. How’s the computer programmer?”

“What?” Her voice was softer than he remembered, or maybe he’d begun to lose another level of hearing.

“Did you hit your head?” He felt a glimmer of alarm creeping in. “Tam? You okay?”

“Yes, of course I am. Why did you jump in the road like that?”

“Why...?” He rubbed a palm over his stubbled chin as he struggled for calm. “’Cuz I thought you were gonna crash into the train, that’s why,” he snapped. “I don’t generally welcome people to Driftwood with a rifle in my hand.”

But she wasn’t even listening. Instead she was inspecting the ruined tire of the Vette. Then she lifted her face to the evening breeze, turning it in the direction of the ocean. She was clearly working out some sort of plan.

“I’m sorry,” she said simply.

Was that all she had said or had he missed some? He wasn’t feeling like asking her to repeat herself. “Sorry doesn’t quite cut it, Tammy. What’s going on?” He eased back on his heels and something bumped his leg. He stumbled, winding up on the ground, staring up into the face of Jingles.

Jingles placed a crooked paw on Liam’s chest.

“Jingles,” Liam yelled. The dog responded by swabbing his face with a warm tongue until Liam finally pushed him off. Jingles sat back, tail skimming the ground in happy lashes. Liam hauled himself to his feet and gathered up the rifle he’d dropped. “Can’t ya see I’m in the middle of a situation here?”

Jingles barked.

Liam ignored him this time and ordered a thunderous, “Stay.”

He turned back, flabbergasted to find that Tammy had gone, headed off into the night, leaving her disabled Corvette behind.

He looked across the field to where she must have headed: the fog-shrouded beach. “What’s gotten into you, Tammy?”

He almost smiled. She should know him well enough to realize she’d piqued both his concern and his curiosity. And Liam Pike had never been one to ignore either.

He whistled once, low and soft, which brought Streak to the fence on quiet hooves. Jingles was on his feet now, too, bottom waggling right along with his tail, apparently convinced his services were needed.

“Just try not to fall off a cliff, okay?”

Jingles barked once and then took up a position behind the horse.

Maggie was grateful there was just enough moonlight glowing through the coastal fog to help her orient herself. She was heading west, toward the beach and the lighthouse. Directly east, near where she’d spun out, must be the vast acreage of the Roughwater Ranch. That explained Liam’s arrival. She’d only heard bits and pieces from Tammy, enough to know that their relationship “had no legs,” whatever that meant. Imagine running into the guy. He, too, thought she was her sister, thanks to the darkness and the car. At least she knew he wasn’t the one Tammy had entrusted her stolen goods with. The poor man sounded as clueless as she felt.

Well, since you’ve stepped into Tammy’s shoes for better or worse, you’re going to rub elbows with her acquaintances. She hoped her rendezvous with her sister at the lighthouse would clear the whole thing up. Didn’t matter. She’d do whatever she could to pull her sister from the hot water.

But this time things were more serious than unpaid bills or romantic troubles. She thought about the train barreling past, inches from the front of the Corvette.

Way more serious.

Whispering a prayer, she picked up her pace. The grass gave way to a rocky black cliff. Reaching the edge, she peered down onto a rugged beach cloaked in fog. Ahead and to the right she could just make out the steep trail that led down to a jutting promontory of rock where the outline of the lighthouse was visible.

It was a historic structure, no longer in use, though there was a string of Christmas lights twined around the gangway and one small beacon at the top. The lights were courtesy of the ranch owners, Gus and Ginny Knightly, Tammy had told her, to honor the men and women who had served in the navy, as had Gus’s father. Maggie had been struck by the story, picturing the couple who believed in honor and respect, two qualities hard to come by these days, it seemed to Maggie.

She picked her way slowly, since the black rock was slippery with condensation and the moonlight partially obscured by fog. The roar of the surf grew louder. They should have met at a café or a gas station, but Tammy always did have a flair for the dramatic. Maggie could never understand it. She could be fully content spending every day bunkered behind a restaurant stove, cooking for patrons like she’d done for years in her parents’ café, gleaning plenty of excitement from managing a kitchen. It pained her that she’d had to walk away from several days’ wages to come to Driftwood. She’d kissed goodbye money that wouldn’t accumulate in her meager bank account, which wouldn’t help her with her goal of reopening her parents’ restaurant.

You’ll get there. The words were stoked with optimism but each year seemed to bring more troubles and financial setbacks. “Eliminate the distractions. Get this thing with Tammy settled and put your nose to the grindstone,” she whispered to herself before the wind snatched the words away.

