Книга - Own the Night

Own the Night
Debbi Rawlins


After several years’ absence, Noah Calder has returned to Blackfoot Falls, Montana to be the town's sheriff. He still isn't sure if this is the life he wants, but he owes his family and he always pays his debts. The last thing he expected was to meet a woman who tempts his sense of duty. But can she bring him to his knees? Alana Richardson has never met a man like him. He's everything she could want. Could it be that she’s starting to fall hard?Doesn’t seem to matter once it all falls apart. Her mother shows up and Alana is humbled to learn she’s not the strong woman she’s always considered herself. She has to make a hard decision. Will she choose Noah? Even after she discovers his interest in her was merely as a suspect.










Can’t get enough cowboys?

Popular Mills & Boon


Blaze


author Debbi Rawlins takes readers on a great ride with her new miniseries

MADE IN MONTANA

The little town of Blackfoot Falls hasn’t seen this much action since… well, ever.

Stay up till dawn with

Barefoot Blue Jean Night

(October 2012)

Own the Night

(December 2012)

On a Snowy Christmas Night

(January 2013)

And remember, the sexiest cowboys

are Made in Montana!


Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Blackfoot Falls! In the second book of this series we revisit the cozy Montana town, the Sundance Dude Ranch, the McAllister family and sexy sheriff Noah Calder, who’s so popular with the female visitors, he’s ready to lock himself in jail just to get away from them. But once he finds mysterious Alana Richardson, Noah won’t let her out of his sight.

You’ll also meet Dax, Noah’s lovable mutt, who is based on one of my rescues. Dax is a Border Collie mix who is full of love and mischief. And just like me and my Dax, Noah can’t imagine a life without his four-legged buddy.

Many of the Blaze


authors and editors have come together to support pet adoptions via the Blaze Authors’ blog. Come visit blazeauthors.com/blog/blaze-authors-pet-project to see the many incredible ways we humans can band together to help our furry friends.

I’d also like to invite you to spend your Christmas holiday with the McAllisters and all the folks from Blackfoot Falls by picking up On a Snowy Christmas Night, which will be out in January 2013.

I hope you’re having as much fun with the gorgeous cowboys of Montana as I am!

Love to you all,

Debbi Rawlins




About the Author


DEBBI RAWLINS lives in central Utah, out in the country, surrounded by woods and deer and wild turkeys. It’s quite a change for a city girl who didn’t even know where the state of Utah was until a few years ago. Of course, unfamiliarity has never stopped her. Between her junior and senior years of college, she spontaneously left her home in Hawaii and bummed around Europe for five weeks by herself. And much to her parents’ delight, returned home with only a quarter in her wallet.




Own the Night

Debbi Rawlins







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Prologue


RACHEL MCALLISTER STARED at the Sundance Ranch website she’d created, feeling more helpless and overwhelmed than she cared to admit. Three months ago she’d taken the first reservation, her fingers crossed, prayers murmured in earnest that opening a dude ranch would help pull her family out of the hole. Now they were so swamped with business she didn’t know which end was up. It would’ve all been good except they didn’t have the room.

Sure, the ranch spread out over three thousand acres, but they raised cattle first and foremost, and she’d promised her brothers she’d keep the guests separate and under control. So much for that. The women had gone nuts over Cole, Jesse and Trace, and the other young cowboys who worked and lived at the Sundance.

Now, after the first few waves of visitors had sampled life under the clear blue Montana skies, they were writing fantastic reviews. Cole’s new girlfriend, a former guest, was a popular travel blogger and she’d talked up the Sundance on her site.

All of it was terrific for business but brutal on Rachel’s stress level. Already she’d oversold one weekend and pissed off two women. They had nobly offered to take up residence in the bunkhouse with the hands for the two overlapping days, but that would’ve pissed off everyone else on the ranch.

Rachel clicked on the latest batch of reviews, skimmed down and smiled when she repeatedly saw Noah Calder’s name. The sheriff was Cole and Jesse’s best friend and like another brother to her. He wasn’t going to be happy about his fifteen minutes of fame—especially if women started swarming his office.

Well, that would be his problem. Rachel had enough on her plate. She hoped she wouldn’t regret accepting guests until three weeks before Christmas. Initially they were going to close from the first of November until the first of May. But it was just too damn hard to turn away the business.

Naturally, she’d have to come up with other activities to offer the guests. Summer was easy, with hiking and camping trips, white-water rafting, cattle drives, fishing, rodeos. Early fall could include some of those things, at least before the first snow, but up here in Blackfoot Falls, Montana, almost two hundred miles from the Canadian border, the temperatures dropped early.

Her computer dinged with the receipt of an email, and she was surprised to find a last-minute cancellation. Well, that worked out great. She had just been about to turn someone down for a week’s stay starting tomorrow night. Quickly, she did the paperwork, and feeling magnanimous, returned the deposit, then booked the new guest. And that was it for the night. She was exhausted.

Before she turned off her computer, two more reviews caught her eye. More Noah fan club members.

Review by: Tammy from Chicago

**** 4 out of 5 stars

I spent a week at the Sundance in August. Sheer heaven. Never thought I’d like going to the Wild West but could’ve easily stayed a month. My friend dragged me. I totally owe her flowers. Beautiful scenery. The food was way too good. Best of all, the cowboys were smokin’ hot, and not just the brothers on the website, who were even better-looking in person. Lots of cute wranglers, and if you go, get a load of the sheriff, a man who knows how to fill out a uniform. I’m saving up to go back next year. I would’ve given the place five stars if someone had hooked me up with that hunk wearing the badge.

Review by: Miranda from San FranciscoM

***** 5 out of 5 stars

OMG I just had the best vacation ever! I like horseback riding and hiking and I’m basically an outdoors kind of gal. All the activities the Sundance offers are super fun, and the best part—Trace, the McAllister brother with the tan Stetson in the home page photo, was totally hands-on and yes, he’s as gorgeous as he looks in the pic. But don’t overlook Sheriff Noah Calder. Make a point of visiting Blackfoot Falls, about half an hour away. There’s a quaint bar there called The Watering Hole. And did I mention the sheriff?




Rachel grinned. Trace ate up the attention, but poor Noah. He was going to head for the hills.




1


ALANA RICHARDSON HAD PRECISELY one hour to vacate her office. She kicked off her new Christian Louboutins, swung her stockinged feet onto her desk and stared out the large glass windows at her perfect view of Madison Avenue and Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. The autumn sky was more gray than blue, but the trees compensated for the drabness with their orange and yellow brilliance. Normally October was her favorite month. But not this year, not with the move from Midtown to Tribeca, with which she was in total disagreement.

She was the newly appointed vice president of marketing for an ad agency that had laughed in the face of recession. Partly thanks to her, they’d increased their net worth by fifty percent and had outgrown the twenty-first-floor office that was more home to Alana than her Upper West Side apartment. Though sentiment had nothing to do with her attitude toward the move. What she objected to was being sidelined for an entire week. The whole transfer of files and furniture and computers could’ve happened in two days if her boss had been more reasonable.

She flexed her toes. Damn, her feet hurt. The four-inch heels weren’t the problem; for her those were standard. They put her at six feet and brought her eye-to-eye with, and sometimes taller than, most of her male coworkers. She liked the psychological advantage. For some of her peers it didn’t seem to matter that she was at the top of her game, or that she worked harder than anyone else. They thought she was too young, too green to have moved up the ladder so quickly.

At least no one assumed she’d slept her way into her position. She wasn’t unattractive, but she was no great beauty, either. She simply didn’t have the kind of face and body that made men stupid enough to pass out unearned promotions.

Her office door opened, no knock first, which meant it was her assistant, Pam. Alana turned from the window and eyed the blonde’s jeans. She hadn’t wasted any time in shifting out of work mode. “I thought you were coming to tell me you were staying in the city with me.”

Pam tilted her head to the side. “Let’s see … skiing in the Alps with Rudy or working fourteen-hour days with you. I’ll have to think about that for a second.” With her usual deadpan expression, she checked her watch. “You can still come with us. Our flight doesn’t leave for another four hours.”

“Pass.”

“So you’re going to stay cooped up in your apartment and work.”

“I’ve been meaning to see Wicked, and that other one….” Alana waved her hand. “That musical with what’s his name.”

Pam shook her head in resigned dismay. Young, only twenty-five, she’d been three years behind Alana at Yale. But she was sharp, ambitious and didn’t miss a trick. That’s why she’d been hired twenty minutes into her interview. She reminded Alana of herself. With the exception that Pam had the good sense to spend a week in the Alps and regenerate, while Alana planned on burying herself in ad copy.