The dial on her father’s old watch read nine thirty. Precise down to the second, it was not the loveliest accessory, but Maggie didn’t care. It was a part of her father and his legacy, and family was everything.

A rock tumbled loose from somewhere nearby. Maggie froze. Was there someone following? She strained to listen. The wind was howling now, numbing her cheeks. She zipped her thin jacket as far up as it would go, but the chill seeped in anyway.

Finally she made it to the level path that took her to the door of the lighthouse. She listened one more time and checked her phone. Again she dialed Tammy’s number, but the call would not go through on this wild, wind-whipped beach. No way to leave a message anyway; her sister had never bothered to set up her voice mail. Her fingers tingled with the cold.

She stared at the device, but the blank screen gave no answers. Had Tammy made it to the lighthouse or not? Perhaps she’d lost her phone. A crack sounded in the night. A rock falling into the ocean? Or something entirely different?

What if her pursuer had waited after the encounter with Liam, retreated, only to find a hiding place from which he could follow her?

She paused with her hand on the wooden door.

What if?

She had no other choice but to go in and follow through on the plan her sister had set in place earlier. Palm clammy, she shoved open the door.

The chilled interior of the old lighthouse smelled of mildew. In the gloom she could barely make out the spiraling metal staircase and cracked plaster walls glazed with moisture. The graffitied interior had been painted over, but more recent messages were scrawled in spray paint.

“Tammy?” she whispered. The only answer was the crash of the surf outside. “Tammy?” she said louder. She let a full two minutes go by before she made a decision. Her sister wasn’t there. She could feel it. It was time to get out.

Shoes crunched up the walk outside, heavy, not Tammy’s. Prickles of panic erupted up Maggie’s spine. There was nowhere to hide, no place to go, except up. Breath held, she scampered quickly up four steps, enough to take her out of the view of the doorway. The creak of the door split the night.

One second. Two...three. Immobile as a statue, she waited.

“Tammy?”

She recoiled deeper into the shadows, her back pressed against the cold plaster. Everything in her shouted at her to run up the staircase, but trapping herself at the top of an abandoned lighthouse would be suicide.

“I know you’re here, Tammy. I saw you come in,” he said.

She bit her lip.

His tone went soft and friendly with the hint of an East Coast accent. “Listen, I didn’t mean to hurt you earlier, back in Sand Bar.”

Hurt? Her heart thundered. Was he talking about the car accident?

“I just wanted to talk, but you didn’t cooperate. You should have stayed in the hospital, let me help you, not run off into the night.”

Hospital? Maggie clamped her teeth together to keep from screaming.

“I was told you’d picked up your Corvette at the garage,” he said, “so I guess you weren’t too badly hurt. That’s good, sweetie.”

Sweetie?

Her muscles screamed for escape, but he was between her and the exit. There was only one avenue open: farther up the narrow flight of spiraling metal stairs. She moved as quickly as she could, trying to tread on the stairs where they attached to the wall to minimize squeaking. Maybe he hadn’t actually seen her come in. He might be bluffing and give up.

Below her, she heard him move.

Impatience crept into his tone. “I only want the jewelry. Give it back and forget about it.” He paused. “We had a good thing going for a while, Tammy. Don’t throw that all away over a misunderstanding.” He paused. “I know you’re up there... There’s no way out. My phone doesn’t work here, so I’m guessing yours doesn’t, either.” He chuckled. “Cat and mouse game.”

And I’m the mouse.

Without warning, he charged, metal squealing under his feet, and she had no choice but to sprint up the stairs. Fear powered her, but he was tall and long-legged. He caught her at the top, grabbing her by the wrists and pinning her back against the railing. Her face twisted away from his, eyes blinded by the eerie glare of the lighthouse beacon.

“This is fun, Tammy, the cat and mouse, but I’m short on time.”

She writhed in his grip, trying to kick out, wrench her arms free. He was strong and his height gave him leverage.

“Get away from me,” she rasped.

He squeezed her wrists until she thought the bones would crack, angling her torso over the railing, the only thing standing between the lantern room behind her and a plummet to the ocean below. Frigid wind tore at her hair, yanking as if it meant to pull her down into the sea. He used his weight to crush her against the metal. Still she could not turn her face to look at him.

“You’re going to tell me where you hid the jewelry, who you gave it to. I know it’s someone here, someone you know and trust.”

Tears of pain gathered in her eyes. “I won’t tell you anything.”

He pressed harder, his jaw clenched with the effort.

“You want to die? Such a pretty young thing? Splattered all over the rocks?”

“You won’t kill me. Then you’d never know,” she snapped.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he said. “But I will if I have to.”

“I—” she started.

She felt his body twitch, as if something past the railing had caught his attention down on the beach. “Who’s the cowboy?”

Liam, she thought with a surge of hope. He’d followed her.

She wriggled, but he increased the pressure, nearly expelling all the air from her body. “You give me what I want and don’t involve anyone else, or you know what will happen. It would be so easy.”

She was too oxygen-deprived to reply.

“Hey,” Liam shouted from below. “Get your hands off her.”

Without warning, the man released her and raced away down the stairs. The sudden movement sent her staggering. Her hips hit the rusted railing. Gulping for air, it took a second for her to register that the railing had given way and she was falling backward. Flailing, her fingers desperately sought for something, anything, to save her life.

THREE

Liam sprinted around to the walkway a few seconds too late to properly neutralize the guy. He got off only a quick rifle shot that skimmed over the goon’s shoulder, just enough to scare him. It worked. The guy stumbled in his fear and fell. On the ground, he rolled then dived behind some rocks. When he popped a head up, only the whites of his eyes and teeth shone in the thick darkness.

“Gonna stay and shoot me? She’s not gonna hang on for long. Tough choice, right, cowboy?” he called.

Liam gripped the gun, glancing quickly upward to see the shadowy movement on the lighthouse platform. He did not dare look too carefully. “Won’t take me long to stop you.”

“But you’re not that kind of guy, are you? Shooting an unarmed man?”

“Guess you don’t know what kind of man I am, do ya?”

“Oh yes, I do.” He came up with a handful of sand and hurled it in Liam’s direction. Liam flinched and the man took off, running full-on into the night.

Liam had learned when he was seven years old that there was right and there was wrong. The lines blurred at times, particularly in his tenure as a Green Beret, but they were still there, which was why the lunatic was not already dead at Liam’s feet. As he ran into the lighthouse and charged the steps two at a time, he wished he hadn’t learned that lesson quite so well.

I’ll have another showdown with that clown, he told himself.

He heard her gasping, struggling to hold on, as he exploded onto the top level to see her fingers clawed around the broken piece of railing. Flopping onto his stomach, he grabbed her forearms. The angle was bad; the leverage was worse. He couldn’t see past the end of his nose, but he hung on for all he was worth.

She wriggled, fingers white and trembling with the effort.

“Can you brace your feet on the wall?” he grunted.

Breathing hard, she shimmied, almost detaching herself from him. He slid one palm down her arm and gathered a bunch of her jacket. “All right. Plan B. You’re going to have to let go so I can haul you up.”

She whimpered once and the sound went right through him.

“It’s okay,” he said, trying to gentle his tone. “I promise I’m not going to let you fall.”

Fear pinched her mouth, bangs scattered over her eyes. “I can’t,” she breathed.

The muscles in his shoulders began to blare a steady warning. Though she was petite, barely tall enough to climb up in his truck all the months they were dating, her body was deadweight and he could not maintain his hold for much longer. He shifted.

“Tam, I know I’m not the guy you wanted to run into just now, but at the moment I’m the only one around. We didn’t make it as a couple, but you could always trust me. Isn’t that right?”

She stopped struggling and he felt her start to lose her grip.

“Trust me now, Tam. Come on. On three, you’re gonna let go. One...”

Her eyes rounded in fear, molten and terrified in the moonlight.

“Two...”

Again the softest whimper, fear again, but edged with resolve this time. She went dead still.

“Three.”

She let go. The downward pull strained every muscle in his body, required every iota of strength he possessed not to drop her. Groaning with the effort, he began to command his body backward, pulling one excruciating inch at a time, the platform creaking in protest. Their combined weight added to the ledge already weakened by time and the salt air. How much longer would it hold? Sweat blinded him and he thought his shoulders would dislocate when at last he pulled back just far enough that her torso cleared the busted railing.

She crawled up next to him and collapsed. He rolled onto his back, sweat mingling with the cold winter air, sucking in painful gusts as he recovered. She breathed hard next to him, one shuddering gasp at a time.

Finally she managed to sit up.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Anytime,” he groaned, unable yet to attain a sitting position.

Several more minutes passed before he rustled up the strength to roll over and get painfully to his feet while she did the same.

He let the silence linger for a few more minutes while she stayed there, staring out at the ocean without seeing it, the beacon painting them in odd yellow light.

“Tam, why is that guy trying to kill you?” he said finally.