“I want to show you something, and I need you to promise to keep an open mind.” Pam moved around the desk, shoving Alana’s feet off and taking over her keyboard.

“I’m not promising anything.” Alana rolled her chair back to give her assistant room. Though Pam seemed distracted by something under the desk.

She dragged out Alana’s wastebasket and sighed at the remains of the desktop Zen garden Pam had given her as a stress reliever. The sand had fallen to the bottom of the basket and the miniature wooden rake had snapped in two. “I see this worked well.”

“Actually, it did.” Alana smiled. “Trashing the whole thing felt remarkably soothing.”

With an eye roll, Pam went to work, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She brought up a website and stood back. “Check this out.”

Alana scooted closer, squinting at the startling expanse of blue sky above a huge log-cabin-style house. In the lower corner of the screen were three cowboys, but it was one of their horses that caught her attention. With that lean, powerful body and a shimmering gray mane, he looked like an Arabian, but she couldn’t be sure from the picture. What was this, anyway? Her gaze went to the top of the screen. The Sundance Dude Ranch.

It took a second for the words to register. She narrowed her gaze on her assistant. “A dude ranch. Me. You’re kidding.”

“Why not? You like to ride. Do it where the air is clean and men are men.”

Alana laughed. “I haven’t been riding in years.” She slid another look at the three cowboys. Not bad, if a woman liked the rugged outdoor sort….

“All the more reason to get your overworked type A ass out of the city and do something fun for a change.”

Groaning, Alana swiveled to find her shoes. “Remind me why I keep you around.”

“Because I don’t take your crap, I’m very good at what I do, and I know how to fix your computer,” she said, then pointedly added, “without erasing the entire hard drive.”

“God, I’m going to hear about that for the rest of my life.”

“Take a damn vacation, Richardson. You need it.”

“A dude ranch. Sure thing.” She winced, trying to stuff her foot back into the narrow shoe. It had to be the correct size. Her personal shopper had chosen them, but they were new. Alana had figured half a day’s wear would be enough to break them in.

“Look, I probably wouldn’t have thought of it on my own, but I have friends who went last month, and they came back raving about the place. Plus they said the guys were totally hot.”

“You have time for friends? Obviously I don’t work you hard enough.”

“Just read some of the reviews.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Pam exhaled in that long-suffering way she had perfected. “You are so myopic.”

Alana quit trying to put on the shoe and brought it up for closer inspection. Her eyes were tired from another late night reviewing ads, and the print was too blurry. “This is an eight, right?” She showed the toeless black pump to Pam.

“That’s not what I meant.” Clearly annoyed, her assistant ducked her head to glance at the size. “Yes,” she said, her expression changing to one of banked amusement. “By the way, your mother called while you were meeting with Mr. Giles.”

That was odd. Eleanor rarely called the office. Alana opened the desk drawer where she kept her cell and saw that she had several messages waiting. “And?”

“She’s lecturing at a conference in Boston this weekend. After that she’s going to the Cape for a few days. She wanted to let you know she’d be away.”

A sick feeling churned in Alana’s stomach. “You didn’t tell her about the move,” she said, not liking the knowing gleam in her assistant’s eye. “Or that the office would be closed.”

“I’m not sure.” Pam frowned, but couldn’t quite keep a straight face. “I might have mentioned it. Was that wrong?”

“I’m not afraid of her.” Not a total lie. Terrified was a better description. The woman wasn’t a monster, nothing like that. But if Alana thought she was good at manipulating people, Dr. Eleanor Richardson was the damn master. Nine out of ten times she could get her only daughter to crumble like a stale brownie. And if her mother knew she was free, she’d insist Alana accompany her to the Cape. “I can say no to Eleanor.”

“Of course you can.” Pam grinned as she moved around the desk toward the door. “But you know, with all the fall foliage, Cape Cod is gorgeous this time of year….”

Sighing, Alana dug out her phone. All three messages were from Eleanor. Oh, crap.

“Have fun with Mom,” Pam said on her way out with a wave over her shoulder.

“That was so beneath you,” Alana muttered, loudly enough for Pam to hear, then drummed her short, pale, manicured nails on her desk while staring at the phone as if it were the enemy.

She had to call her mother back. If she didn’t, Eleanor would inevitably show up at Alana’s apartment. The doormen all knew her. They’d probably lay out the damn red carpet without even giving Alana a heads-up that her mother was in the building.

And why not? Eleanor Richardson was beautiful and charming, a world-renowned psychiatrist who knew exactly how to get what she wanted. With her expertise perpetually in demand, she was wined and dined, courted by some of the most prestigious institutions in the world. The woman knew no humility, though Alana marveled at how well her mother hid her arrogance and sense of entitlement. Her ability was truly something. Almost enviable.

The thought made Alana shudder. She loved her mother and respected her because she really was brilliant and worked hard—her discipline was an amazing thing. But Alana didn’t want to be like her. Eleanor had no friends. Never in a hundred years could Alana imagine her having a conversation like the one she herself had just had with Pam. It was a small thing, perhaps, and there were many qualities passed on to her from her mother for which Alana was grateful.

She also appreciated the top-notch education she’d been provided, the fabulous trips abroad, the trust fund that guaranteed she’d never have to worry about her future. But the perks had come at a price. A normal childhood had been the trade-off. No sleepovers or going off to summer camp or attending Friday-night school football games like her classmates. No father to read her stories or tuck her in at night.

When she was younger, Alana had thought often about how her life might’ve been different if she’d had a more traditional upbringing. She’d even considered inquiring about the man who’d fathered her. One particular time she’d been so furious with Eleanor for planning a Caribbean trip for them the weekend of the junior prom that she’d nearly asked her mother why she’d bothered having a child.

But Alana hadn’t asked. Instead, she’d sneaked out of her room late that night. She’d made it only five blocks in their posh neighborhood when the police picked her up, assuming she was whacked out on drugs, given the way she was furiously muttering to herself. When they’d returned her home, Eleanor hadn’t raised her voice, not even an eyebrow. She’d merely opened the door, thanked the police in that cool, elegant voice of hers, while Alana raced up the stairs to her room.

Until dawn she’d waited in agony for her bedroom door to open, for Eleanor to lash out at her. The lecture never came. She hadn’t been grounded, no privileges were taken away, and later, when they’d sat across the table from each other while the housekeeper served them breakfast, Eleanor had smiled that charming smile she’d perfected, and reviewed the itinerary of their Caribbean trip as if nothing had happened.

It was then that Alana recognized the truth of their relationship. She’d finally understood her role. Eleanor hadn’t necessarily wanted a child; she’d needed a companion. Marriage had never even been considered. After all, what man could meet her expectations?

But a child? Perfect, really, because it gave Eleanor the opportunity to mold Alana into someone who suited her mother’s preferences. Infuriatingly, the plan had worked far too well. For all Alana’s good intentions, she ended up bending to Eleanor’s will far too often.

Alana blinked at the monitor when the unimaginative galaxy screen saver obliterated the picture of the Sundance Dude Ranch that had been there a second ago. She touched the mouse and recalled the website, her gaze sweeping from the beautiful Arabian to the cowboy straddling the animal. Hot guys. Right. What was Pam thinking? She knew Alana’s taste was more sophisticated than that, in clothes, in men….

Although she had to admit these were some pretty nice specimens. She moved in for a closer look at their faces, but two of the cowboys had their hats pulled low. The third one had his brim tipped back and was very good-looking, but on the young side. They were the McAllister brothers, owners and operators along with their sister and mother, according to the blurb. The ranch had been in the family for several generations, but only recently had they opened their doors to paying guests.

Alana had to smile. Yeah, she’d just bet the place was popular, especially with women looking for a vacation fling. Out of curiosity, she clicked on the descriptions of the activities offered and, impressed, started skimming the reviews.

Just as she figured, the ranch was solidly endorsed, and so were the men. Some of the guests had included photos of their vacation, and Montana was undeniably beautiful country, with breathtaking views of the snowcapped Rocky Mountains, open meadows and storybook streams. Though the highlight for most of the reviewers had been—big surprise—the men who worked the ranch. A whole slew of photographs were dedicated to the brothers, the hired hands, the town’s sheriff….

She peered closer. Yes, she could understand why some women might find Sheriff Calder appealing. Alana wasn’t one for a man in uniform, certainly not half a uniform. Along with his official tan shirt, he wore scuffed cowboy boots and worn jeans—wore them quite well, in fact. But it was his strong, chiseled jaw that caught her fancy, even if his sun-streaked brown hair was a bit too long.

Her phone buzzed, signaling an incoming text.

She pulled open her drawer to check the display, though she knew who it was, and that she wasn’t about to answer.

Eleanor’s message was brief. She’d be in a meeting for an hour, but needed to talk to her immediately after.

Alana’s gaze moved back to her computer screen and the blue Montana sky. Outside her door she heard laughter. The mailroom staff had been assigned packing duty, and it sounded as if her office might be next on their list.

Montana, huh? God, was she seriously considering this? Was the idea too crazy? She pushed her fingers through her hair, trying to recall when, exactly, she’d last been horseback riding. But a dude ranch?

Hell, why not? She wasn’t allergic to fresh air. And she was getting tired of sailing in the Caribbean and visiting the Hamptons. Not that she ever had much leisure time.

Who was she kidding? She felt like a teenager again, trying to ditch her mother. The thing was, she hadn’t really lied to Pam. Technically, Alana could say no to Eleanor, except the woman had a way of digging in her claws and making Alana feel guilty as hell. Sometimes it was just a look, a single word, a lift of a brow, and Alana was toast. She’d try not to give in. She’d call herself every kind of fool, because in all other aspects of her life she had a spine of steel.

But when it came to her mom, the end result rarely varied. She’d beat herself up for being weak, throw in the reminder that Eleanor was a psychiatrist, for God’s sake, even without the power accorded all mothers to elevate or scar their children well into adulthood, if not for life. Alana would feel better for a few minutes, but then eventually give in and do what Eleanor wanted.

Might as well wager on a dude ranch halfway across the country, on the off chance she’d actually have fun. Except no one could know, absolutely no one. Image was everything in Alana’s business. Hell, her client base consisted primarily of sophisticated trendsetters and Fortune 500 companies. No, she thought as she clicked on Reservations, not a single person could know. She wouldn’t even tell Pam.

NOAH CALDER STEPPED OUT OF HIS office and peered down Main Street. The Lemon sisters had finished decorating the Gazette’s window for Halloween, and moved on to hanging paper ghosts from the elm tree in the stamp-size park in the center of town.

Normally, he would have gone home by now and left the evening shift to Roy. But it was Friday and the boys from the Circle K and the Double R had been paid earlier. Half of them would end up at the Watering Hole to shoot pool, get drunk, and mostly hang around hoping to get lucky with one of the women staying at the Sundance, who often ducked into the bar.

In general the men behaved themselves, but Noah had promised Rachel McAllister that he’d keep an eye on her guests. Though to his way of thinking, it was the men who needed looking after. Most of the gals who’d been coming to town since the dude ranch opened weren’t the shy type. They knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to ask for it.

A couple of them had scared the hell out of him. Offering to buy him drinks, asking to take him to dinner or to go on moonlit rides … One bold young lady had asked if he’d take her somewhere to go skinny-dipping. And now even his deputies were giving him grief over it.

He turned to look the other way and muttered an oath when he saw Avery Phelps bearing down on him.

“You listen to me, Sheriff, and you listen good.” Flushed from spending too much time sidled up to Sadie’s bar, Avery shuffled down, shaking a scrawny fist in the air. “All this thievery business is on account of those McAllisters. And I ain’t the only one who wants to know what you’re gonna do about it.”

Sighing, Noah shoved Avery’s fist out of his face. He was in no way threatening. In his prime, Avery might have topped off at five-seven, but age had him bent and bow-legged and a foot shorter than Noah. Even so, he knew the old man was harmless. Annoying as hell, generally belligerent, and probably lonely since his wife of fifty years had passed on three winters ago, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Noah met the old-timer’s bloodshot, beady eyes. “I suggest you think about how you’re phrasing that accusation, Avery.”

His brown weathered face creased in confusion and he swayed to the left. With a light touch to his shoulder, Noah brought him back to center. The guy was still active, but damn, he felt frail.

Hell, Noah didn’t need something else to worry about. Since he’d moved back to Blackfoot Falls, his plate was full enough with his aging parents. They were the main reason he’d returned—that and he didn’t care for city living. “Why don’t I drive you home?”

“I got my own truck. How else you think I got here, boy?” Still frowning, Avery rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Don’t go mixing up my words, either. I ain’t accusing the McAllisters of thieving, but it is their fault things have gone missing, what with them inviting all them strangers to town.”

For three months Avery and his cronies had been ranting about the influx of tourists, and Noah was getting damn tired of it. Although part of his irritation had to do with the fact that he hadn’t made any headway in solving a rash of thefts that had plagued the county since the McAllisters had opened their doors to guests.

Sure, the economy was bad and a lot of folks were out of work, but he knew most everyone for miles, and they were good, honest, God-fearing people. Transients had come through looking for work over the summer, but the timing was off. They’d all been long gone before the first theft occurred, so he knew they weren’t responsible.

Some of the stolen property had been recovered, but no thanks to him or his deputies. Harlan Roker’s trailer had been abandoned in a field ten miles south of his ranch. The Silvas’ water truck had gone missing for two days, then turned up in back of Abe’s Variety Store.

It almost seemed as if someone was toying with Noah, showing him they could do whatever they wanted and he couldn’t stop them. But he’d been sheriff of Salina County for three years, and to his knowledge he hadn’t made any enemies. Yeah, he’d broken up the occasional bar fight or been called to settle a squabble between neighbors, but nothing serious. He’d worked as a Chicago cop after the army and college, before returning to Blackfoot Falls. Normally he could handle the job here with his eyes closed.

“Look at ‘em.” Avery pointed a gnarled finger at a green rental car that pulled up in front of the Salina Gazette’s office next to the Watering Hole. Three young blondes dressed to kill climbed out.

“Quit pointing.”

Avery ignored him. “That’s when the trouble all started. When that dude ranch opened. Those damn McAllister kids … their poor father is turning over in his grave.”

Noah forced the man’s arm down. “Shut up, Avery, or I swear to God I’ll lock you up on a drunk and disorderly charge.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, boy—”

Noah saw that one of the women had noticed them. Afraid she would head his way, he grabbed hold of Avery’s arm, while reaching behind and opening the door. “Get in my office.”

The old man’s eyes bulged. “You locking me up?”

“Not if you come quietly.” Noah spotted Roy’s truck pulling to the curb, and he motioned for his deputy to meet him inside.

Avery started yapping before the door was closed. Noah tuned him out, glanced through the open blinds to see Roy approaching, and then turned his attention to the whirring groan of an incoming fax.

The machine was ancient, but they didn’t use it much since they’d gotten the new computer, and Noah couldn’t justify the expense of replacing it.

“What’s up, boss?” Roy looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed with his spiky hair and wrinkled uniform shirt.

“Tuck it in,” Noah said, snorting when Roy tried to suck in his sizable gut. “The shirt.” Noah shifted a mislaid stack of papers from the corner of his desk to the top of the gunmetal-gray file cabinet. “Then take Avery home.” He cut off the old man’s protest with a stern glare before picking up the fax.

The silence lasted only a few seconds, but the arguing faded as the pair left the office, leaving Noah to concentrate on the fax sent from the Potter County Sheriff’s Department. He knew Roland Moran, though not well, because Potter County was located south, clear down near the Idaho border. Sheriff Moran was old-school and had personally sent the fax.

Noah studied the piece of paper, seeing that he was one of four sheriffs who’d been notified that a pair of con artists might be headed north toward the Canadian border. Huh, grifters … that was something you didn’t see every day. The man had a medium build, was in his mid-thirties with dark hair; the woman in her late twenties, brown hair, brown eyes, tall, attractive, the brains. Moran believed they were married but might be traveling separately.

Noah rubbed the tense spot in his right shoulder. Great, just what he needed. More trouble.




2


“MY BAGS?” ALANA PROMPTED when the cabbie pulled his atrocious ancient noisy sedan to the curb and just sat there, gazing out the windshield in apparent admiration of the cheap Halloween decorations that heralded Main Street.

“What? Oh, yeah, sure thing.” Harvey popped the trunk, then made no move to get out and retrieve her luggage. He simply relaxed against the cracked vinyl upholstery, his impressive paunch testing the buttons of his plaid flannel shirt. “Easiest money I ever made. You gonna need a ride back to the airport later?”