She jerked when he said her name. “I don’t know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I think you probably have a general idea.”

“No.”

He rolled a tentative shoulder to make sure it was still in the socket. “All right. Well, let’s take a ride over to Danny Patron at the Driftwood Police Department, and you can tell him all the things you don’t know.”

“I have to go.”

He blinked. “When someone tries to run you down and knock you off a lighthouse, the correct countermeasure is to solicit the help of law enforcement personnel. They live for this kind of stuff.”

“Thank you. For what you did, I mean. I—I mean... I would have...”

“Fallen to your death were it not for the heroic actions of your ex-boyfriend,” he finished.

She startled then and a tiny smile shone on her face. Odd, it struck him. Tammy was a blurt-it-out, take-no-prisoners, impulsive woman. But maybe the trauma had subdued her mouth for the moment. “Thank you, Liam.”

“You’re welcome, now—”

She left him there, mouth open wide like a dummy’s, talking to no one as she jogged down the staircase.

“Hey,” he said, hurrying after her as best he could considering he’d probably pulled every muscle in his upper body. “You can’t just run off into the night.”

Apparently she had not pulled quite as many muscles as he had, since she made it out the front door by the time he caught up.

To his utter lack of surprise, Jingles was waiting. He barked once at Tammy and leaped for Liam, tail wagging.

“All right, all right,” he said. “Stand down, would ya?”

She’d used his distraction to make it nearly to the cliff trail before he caught up and stopped her with a hand on her wrist. She jerked around. He heard rather than saw her sharp intake of breath and regretted scaring her. Tammy had never been afraid of anything, to his knowledge, and he hated seeing it in her now. Her wrist was smaller than he remembered, more delicate. He let her go. “Sorry,” he said. “Let me take you to the police station. Please.”

She stopped at the word please. Aunt Ginny would be proud of him for remembering his manners, especially when dealing with a woman who was acting in a completely irrational manner.

She checked her phone, frowning at what she did or did not see there, and turned away, folding her arms around herself, taking in the long, lonely cliff trail, perhaps.

“Can you...would you give me a ride?” she said softly.

He leaned closer. “How’s that?”

“A ride,” she said louder.

“Sure, the police—”

“To my trailer?”

“Your trailer? I thought you moved away permanently.”

“Kept up the rental.”

He wanted to ask if she was planning to stay. He didn’t know exactly how he would feel about running into Tammy Lofton again in the small town of Driftwood, but he didn’t think the feelings would be good.

“The police—”

“My trailer,” she said, more firmly this time. “Can you take me? Otherwise, I’ll walk back to the Corvette and change the tire and drive myself.”

“Since when would you voluntarily get dirty, Tam?” And when had she learned to change a tire, for that matter?

She waited him out and he detested the fact that he already knew he was going to cave. Not like he would leave a woman, any woman, even the last woman on earth he wanted to see, alone in the dark, fixing her own tire, no less.

“Well, all right,” he said, “but I’m on record as saying this makes about as much sense as puttin’...”

“A screen door on a submarine?” she finished.

He goggled. “Was gonna say putting socks on a rooster, but same principle. Since when do you spool out the country witticisms? Thought that drove you crazy.”

She shrugged. “Never mind. I just want a ride, that’s all.”

“Fine,” he snapped, turning away and whistling for Streak. “But just so you know, you’re gonna be riding behind me, followed by a lunatic dog who doesn’t know a horse from a hula hoop.”

He thought he caught another smile as he climbed painfully into the saddle and lowered an arm down to help her up behind him. When he eased Streak into a trot, she circled her arms around his waist. Gently, he noticed with some appreciation. She seemed comfortable in the saddle. Puzzling, since Tammy stayed as far away from the ranch and horses as she possibly could.

He wanted to fire a couple of questions over his shoulder, but his sides were aching and he figured she was just as uncomfortable. He’d give her a ride to her trailer, but it wasn’t going to be the end of things. Not until he had all his questions answered, like who was trying to kill his ex-girlfriend and why?

Maggie clung to Liam’s narrow waist as best she could through the pain that pulsed through her ribs. He smelled of leather and hay, a heady combination. She didn’t even want to think about how much discomfort he was in after he’d put his own life in danger to save hers. The rocking motion of the horse aggravated her pain and she rested her head against his wide shoulders, trying to control her stampeding thoughts.

She’d almost been killed.

What’s more, the stranger—who had to be Virgil—had apparently been responsible for her sister’s accident, and now Tammy was on the run. Where? At least the why part was becoming clearer. Tammy had taken jewelry and he was bent on retrieving it. Maggie had no idea why Tammy would have done such a thing, but there had to be a good reason. There had been no messages from her sister when she’d checked. She desperately wanted to look again but she couldn’t do that without risking dropping her cell as the horse traveled along.

What exactly was she going to do next? Liam was right that she should talk to the police, but her sister had specifically asked her not to.

I don’t want to kill you...but I will if I have to.

Maggie had heard only a little about Tammy’s new job. Guilt licked at her insides. She’d been so busy working insane hours subbing for a cook at a steak house in Arizona, banking every last, sweat-covered dime, that she hadn’t really taken the time to reach out to Tammy as often as she should have. Maybe if she had, her impulsive sister would not have detonated her life again.

Next steps, next steps, she chanted to herself as they trotted in view of her sister’s trailer parked at the end of the row. Tammy had kept up the rent until she decided to put down more permanent roots; her job as caregiver for Bill Salvador came with a room.

Streak slowed to a walk. A scant few moments remained until she would have to dismount and face a very determined cowboy who she’d gleaned from Tammy was highly intelligent.

What choice did she have but to stall until she knew where her sister was?

Liam reined in the horse and eased off him, not quite disguising the groan as his boots hit the ground. He offered her a calloused palm that all but dwarfed her hand in its strong grasp. She slid out of the saddle, patted the prancing dog and headed up the porch steps. The tiny single-bulb lamp was on, moths circling around.

“Thank you very much,” she said as she passed him. “I don’t know how else to repay you. Ride safe home.”

He’d moved faster than she thought, edging in front of her and leaning a shoulder against the door. “Seems like you haven’t answered the pertinent questions.”

She stopped. He curved a finger through the belt loop of his jeans and crossed his booted ankles.

“There’s nothing else.”

He craned forward a bit. “What’s that?”

She remembered Tammy had told her something about Liam having hearing loss. “I’ve told you all I can,” she said, louder.

He smiled and thumbed his hat back, the light accentuating his strong jaw. “Aw, now, I don’t think that’s the full honest truth. We’re not exactly strangers. You should talk to me.”

The urge rippled through her to tell him, to trust him. But how could she when Tammy had not? When she had no idea whom to trust or where to turn?

She straightened, tipping her chin up to look him in the face since he was a good six inches taller. “I’m not going to tell you anything further.”

He blew out a breath. “So you’re just gonna stay out here in this trailer, all by your lonesome, when you’ve almost been hit by a train and dropped off a lighthouse?”

“I’m safe. There are neighbors. I have an alarm.” At least, her sister used to have an alarm on her trailer. “I have a cell phone.”

“To call the police, whom you don’t wanna talk to?”

She waved him off. “I’m tired and I need a shower. I’ll be fine.”

“All right, then I’m gonna stay here and keep watch. I’ll go home and get my truck. Me and Jingles here will bunk in the back seat.”

She gritted her teeth. “Not necessary. You’re going to leave.”

His lips curled in a sassy, slow smile that flicked her pulse higher. “How’re you fixing to move two-hundred-plus pounds of good ol’ cowboy off your property, Tam?”

She took a step closer. “I’m going to ask you politely, Liam, and you’re going to respect my wishes and leave.” Silence lengthened between them. Was he that kind of man? The next few seconds would tell.

He huffed out a frustrated breath and she knew she’d won the battle. “All right, then. You read that right. I’d never disrespect a woman, not in this lifetime. I got a lot of sins under my belt, but not that one.”

With a sigh, she reached for the door but froze when he put one finger gently on her forearm. The connection held her in place. “You know,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling drawl, “there’s something different about you, Tam.”

She didn’t answer. He let his finger remain there for a moment, a spot of warmth in the icy December night. Then he withdrew and walked back to his horse.

The relieved exhale hadn’t quite left her lungs when he threw a remark over his shoulder.

“Something’s not right here, and I’m gonna worry this bone till I figure it out.” He put a finger to his hat in perfect cowboy form and smiled. “Sleep well.”

She watched him go with a sinking feeling that Liam Pike would match her determination stride for stride. She may have won the battle but the war was far from over.

Saddle up, Maggie. Rough trail ahead.

FOUR

Liam’s almost brother, retired US marshal Mitch Whitehorse, was not prone to smiling. Liam guessed he wouldn’t be, either, with a serial killer for a sibling. But since Mitch had put Wade back in prison almost a year prior, married Jane and adopted her son Charlie, his demeanor was downright sanguine. He was loping through the living room of the Roughwater Ranch main house with Charlie on his shoulders, the day after the incident with Tammy, doing loop de loops around the giant Christmas tree.