“God, I hope not,” she muttered, and dug in her purse for her wallet.

“What’s that?” he asked, cupping a hand behind his ear.

“Your muffler,” she said louder. “It needs replacing.”

He just grinned and nodded.

Guess she was getting her own bag. At least it wasn’t terrifically heavy. She sighed and passed him the fee she’d negotiated for him to drive her the hour and a half to Blackfoot Falls. To be fair, the man wasn’t really a cab driver. She’d arrived at the tiny airport to find one car rental counter, and that was it. Since she didn’t have a driver’s license she supposed she was lucky to have gotten a ride from the rental agent’s brother-in-law.

She climbed out of the car and yanked her bag from the trunk, setting it on its wheels before grabbing her carry-on and laptop, which she nested on top of the bag, anchoring everything securely to the pop-up handle. Normally, she was good at packing. But the last-minute trip and the mad dash to John F. Kennedy Airport to catch her plane had resulted in her purse ending up a catch-all that weighed heavily on her shoulder.

Alana watched Harvey make a U-turn, then sputter down the highway, tufts of disgusting black exhaust in his wake. She glanced around, hoping no one had noticed her arrival in the awful car, although she’d been careful to have him drop her off at the edge of town. He wasn’t familiar with the Sundance, but she figured that as long as he got her to Blackfoot Falls, that was good enough. She just hoped there was someone around who could give her directions. The place looked deserted.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and smoothed down the front of her jacket while searching for signs of life. Farther down the street there were several cars parked in front of storefronts, but the place was ungodly quiet for … she checked her watch, did a quick calculation and set the Rolex back to four-thirty, local time.

It wasn’t exactly the dinner hour, so where was everyone? Main Street looked to be about five blocks long, though surprisingly wide, with a small square of grassy semigreen in the middle, its centerpiece a huge tree with most of the leaves gone or faded to autumn-yellow. From the bare branches hung paper ghosts fluttering in the brisk breeze.

Not a single stop sign was in sight and definitely no traffic lights, even though there seemed to be a couple of residential side streets. Closest to her was a gas station, then a gun shop, and next to it a hardware store. Across the street was a video rental place and a pawn shop with a sign indicating the owner was gone for a week.

A number of stores stretched toward the far end of town, but Alana couldn’t make out what they were except perhaps for another gas station. Other than a banner strung between two streetlights announcing the annual fall festival, and the ubiquitous Halloween decorations, the town was rather nondescript. She wouldn’t be surprised if some of the shops had been abandoned, just like the old boarding house in back of her.

Her purse slipped off her shoulder as she noticed a woman and child carrying packages and walking toward a parked truck. As if a button had been pressed, the town seemed to spring to life. A pack of high-school-age kids started making themselves heard from down a long block. Three more pickups turned onto Main Street, one right behind the other, and a short, bowlegged man appeared on the sidewalk, headed in the opposite direction from her. Judging by his gait, Alana guessed he’d just left a bar.

Hell, she wouldn’t mind a cosmo about now herself. She added her purse to the carefully stacked pile of bags, and then grabbed the suitcase handle and started walking, rolling her cargo behind her. By the time she’d made it a block, more people had shown up—a few in cars, but monster-size, dusty pickups appeared to be the vehicle of choice.

The action was clearly centered on the other side of town, so she hadn’t received any curious looks yet. Although three women riding in a green sedan gave her a once-over as they passed. She watched them park and get out, and knew instantly by their tight, trendy clothes that they weren’t locals. Had to be guests from one of the dude ranches in the area.

A few minutes later she got her first friendly wave from a man driving by in a white pickup with heavily tinted windows. Her pulse jumped when she saw the word Sheriff emblazoned in bold black letters on the door, but the driver wasn’t the hottie she’d seen in the review pictures. Nevertheless, she watched him pull to the curb, get out and cross the street, then disappear inside the sheriff’s office.

The wheels of her suitcase caught on a crack in the sidewalk, and she turned to give it a tug over the bulging concrete. The rough jerk upset the balance and she nearly lost the case with her laptop. Alana exhaled in relief, made sure stability had been restored, and headed for the green sedan. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to catch a ride with the blondes. Otherwise, she could call the Sundance, ask someone there to send a car for her. Or better yet, why not ask the sheriff for information?

She smiled at the idea. It was a perfectly reasonable thing for a tourist in a strange town to do. Even if said tourist could tell full well the town was too small to offer public transportation. What would be the harm? She’d get a nice close look and see for herself if the reviewers were right about him being all that. Not that she cared about small-town sheriffs, even if they did know how to fill out a uniform.

She picked up her pace, bumping along on the uneven sidewalk, watching more trucks coming down Main Street as if in a parade. They seemed to be headed to the same place, and though she wouldn’t admit it, it was fun seeing all those cowboys pile out as each vehicle parked at the curb. Some of the men wore hats, some didn’t. All were dressed in jeans and Western-cut shirts, and sported cowboy boots.

A few of them spotted her and gave her quick smiles, but they were more interested in the blondes artfully lounging near the sedan. Alana didn’t take offense or give it a second thought. The women had dressed the part of tourists on the prowl, and she hadn’t. Nor would she. She never flirted, acted coy or did any of those things. Even if she wanted to play the helpless, eye-batting, oh-aren’t-you-a-big-strong-man game just for fun, she’d be really bad at it.

She crossed the street and saw the sign for the Watering Hole. Every time the door opened, country music blasted onto the sidewalk. Not only that, but the acrid smell of smoke was enough to choke a horse, and she was still half a block away. Guess she’d skip that place.

Too late, she realized she shouldn’t have crossed yet. Groups of cowboys gathered outside the bar, smoking, talking or just plain gawking at the three women. Next door was a bank, with people coming and going, and in general, crowding the sidewalk.

The sheriff’s office was only three doors down, so Alana stayed her course, weaving her way through the bottleneck.

“You staying at the Sundance?”

The gravelly voice sounded as if it came from behind her. She stopped and glanced over her shoulder, finding only an alley that seemed to lead to a dirt parking lot. The cowboys in front of the bar were talking among themselves; a couple of them were flirting with the women. No one paid her any attention.

“Over here.”

She turned the other way and saw a tall, trim, older man with graying hair leaning against a post. His cowboy hat was pulled too low for her to see his eyes, and though the corners of his thin lips slowly lifted, it wasn’t a particularly friendly smile.

“Yes,” she said, noting that his boots were newer, expensive looking, and he was better dressed than the others. “Are you affiliated with the Sundance?”

His smirk turned a shade nasty. “Hell, no.”

“Ah, then never mind.”

“Sorry, miss …” He put out a weathered hand. “Didn’t mean anything by that.”



She stared at his fingers, brown and wrinkled from the sun, unsure what he expected from her.

After a long, awkward moment, he shoved both hands in his pockets. “You need help with anything? Directions, maybe?” He was showing lots of teeth now, suddenly a picture of charm, his voice silky smooth. “How about a drink?”

Her lips parted but her voice failed her. Dear God, this man could not be hitting on her. He was old enough to be her father. Helplessly, she cast a gaze at the cute young cowboys several yards away. They were focused on the blondes.

“No, thank you,” she said finally, and flexed her fingers. They’d started to ache from pulling all her stuff. “I was just headed for the sheriff’s office.”

“Is there a problem?”

Her patience slipped, and she glanced pointedly at her watch. “I have to go. Thanks for the offer.” She felt for the baggage handle, finding nothing but a brisk breeze that made her pull the lapels of her blazer together.

He lightly touched her arm. “You have a ride to the Sundance?”

She wouldn’t go with him, that was for sure. “Excuse me, please.”

A loud noise came from inside the bar—of glass shattering, someone yelling. It sounded as if an entire tray of drinks had crashed to the floor. Everyone’s attention jerked toward the open door, and one of the cowboys hollered out something to Sheila, presumably a waitress, who responded with a salty curse.

Alana smiled and again reached behind her for her luggage handle. Again all she found was air. She jerked around.

And blinked.

What the hell? She made a complete circle. Her suitcase, her purse, her laptop … they were all gone. That couldn’t be. Her hand had been resting on the handle just a moment ago. This was crazy.

She spun around again, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. A red truck was parked at the curb a couple feet away. She glanced in the bed, then checked the pickup parked close behind it. Panicked, she turned and looked up the alley, but there was nothing there.

“Dammit!”

This cannot be happening.

Frantic, she scanned the crowd, spotting the older man who’d talked to her walking in the direction she’d come from. “Sir, wait.”

He ignored her and kept going, but then her voice barely carried above the music coming from the bar.

In fact, no one seemed to have heard her except a cowboy in a tan shirt, who swung her an inquiring look.

“That man,” she said, pointing and hurrying toward the older gentleman, pushing her way through the crowd.

“Mr. Gunderson?” The cowboy frowned, but just when she thought he would ignore her, too, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hey, Gunderson.”

The older man stopped, his posture erect and imposing, and he slowly turned around, his mouth a hard, thin line. He obviously wasn’t someone who appreciated being summoned, and judging by the sudden tension radiating from the crowd, it didn’t happen very often.

She felt a dozen pairs of curious eyes boring into her as she approached him. “My bags,” she said. “They were right next to me while I was talking to you.”

With his forefinger, he pushed back the brim of his hat. He had icy, piercing blue eyes, almost lifeless. He might’ve been an attractive man at one time, but he had a hard, cynical look that left her cold. “What about them?”



“They’re gone. Did you see anything? Someone had to have come up behind me while we were talking….”

“Can’t say that I did.” He gave her a cool smile, then started to walk away.

She caught his arm. “You must have.”

He peered purposefully at her restraining hand, shook it off and said, “I believe I just told you I didn’t.”

Was he being a bastard because she’d turned him down for a drink? She tensed her shoulders, tempted to hurl an accusation at him. If he hadn’t seen anything, then maybe he was involved. “Really?”

His eyebrows rose slightly in challenge. “Really.”

Damn him. “All right.” She adjusted her lapels, keeping her gaze level with his, furious that her hands shook a little. But only because she was angry and helpless, and she really would’ve loved to knock this guy down a few pegs. “The name’s Gunderson, right? I’ll need it for the police report.”

His mouth twitched into an oily smile. “Wallace Gunderson. Everyone in Blackfoot Falls knows me.”

“I bet they do,” she said sweetly, her eyes telling him a different story. “I imagine we’ll be speaking again soon.”

“Looking forward to it.” He touched the brim of his hat and strolled across the street toward a big luxury SUV.

She muttered a strong, unflattering oath, and spun toward the sheriff’s office.

“FOR GOD’S SAKE, ROY, THE guy’s got over forty years on you. How the hell could you let him get away?” Noah yanked off his hat and pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. “Go make sure his truck is still there. Block it off if you have to.”

“Cripes, boss, you know that old son of a gun is as wily as a fox staking out a henhouse. The darn varsity kids were out making a nuisance and, well, it could’ve happened to any of us.”



“Just go. Avery shouldn’t be driving.”

His face flushed, the deputy swung open the door just as a woman was about to enter the office. She was tall, taller than Roy, who muttered an apology for nearly running her over.

She seemed unfazed as she slipped past him and met Noah’s eyes. “Are you the sheriff?”

Damn it all to hell. Not another one. Those women from the Sundance didn’t quit. This made three in two days, barging in, pretending she needed help with one thing or another. He’d begged Rachel to pull the silly reviews and pictures of him off her website, but she claimed they were good for business. He was gonna have to start working on his computer skills so he could hack in and do it himself.

“I’m Sheriff Calder.” He settled his Stetson back on his head and discreetly got a look at her high heels. She had to reach six feet in those damn things. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to report a theft. It just happened. If you hurry you can probably still—”

He held up a hand. “Slow down.”

Her brown eyes flared with temper, then narrowed. She pointed at the door, and not in a flirty way. Maybe she wasn’t faking. “While you’re taking your sweet time, someone is getting away with my things.”

“Which would be?” he drawled, aware of his condescending tone, but she’d pissed him off. Taking his sweet time. Shit. And if this really was another theft … great. Just what he needed. The whole county was going to hell. “You’ll have to describe what was stolen.”

“Everything.” She took a quick breath. “My luggage, laptop, purse … oh, God, my iPhone and wallet. Everything.” She briefly closed her eyes, her long dark lashes sweeping the tops of her pale cheeks.

Noah took in her tailored, navy blue slacks, the expensive-looking blazer over a cream-colored blouse buttoned clear up to her throat. “You staying at the Sundance?”

“The what?” She gave her head a small shake. “The Sundance … yes, but I haven’t checked in yet. I only just arrived in town.”

She wasn’t the typical Sundance guest. In fact, she didn’t seem the type interested in staying at a dude ranch. More the high-powered, corner-office type used to getting what she wanted. The kind of domineering woman he’d quickly tired of in Chicago.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her pale pink lips, and she looked helplessly toward the door. By the time she turned to him again, she was back in control and glaring. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Look, I know you’re upset, but I need more information. Why don’t you have a seat?” He pulled out the worn black vinyl chair, and she eyed it as though it might bite her in the ass. “Have a cup of coffee while I take down some—”

“Listen, Sheriff, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but—”

“Glad we understand each other.” He sat in his own chair, behind his desk, and wasn’t surprised when he met her eyes and found they were shooting daggers. “Where did the theft occur?”

She had a wide, generous mouth, which pulled thin with annoyance. “Near the bar,” she said tightly.

“Were you inside?”

“No, I haven’t been drinking,” she said, her hoity-toity tone indicating she wouldn’t step foot in a place like Sadie’s.

“Ma’am, that wasn’t the question. You could be hiding a flask under that jacket for all I care.”

Her lips parted and she blinked. Then she startled him by grabbing her lapels and pulling open her blazer. “No flask, no nothing. That’s my point. Everything. Is. Gone.”



He wouldn’t say “nothing.” She had a nice rack. Noah cleared his throat, forced his gaze away from her breasts and back to the blank incident report he’d pulled out of his desk drawer. “Please describe for me what happened.”

She heaved an annoyed sigh, and he couldn’t help but glance surreptitiously at her chest again. Her blouse was made out of some kind of light silk and he saw that her bra was lacy…. “I was on my way here, rolling my luggage behind me, and just after I passed the bar—”

“Let’s back up. You were on your way here, to my office?”

“Yes, I, um …” She flushed slightly, started to avert her gaze, then lifted her chin and looked at him dead-on. “I was coming to find out how I could get to the Sundance.”

He frowned. She could’ve asked anyone for directions. “Why take your luggage out of the car?”

“I don’t have a car. My ride left me at the edge of town.”

That made no sense. “Why didn’t you go straight to the Sundance?”

“What does that have to do with anything? I was robbed on your main street. You think I stole my own property?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t. Just trying to get a clear picture.” He offered her a conciliatory smile. It appeared she really was a victim, and he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion the moment she’d walked in. He’d gotten too used to the flimsy excuses the Sundance ladies had been throwing his way, trying to get his attention. “I haven’t asked your name.”

“Alana.”

He waited for her last name.

“Look, Sheriff, I don’t understand how this could’ve happened in broad daylight. I only looked away for a moment. In New York I wouldn’t dare, but I figured in a small town like this …” She shrugged her slim shoulders, then slumped back with a sigh. “I understand it was my error. I should’ve been more careful.”



“You’re from New York, then?”

She hesitated, a flicker of alarm in her eyes that also made no sense. “Yes.”

“I didn’t catch your last name.”

There it was again—that same wariness that had her shoulders tensing and straightening. After a long pause she said, “Richardson.”

He slowly printed her name on the report, his cop’s sixth sense on full alert. “How did you hear about the Sundance?”

She leaned forward. “Could it be someone playing a prank? I saw kids on the street earlier. Crime can’t be much of a problem around here.”

“You said you passed the Watering Hole?”

“That’s right.”

“Today is payday for most of the ranch hands. They were swarming outside the place, last I saw.”

“Yes, there were quite a few cowboys hanging around.”

Noah stopped writing and stared at her. “And that’s where your things disappeared?”

She nodded. “An older gentleman stopped me, and it happened while I was talking to him. That’s why I looked away.”

“Did you get his name?”

“Gunderson.”

Noah threw down his pen and leaned back. “What did Gunderson want with you?”

“He asked if I was staying at the Sundance. And then …” She made a face, appeared to reconsider what she’d been about to say. “I think he was just being nosy.”

Noah reckoned she was probably right about that. Gunderson had always had it in for the McAllisters, but since they’d opened the dude ranch and were raking in money, he’d been especially ill-tempered. Their success meant they were unlikely to sell him that strip of land he wanted so badly.



“All those men out there … they would’ve noticed you,” Noah said. “Someone had to have seen something.”