“Playing horsie?” Liam teased. He gave Charlie a high five, reveling in the joy shining in the little boy’s face. He could barely remember life at the ranch before Charlie had arrived, and he didn’t much want to.

Mitch cocked his head, the scar on his cheek catching the winter sunlight streaming through the window. “Nah, I’m a train, of course. Anyone can see that. Charlie’s excited about riding the Train of Lights next Wednesday.”

“Choo choo, Uncle Liam,” crooned the three-year-old. The name came out sounding like “Weeum,” which made Liam grin every single time.

“Ah. Train. How could I have missed that?”

“You missed a cow, too,” Mitch added. “Got her from the lower pasture and returned her to the herd.”

Liam jerked. He wanted to blame it on his disastrous new excuse for a herd dog, but it was purely his own preoccupation. He’d spent the early morning, after the feeding duties were done, searching for Tammy Lofton and going so far as to ride to her trailer to check on her. But there’d been no sign of the woman.

“Something you want to get off your chest?”

Liam realized Mitch was watching him closely. It would be the smartest thing to do to unburden himself to Mitch, get his take on the whole situation with Tammy and the guy chasing her. But she’d asked him not to and he’d respect that—for now. “Nah. I was just being careless. Won’t happen again.”

“Careless is one thing you aren’t, brother.”

No, he wasn’t. It was why he’d earned the nickname Hound Dog from his fellow Green Berets. When he got the whiff of a mission that interested or perplexed him, he’d go after it with methodical zeal and relentless drive.

Aunt Ginny joined them and Mitch hunched down for her to plant a kiss on Charlie’s cheek. She did so and handed him a gingerbread cookie. “Your mama called and said you need your bath.”

When Charlie frowned, Liam gently poked his arm. “Hey, little cowboy. Christmas parade’s tomorrow. Gotta look your best.”

The child brightened and Mitch nodded. “Orders from the conductor. Let’s chug out of here.”

“Choo choo,” Charlie said gleefully, clutching his cookie as they galloped to the door, heading for the small house on the ranch hilltop that Aunt Ginny and Uncle Gus had gifted Jane and Mitch for a wedding present.

Ginny had a file of papers tucked under one arm and a laptop under the other. As accountant and joint owner of Roughwater Ranch, she was never far from her paperwork.

“No cookie for me?” Liam said, pulling a mournful pout.

She laughed. “There’s a dozen in the kitchen for you. I didn’t even bother to wrap them up.”

“Too busy?”

“Insanely. Driftwood is swimming in holiday visitors and they all seem to want to stay at the Lodge and tour the ranch while they’re here.”

“Who wouldn’t? Good for business.”

Ginny blew out a breath. “Yes. Thank goodness your sister is a brilliant lodge manager.”

“That she is. Seen her lately? She didn’t return my call this morning.”

“Just busy, I’m sure. Speaking of which, Nan called about her saddle. I told her you’d drop it off at the Chuckwagon today.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that now.”

“And would you take your nutty dog along? He’s been staring through the back door whining because he can’t find you.”

Liam gaped. “I fenced him behind the workshop. How does he keep getting out?”

She heaved a dramatic sigh. “The power of unrequited love.”

“Aw, man,” he mumbled, striding through the cozy ranch kitchen.

“Help yourself to...” The rest of her phrase died away. He could hear the merriment in her voice. He edged past yet another Christmas tree nestled near the bank of windows that framed the view of the sprawling property and the ocean beyond. The tree lights were twinkling, regardless of the daytime hour. Aunt Ginny insisted they be lit 24/7. She was as eager for Christmas as Charlie was, and Liam loved that about her.

He’d come to the ranch almost three years prior, at Helen’s suggestion, after his discharge from the Berets. He’d applied for a position as a ranch hand and Aunt Ginny and Gus had given him the job and folded him immediately into the family, as they’d done for his sister. They’d been more his parents than anyone else and he still pinched himself that God had blessed him so richly.

Grabbing two cookies from the tray, he flung the door open to see Jingles overcome with joy, dancing on his hind legs. “Down, you mutt,” Liam thundered. The dog sat, but all of his parts seemed to vibrate with contained ecstasy. Liam sighed and flung him a gingerbread arm, which Jingles intercepted midair and swallowed, swiping a floppy tongue across his mouth.

“At least you have good taste in cooking.” Liam retrieved the repaired saddle from the workshop and loaded it in the back of the truck. When he opened the driver’s door, Jingles leaped in and scooted to the passenger seat.