“They were too busy to notice me,” she said quietly.

“I doubt that.”

Her startled expression and piercing stare made him reexamine his words. No, he hadn’t said anything wrong, but maybe his tone could’ve been more professional. Hell, he hadn’t consciously been thinking about what he’d glimpsed hiding behind that jacket…. But the notion that he might’ve blurred the line between the office and his personal feelings didn’t sit well.

“Trust me,” she said finally, her lips lifting in a faint smile. “There were three women who had the men’s full attention.”

Noah knew who she meant, but that didn’t preclude the boys from checking her out. Yeah, the young cowhands in the area tended to go for that sort of flash, at least since the Sundance had been drawing in the ladies.

The woman facing him was different, one of those understated beauties. The longer you studied the high cheekbones, the nice skin, her generous mouth, the prettier she got. He knew most of those boys hanging out at Sadie’s this afternoon, and they’d looked, all right. Noah could guarantee her that.

He picked up the pen again, his gaze catching on the fax sitting on the corner of his desk. Late twenties, tall, attractive, brown hair, brown eyes.

His gaze shot back to Alana Richardson.

Well, hell.




3


BETWEEN THE POINTLESS questions and phone calls he’d answered since they started, the report was taking forever. And with each passing moment, life as she knew it was slipping away. The only compensation for this monumental hassle was that Alana liked the way the sheriff held his pen. Or more accurately, she liked his hands. Big-boned and tanned, with a light sprinkling of fine hair across the backs of his fingers. His uniform shirtsleeves were rolled back a couple times, displaying broad wrists and muscular forearms.

He stopped writing, and she lifted her gaze to find his mesmerizing blue-green eyes studying her face. Her breathing faltered for a second. The sheriff really was an extraordinarily good-looking man. Even better in person than in the photos.

She ordered herself to inhale slowly and focus on the problem. Oh, God, that’s why she was so preoccupied with the sheriff. Every time she let herself consider the ramifications of losing her belongings, she thought she’d pass out. “Yes?”

“Other than Gunderson, did you talk to anyone?”

“No. I don’t believe so.”

He returned his gaze to the report and frowned slightly, pushing a hand through his longish, sun-streaked brown hair. It was thick, just like his lashes, which did nothing to distract from the rugged, outdoor look he had going on. Part of her job was to notice that sort of detail. Like how his biceps bunched and strained the material of his tan shirt as his hand slowly slid through his hair and then paused at the back of his neck.

No wonder those women had mentioned him in their reviews of the Sundance. Alana would sign him up for a print ad in a hot second. Or any kind of ad, for that matter. She couldn’t imagine what she looked like at this point. Her poor limp hair needed work in the best of situations, and after that long plane ride, then Harvey’s rust-mobile … Most of her makeup must have melted off by now. Hoping for a peek in her compact mirror, she glanced down for her purse.

With a start, she remembered it was gone. Along with her luggage and laptop and phone. That’s why she was sitting here. She could feel the panic start to rise once more in her throat, in her chest. She lived her life on that phone, on that laptop. She barely knew anyone’s phone number because they were all on speed dial or in her contact list. She hadn’t spent twenty-four hours without access to the internet for longer than she cared to remember.

Not to mention her clothes or her makeup—which was worth a fortune. Her night cream alone cost a hundred dollars an ounce. She let out a small, pathetic whimper that surprised both of them.

The sheriff jerked his head up. “You all right?” He pushed away from his desk and got to his feet, his concerned gaze staying on her as he moved to a well-used coffeepot sitting on a metal filing cabinet. “I should’ve offered you something to drink. Water, coffee?”

What she needed was a good belt of Scotch. She wondered if he had a bottle stashed in his desk, because she sure didn’t have cash to buy herself a drink. “Water,” she said, nodding. “I could use some water.”

She stared down at her watch. It was too late in New York to call her bank and have money wired. Pam had left yesterday for Europe, so she’d be no help. But it would be all right. Yes, it was an emergency, but Alana was good in emergencies. She had her reservation at the Sundance, which took care of a room and meals. They had her credit card information as a guarantee, since Alana had known she’d be late, after having missed her flight last night….

“Here you go.”

The nearness of his voice startled her. She looked up and found him standing next to her, a bottle of water in his hand. He was really tall, well over six feet. She’d noticed when she first entered the office, which was something, considering her state of mind. She managed a smile and accepted the water, trying out one of those deep breathing tricks Pam was always hounding her about. The one that was supposed to calm her body. “Thank you.”

He swung back around his desk, and she quickly inspected his ass as he pulled out his chair. Impressive. Before he caught her ogling him, she concentrated on uncapping the bottle, then tilting it to her lips. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until she’d gulped down half the contents.

She used her fingertip to dab at the corner of her damp mouth, then met his eyes. Wow, the man was intense. The way he studied her was beginning to make her nervous. It seemed out of place. She’d have expected that intensity in Manhattan, but not ten miles north of nowhere.

His phone rang and he finally looked away, to answer the call. “Sheriff Calder,” he said into the receiver, his gaze coming back to her, briefly skimming the front of her blouse and then resting on something over her left shoulder. “Anything?” he asked the caller. “Right.” His brows puckered in a slight frown as he listened, and then he leaned way back in his chair, his hand behind his head, making his biceps bunch again.

Alana didn’t care if he knew she was staring at him. Once she told him what she did for a living he’d understand that her interest was purely professional. Anyway, a man like him had to be used to the stares. So far, with his strong, square jaw and sexy eyes, his wide shoulders, broad chest and flat belly, she hadn’t found a single flaw. The search was the only thing that was keeping her halfway sane.

It was a bit annoying, really. Unnerving, too, because he wasn’t even her type. He lacked the polished sophistication that normally attracted her. Or if a man could get a reservation at Per Se on a Saturday night, that went a long way in piquing her interest.

All that crap aside, she’d do the sexy sheriff in a New York minute.

“What about Gunderson?” he asked the caller, and her gaze shot up to his face. He was watching her again, his eyes probing hers. “Okay. Check back.”

“Was that about me?” she asked before he replaced the receiver. “Was anything recovered?”

He shook his head. “That was Deputy Tisdale who called earlier. He’s been talking to the boys who were standing outside the Watering Hole. None of them saw anything.”

She slumped back. At least Sheriff Calder took this seriously enough to have his deputy on the scene. “That seems impossible. How many people are walking around town rolling a big suitcase behind them?”

He raised his eyebrows, his dubious expression and head tilt difficult to interpret. It couldn’t be that he didn’t believe her…. Could it?

Alana straightened. “You can’t possibly think I’m making this up.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Why?” She threw up her hands. “Why would I do such a thing?” “No need to get upset.” He reached for the phone again. “You have family you want to call?”

“Oh, God, no.” She waved him off. “I remember something else—a loud noise came from the bar, like glass shattering. And there was an alley close to where I was talking to Mr. Gunderson … Did your deputy question him?”

“He hasn’t been located yet.” The sheriff slowly moved his hand away from the receiver. “What about this noise?”

“It sounded as if a waitress might have dropped a tray, and everyone turned to look toward the door. That’s when someone could’ve grabbed my suitcase.”

“By alley, you’re referring to that narrow walkway between Sadie’s and the bank?”

“I don’t recall what was next door, but it led to a parking lot.”

Nodding vaguely, he jotted something down at the bottom of the report.

Alana watched him, the enormity of her situation once again sinking in until she could barely breathe. She had no ID to travel, no money, not even a toothbrush, or a flat iron to straighten her hair. At least she had a place to sleep, she reminded herself before panic could take over. And she had her Rolex for collateral, though she imagined a place like the Sundance would cut her a break. Surely they’d help her arrange for toiletries or clothes or whatever else she needed until she could repay them.

“You know the people who run the Sundance, right?”

The sheriff looked up. “The McAllisters.” He nodded. “Good folks.”

“I was hoping …” She bit her lip. This was new territory for her. She wasn’t in the habit of asking for help, or needing anyone. “I’m going to have to ask them for some assistance.”

His eyes narrowed, the sudden distrust on his face quite insulting. “Such as?”

Alana cleared her throat. “I don’t even have a damn toothbrush.”

“Ah. I can help out with that.”

“Well, I’ll need a few more things than a toothbrush and toothpaste. Look, I’d like to call the Sundance.” She reached for the phone. “You mind?”

He hesitated, then lifted the receiver and punched in a number. When it became obvious he was going to play facilitator, she leaned back, more than a little miffed. She hated being at other people’s mercy.