Liam fired up the engine and turned on the radio to a news station. He didn’t much care about the chatter but the voices comforted him. The inevitable mental quiz scrolled through his mind. Was the sound fainter? Less distinct? A familiar twist in his stomach started up again. You can still hear it. You’re all right. But how much longer until he couldn’t? The stapedectomy on his left ear had failed to correct the otosclerosis that had forced him to leave the Green Berets. He didn’t blame God for the misfortune; he’d learned as a kid that life was sometimes a rough ride through bad country. The trick was to gather up all the joy along the way and wait it out until the end. Home with God. A perfect home. The kind he’d always envisioned.

Before he coud drive away, he spotted Chad Jaggert hauling a blue spruce out of the truck and hopped out to help. “Hey,” he called, not expecting much of a reply. Younger, leaner, and way quieter than Liam and Mitch, Chad made about as much noise as a mouse wearing slippers. Unless the topic was horses or possibly boats, it was going to be a one-sided conversation. Silent, thoughtful and fiercely loyal, that was Chad, the man Liam considered to be his younger brother.

“Hey,” Chad replied, pulling on a pair of leather gloves and shouldering the tree.

“Hasn’t Aunt Ginny got enough Christmas trees?”

Chad shrugged. “She wanted it. I got it.”

And that about summed up what any of the four—Mitch, Liam, Helen and Chad—would do for Aunt Ginny.

Uncle Gus strode up, accepting his licking from Jingles. “Another tree?” He grinned. “I’m surprised she’s limited herself to five.”

“Six,” Chad said. “Got one for the tower room yesterday.”

Gus laughed outright, pulling off his cowboy hat and scrubbing a hand through his silvered hair. “That woman delights me.”

That woman.

Liam thought for a moment of Tammy Lofton. She’d been zany and impulsive, with a fun-loving outlook, but for some reason they just hadn’t clicked. He’d had other relationships that didn’t work out of course, but when she’d gone, it had left him off balance and uncertain, like a hobbled horse. If he analyzed it, the situation might have affected him especially deeply because the relationship had failed as his hearing loss had accelerated. Good thing he wasn’t prone to self-analysis.

Uncle Gus punched him playfully on the shoulder and he realized he’d not heard the last comment. He thumbed his cowboy hat back and offered a grin, which he figured fit the previous tone of the conversation, a trick that often helped him through.

“Listen, if you see your sister, tell her I’ve got the tables she needed for the festival on Wednesday. I stopped in earlier to see her but she wasn’t available.”

That made Liam take note. Not returning calls, not available at the Lodge. “Okay,” he said. “I’m droppin’ off this saddle at the Chuckwagon and then I’m headed over there. Feed’s been delivered.”

The Roughwater Ranch cattle were grass fed, but years of drought had made it necessary to supplement with hay and alfalfa. Now that they’d gotten some winter rains, the grass was reviving, and the wells and natural springs were also gradually replenishing.

Uncle Gus headed to the kitchen door to open it for Chad. Liam and Jingles headed to the Chuckwagon.

The parking lot was full at half past ten, a sure sign that holiday crowds were building. The two enormous wagon wheels that flanked either side of the wooden doors were twined with tinsel and Christmas music wafted out as he left Jingles in the truck with the window open a few inches.

“Be right back and don’t chew the upholstery.”

Jingles looked hurt, as though offended he wasn’t invited to come along. Liam shouldered the saddle and went inside.

Nan greeted him over the noisy bustle of diners. “Here for breakfast, Liam?”

“No, ma’am. Just delivering your saddle.”

“Super, since there’s not an empty table in the place. I don’t know what I would have done if Tammy hadn’t showed up.”

“Tammy?”

“Yeah. She came in this morning and I hired her back immediately. She’s been an absolute lifesaver.” Nan shook her head. “Weird. When she was here last, she was a server only, said she couldn’t even boil water, and now it’s like she’s perfectly at home behind the stove. Even baked the pumpkin pies this morning, before her waitressing shift. I don’t know how she doctored the filling, but, man, are they luscious. Why didn’t I know she was a kitchen savant?”

Why indeed? He scanned the diners and servers. “Where is she?”

“I’m sending her over to the Lodge with the order of pies for their lunch service. Think she’s loading up the van right now.”

He thanked her and left the saddle, hurrying back outside. The Chuckwagon van was parked in the back, the rear doors open. Tammy was sliding in the last pastry box, her dark hair draped forward over her eyes. Jeans and a Chuckwagon T-shirt made her look much younger than her thirty-two years—or maybe it was her slender frame and lace-up sneakers.

“Morning,” he said.

She jumped, whirling to face him. “Oh...hi.”

“Understand you’re working here again.”

“Um, yes.” She slammed the back doors and made to edge by him to the driver’s seat. The closer he came, the more the sensation that something was amiss trickled through his gut. “Taking these pies over to the Lodge.”

“Right. Can we talk a minute?”

“No, not right now. Delivering, as I said.”

She reached for the door and he caught her hand in his. Small fingers, strong and pleasantly toughened from hard work, but tiny and delicate. Strange. He remembered her hands being soft as silk.

“Aw,” he said. “You have a half second for one quick question right? For old time’s sake?”

She froze, head angled down so the hair shadowed her face. He let go of her hand and slid a finger under her chin, gently tipping it upward. The eyes that greeted his were familiar, the combined green and brown of summer turning to fall. Familiar, but not completely. A halo of gold edged the irises, molten and vibrant. “Tam, your eyes have kind of a green tint, you know,” he said slowly. “But now I’m looking close, I see a wash of gold there, like the sun setting into the ocean.”

Her throat convulsed as she swallowed. “Uh...” she managed to finally say. “I have to hurry and get back for the lunch rush.”

He let the smile ease over his face as he leaned a fraction closer until the brim of his cowboy hat shadowed them both. “Just one question,” he murmured.

She tried to look away but again he guided her gaze back to his with the lightest pressure under her chin. The gold was sparked with concern as she stared at him, one lip caught between her teeth.

“Who are you really?” he said.

Caught. Nan and the few patrons who’d assumed she was her sister had asked no questions. Even the man who’d seemed intent on killing her had mistaken her for Tammy. But there was no deceiving the cowboy who stood before her, every inch a stubbled and stubborn man, steely eyed and determined.

She eased back a step, away from the touch of his long, calloused fingers, and folded her arms across her chest, desperately trying to identify an escape route. When she risked a look, he was regarding her from under the brim of his cowboy hat with a half smile that spoke of amusement rather than anger.

“You’re not Tammy. What’s your name?” he asked.

“Maggie,” she mumbled to her shoes.

“A little louder, if you don’t mind,” he said, cocking his head slightly.

Sucking in a breath, she leveled a square look at him, noting that his irises were the color of stonewashed denim.

“My name is Maggie Lofton. I’m Tammy’s twin sister.”

“You don’t say?” Now his smile was wider, as if the information amused him. “Not identical, now that I’m really looking.”

His frank stare did not make her uncomfortable for some reason, just worried that she had already messed up on her impromptu investigation.

“Fraternal,” she said. “I’m the younger one by two minutes.”

He laughed at that and she found herself smiling.

“Tammy told me she had a sister. I don’t recall hearing you were twins.”

It was Maggie’s turn to fix him with a look. “You two dated for four months, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you tell her everything about your life?”

That made him blink and look away for a moment, gaze shifting from her to the winter sky. “No,” he said. “I guess I didn’t.”

“Okay, well I’m glad we talked and I’m sorry I wasn’t forthcoming right away. I, uh, have a good reason, if that means anything. Um, see you later.”

“Uh-uh. You owe me an explanation.” The soft drawl in his voice did not lessen the intensity of his command.

She wanted to tell him she owed him nothing, but she recalled the feel of his muscles struggling to haul her up over the lighthouse railing. In fact, she owed him her life. The reality of that made her want to sprint away into the tall green grass that edged the parking area.

“I...” she started to say when his phone rang, too loud. She figured he had it turned up so that he could hear it.

“Hang on one minute, ma’am,” he said.

She sighed. “First off, now that you know my real name, you can knock off the ma’am thing. Second, I’m not waiting. I have to go.”

But he was already answering the phone. The genial inquisitiveness in his expression turned to concern. “I’m on my way,” he told the caller.

She took it as her reprieve until he shoved the phone into the rear pocket of his faded jeans.

“That was my sister, Helen. She asked me to come ASAP to discuss a situation.”

“Sounds serious. You should go.”

He was silent for a moment, drawing out his keys. He whirled the key ring around his finger, expression calculating in a way that made her squirm. She’d just decided to forget the debt she owed Liam, get into the van and put as much distance as she could between the two of them when he spoke again.

“Helen said she called over here to the Chuckwagon just now and heard I was chatting with you, so she told me to bring you along. That will suit, since you’re headed there anyway, right—” he added after a pause “—Maggie?”

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