She hadn’t realized she’d sighed out loud until she met his probing gaze. He was wasting his time in this small town, she decided. With that cool, stoic stare he’d make an excellent big-city detective.

“Hey, Rachel,” he said into the receiver, and his expression was suddenly transformed. Jesus, he was even better-looking when his features relaxed. “No, haven’t seen him.” He leaned back in his chair again and went into what she now considered his telephone pose—one hand behind his head, biceps bulging, his broad chest tapering to his narrow waist. “Was he planning to stop by?”

That he was making small talk instead of focusing on her problem took a few seconds to register. Irritation broke through her admiration, and Alana sat up straight, tall and pissed. He seemed to get the drift, but instead of getting down to business, he held up his hand as he continued to chit-chat with the woman. Maybe Rachel was his girlfriend.

Finally, after a few more moments, Alana noisily cleared her throat.

Sheriff Calder’s gaze touched on her face, then slid past her without hesitation.

Good-looking, yes, but he sure could be annoying.

“I’ll be on the lookout for him,” he said lazily. “Look, Rach, I got a small problem here with one of your guests. What? No.” His attention shot back to the window and his eyes narrowed in frustration. “But I’m warning you, that crap has to stop. Those gals …” He clamped his mouth shut as he resettled himself behind his desk and picked up the report.

Alana didn’t try to hide her smile. She thought she saw a trace of color underscore his tanned skin, and suspected she knew what that part of the conversation was about. So the sheriff wasn’t impressed with his fan club.

He focused on the piece of paper in front of him. “Alana Richardson. She hasn’t checked in yet, but—” He frowned at Alana, repeated her name into the receiver, then fell silent.

She leaned forward. “What?”

“There’s no reservation under that name.”

“Yes, there is. I made it yesterday. I have a confirmation number right here …” No, she didn’t. She had no purse, no nothing. “Dammit.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and held out her hand. “May I speak with her?”

He listened intently for a minute, now holding up one finger instead of his hand, his impassive gaze flickering over her face. “She remembers now. You made a reservation for two, but that was for yesterday. You didn’t show up so she sold the room to someone else.”

“Because I missed my flight. But I gave her a credit card to guarantee the reservation.” This was a nightmare. A complete and utter nightmare.

He held his palm over the phone. “Where’s your companion?”

“What companion?”

“You booked the reservation for two.”

“No, I didn’t. She has me confused with someone else. I came alone. I’d like to talk to her.” Alana still had her hand out, and through gritted teeth, added, “Please.”

“That’s okay,” he said to Rachel. “I’ll take care of it. I’m sure.”

Alana watched him hang up the phone, her temper near boiling. “I asked to speak with her.”

“I’m sorry, in the middle of the conversation something came up on her end. But she told me that she’s completely booked. She has no rooms at all.”

“What am I supposed to do? Sleep in the alley?”

He smiled. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“You think this is funny, Sheriff?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t.” He didn’t seem the slightest bit chastened as he pushed away from the desk and started to stand. But the office door opened, and he stayed right where he was.

Alana turned to see who’d just wiped the faint smirk off his face. Two of the blondes she’d seen earlier walked in, very perky blondes in their early twenties. They were certainly full of smiles for the sheriff.

No cheery welcome from him, Alana noticed when she turned back to follow his reaction.

His mouth was a narrow line, thin and unsmiling. “Yes, ladies, what can I do for you?”

“We were hoping you’d be getting off work about now,” one of them said. “Doesn’t Roy or Gus have the second shift?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I’m still on duty.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “When do you get off, Noah?”

His gaze flickered to Alana, who wouldn’t give up her front-row seat for anything. She didn’t even turn to check out the woman who was talking. Much more informative to watch him trying not to squirm. Oh, he was good at hiding his reaction, but Alana had no doubt he was not happy with the attention.

“Is there sheriff’s business I can help you with, ma’am?” he asked evenly, getting up and grabbing his hat off the scarred wooden table that seemed to serve as a credenza.

“I told you already, you can call me Cindy,” she said with a hint of frustration in her voice.

Alana pressed her lips together and watched him lazily set the Stetson on his head. She was pretty sure his actions were meant as a dismissal, but the way he looked settling that cowboy hat on his head was not going to get any woman with a pulse to turn around and leave.

While his attention was directed elsewhere, Alana studied his fancy belt buckle and wondered if he’d won it in a rodeo competition. That would make him very popular in the New York print market. She could see him as the face of one of Ralph Lauren’s colognes. She knew next to nothing about real rodeos or cowboys, only what she’d gleaned from movies she’d watched as a kid. These days, who had time for movies? Certainly not her, though she knew how to appreciate a fine male specimen. But then, that was a trait learned over years of dealing with models and actors. Alana was highly aware that the package had little to do with the contents.

And his package was exceptional. The way the worn denim caressed his lean hips and hard-looking thighs brought her back to the idea that he’d spent considerable time sitting astride a horse. She’d like to see that, she decided—him riding a large, powerful stallion. She didn’t have the faintest idea why the image suddenly appealed to her. The whole fleeting fantasy of a hot vacation fling was crazy.

She should be furious with the man for his attitude, his cavalier approach to the theft. The last thing on her mind should be his physique or his discomfort over the attention. And what the hell had happened to her reservation? This whole trip was the worst idea in the history of ideas, and all Alana wanted was to get back on a plane and go home.

But first, she needed her purse and her luggage, because without her ID, she wasn’t going anywhere. “Can we finish this?” she asked, her patience thinning as he strolled past her toward the other two women.

He went to the door, opened it. “Ladies, if there’s nothing else, I have business to attend to.”

The blondes exchanged defeated glances. “If you change your mind we’ll be at the Watering Hole,” Cindy said and led her disappointed friend outside.

He gave Alana a dry look as he returned to his desk and pulled out his middle drawer.

“I read the reviews for the Sundance,” she said, knowing it would bother him. “You’re quite popular.”

He concentrated on whatever he was looking for, but she could see irritation deepen into brackets at the corners of his mouth. “Ready?”

She sprang up. “Where are we going?”

“To get you settled in.”

“Thank you,” she said, heading for the door, and feeling no guilt for having baited him. He had all the power, and that wasn’t something she could easily accept. She’d needed to even things up a bit. Show him she could be indifferent to his charms and that she wasn’t a helpless victim. “I appreciate this, and I’ll certainly reimburse your office for any costs—”

“Not that way.”

She hesitated, turned, her gaze darting to the key he held in his hand.

He motioned with his chin toward the back of the office, where a short hall led to another door. A bathroom? Not that she couldn’t use one about now, but she’d prefer to purchase some toiletries first. Or more likely, his truck was parked out back….

Alana pulled her blazer more snugly around herself, mostly because she needed something to do with her hands. She was used to carrying a purse or her phone, and she couldn’t shake the odd feeling of having nothing to hold on to.

The sheriff gestured for her to precede him down the hall. It was a small space and she had to squeeze by him. Her arm brushed his chest, and her hip touched God-knew-what, but the brief contact was enough to quicken her pulse, which was unnerving for a number of reasons. Her appraisal of the sheriff had been strictly professional.

She grabbed the doorknob, couldn’t budge it, then felt him reach around her.

“It’s not locked,” he said, his face so close that his warm breath tickled her ear. “It just sticks.” He jiggled the knob, then pushed the door open.

For a long, absurd moment she hesitated. He’d lightly touched the small of her back, or at least she thought she felt the pressure of his hand, and she had a bit of trouble maintaining her balance. Probably dehydrated, she reasoned, or weak from hunger. Had she eaten today? Nope, just black coffee on the plane. With as much traveling as she’d done one would think she wouldn’t still have a nervous stomach every time she flew.

“Ms. Richardson?”

“What?” Startled, she turned too quickly and had to hold on to the wall for support.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

This time there was no doubt that he’d pressed a palm to her back. “Look at me,” he said, catching her chin and bringing her face around to his. Eyes shaded with concern, he looked deep into hers before moving on to study her face. “You look pale.”

“It’s nothing.” She jerked her chin away. “I’ve had a long day. It’s not easy getting from New York to Montana at the last minute.”

“You were in a hurry?” He didn’t look concerned now, just appeared oddly invested in her answer.

“I suppose you could say that.” She smiled wryly, wondering how her mother had reacted to the cryptic message she had left her. Alana had even gone so far as to tell her housekeeper and doorman she’d be in the Caribbean in case her mother contacted them. Eleanor would be at wit’s end by now, analyzing how she’d lost control of her daughter. “I’d prefer you call me Alana.”

“All right.” His mouth curved slightly. “Noah is okay with me.”

His stare was surprisingly captivating, and she forced herself to turn away before she made a fool of herself. God forbid she start acting like one of his groupies. She pushed the door open the rest of the way. Three steps over the threshold, she froze.

The entire room consisted of two jail cells, each one furnished with nothing more than a cot and a toilet.




4


WHEN SHE WOULDN’T MOVE, NOAH sidestepped her and unlocked the cell with the small barred window and the newer cot. He did feel a twinge of guilt for coldcocking her. For one thing, she might be innocent, a tourist in the wrong place at the wrong time, just as she’d claimed. If that proved to be the case, he’d still feel bad for the McAllisters. Rachel had worked hard to build the dude ranch business, and if news of this incident got out, people might not be so anxious to come to Blackfoot Falls.

The other thing was, Alana really had looked pale a minute ago. But then if she was Sheriff Moran’s suspect and had been double-crossed by her partner, yeah, she might be feeling a little helpless and panicked.

Or she was playing Noah like a fiddle. He couldn’t take that chance. He hadn’t had a lot of personal experience with grifters, but he’d heard plenty of stories. Most of them centered around a brazen act, something so crazy no one ever thought to question it. Like, say, turning to the town sheriff for help then waiting for the right moment to escape across the border.

Either way, whether she was innocent or on the make, he had to deal with facts, which defied the likelihood that she’d been robbed in broad daylight in front of half a dozen cowboys who hadn’t seen a thing. True, the recent thefts had to be considered, but they fell into a different category, with a different M.O. The victimology was wrong.

It could have been the varsity team, but they toed the line under the new coach. And then, too, someone could be yanking Noah’s chain because of all the attention he’d been getting from the Sundance female guests. Not Cole or Jesse. They knew better. But he wouldn’t put it past Trace to send someone like Alana into his office with some cockamamie story just to get a rise out of him.

He stood back, holding the cell door open, and eyed the disbelief on her face. If she was faking her appalled reaction, she was a damn good actress, he’d give her that.

“You’re kidding.” She slowly turned her head and regarded him, wide-eyed with shock. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“You’ll have clean sheets.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, then quickly removed it and stiffened her spine. “I am not staying in that … that—” She shuddered. “Oh, my God. This is seriously, seriously insane. I’m already a victim and you want to further victimize me by sticking me in a jail cell?”

“No, ma’am. The way I see it, I’m offering you a safe place to sleep.”

She made a small, exasperated sound of distress.

“The meals aren’t bad, either. Marge at the diner will bring over breakfast and supper.”

“Okay,” Alana said with forced calmness, her brown eyes blazing mad. “If this is supposed to be a joke, it’s not funny in the least.”

“You tell me. Is this a joke? Did Trace put you up to this?”

She blinked, rubbing her left temple. “Who the hell is Trace?”

Noah sighed. Maybe that had been reaching too far. She hadn’t been flirty or silly like the other women staying at the Sundance.

“I apologize. It’s just that—” He cleared his throat. “You did seem to be enjoying that little scene back there,” he said, glancing toward the office.

“Oh.” A small, guilty smile curved her generous mouth. “Well, yes, you’re right. I did.” Her gaze returned to the jail cell. “Come on, this is overkill.”

Overkill? Took him a second. “This isn’t payback. I honestly figured this might be a good solution.” He shrugged. “At least for tonight.”

Her lips parted and she stared at him with those pretty brown eyes. “I have money. I do. Isn’t there a hotel in town?”

He shook his head.

“I’d like to speak to that woman at the Sundance,” Alana insisted. “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. I’ll sleep on a couch if I have to.”

Damn, he couldn’t let her talk to Rachel. The truth was, Rachel had offered to scare up a room for her in the family wing. Not knowing if this woman was a criminal or not, Noah couldn’t unleash her on the McAllisters. No, better he keep an eye on her until he sorted out her identity. When all was said and done, it was mighty suspicious that she wouldn’t call family or a friend.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, closing the cell door. “I live around the corner and I have a spare room.”

She stared at him as if he’d asked her to submit to a strip search. “You’re suggesting I stay with you.”

“That’s right.” Already, he was regretting the offer. Installing her at his house made sense, though. He could keep an eye on her, and if she truly was a victim, the least he could do was give her a safe place to sleep. “There’s not much to the guest room, but it has a double bed with a new mattress. Nothing else in there, but then you don’t have any luggage.”

She nibbled at her lower lip. “Wouldn’t people talk?”

Unprepared for that reaction, Noah laughed out loud.

Alana glared at him. “Just because I don’t look like Cindy doesn’t mean people wouldn’t gossip behind your back.”

He shook his head. She’d surprised him again. “I didn’t peg you for someone who gave a crap about what people thought.”

“Believe me, I don’t.” She looked as if she meant it. In fact, she looked as if it would take a sizable quake to rattle her.

He knew the type. She reminded him of a woman he’d dated in Chicago. Kara was a defense lawyer, a real ball-buster who’d ended up driving him nuts with her need for perfection, eye always on the prize, never taking a moment to watch the grass grow. That was one of the reasons he was having trouble buying that Alana would choose to go to a dude ranch. “Let’s get you settled in, and then we can grab supper at Marge’s. How does that sound?”

“A toothbrush sounds better.”

“Just so happens I have a spare at home.” He motioned for her to go first down the hall.

“I bet you do,” she muttered under her breath as she strode past him.

He smiled, guessing she hadn’t meant to be overheard. He followed her but stayed far enough behind to enjoy the view. The hip-length jacket got in the way, but she had nice long legs even without the heels.

“I’m going to need a few other things,” she said over her shoulder. “I hope your office has some petty cash. Naturally, we’ll keep a record of my expenditures, and like I said earlier, I’ll reimburse you for everything.”

They got to the outer office and she abruptly spun to face him. Caught by surprise, he nearly rammed into her. His arms shot out, and he caught her shoulders when she teetered toward him.

“Oh, sorry.” She placed a palm on his chest and steadied herself.

“Are you dizzy?”

“No, not at all.” She lowered her hand.

He didn’t let go. Her shoulders were slimmer than he’d expected, more fragile under the heavy tweed blazer. He wanted to make sure she didn’t start reeling. “That’s the second time you’ve lost your balance. Maybe we ought to stop by the clinic.”

She adamantly shook her head, loosening the hair that had been tucked behind her ears, until it swung freely around her heart-shaped face. “If you have a piece of hard candy, that might help. I think it’s low blood sugar.”

“Are you diabetic?”

“No, I just haven’t eaten in a while.”

“We’ll have to take care of that right away.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and guided her back to the chair.

“Really, I’m okay.” Her laugh was short, nervous, maybe embarrassed. She refused to sit. “I’d rather go pick up some toiletries and get to your house.”

He knew Roy kept candy in his desk because his wife didn’t allow it in their home. Noah found a hard butterscotch and a few Hershey kisses in the deputy’s top drawer. “Here you go.”

She took the butterscotch from his open palm. “I don’t even care if it’s stale.”

He chuckled. “I doubt Roy leaves sweets around long enough.”

“Thank him for me.” She bowed her head and delicately peeled open the wrapper with trembling fingers.

In spite of himself, Noah felt his chest tighten with sympathy. He again urged her to sit down, and then got a fresh bottle of water out of the minifridge. He uncapped the bottle before setting it on the desk in front of her, and watched her slip the butterscotch into her mouth.

The tip of her tongue swiped at her lower lip, and his whole body tensed for a moment. He rolled a shoulder and glanced away. Maybe he ought to sit down, too. She might need a minute. He sure did. He felt better once he’d put his desk between them.

Her gaze went to his chest, then drifted up to meet his. “I’m being a real pain in the ass, aren’t I?”

“Not your fault. Hope you don’t hold what happened against the Sundance.” He kept his eyes steady on hers. “The McAllisters are fine folks.”

“Of course I wouldn’t hold any of this against them. Good God, I shouldn’t have let go of the suitcase handle. I’m a New Yorker. I know better.”

“You don’t have an accent.”

Her sudden smile caught him off guard. She was plenty attractive, but when her lips tilted up like that she could throw a man off his game. “Neither do you, Sheriff.”

“Reckon I deserved that.”

“I knew what you meant.” Her smile fading, she idly tugged at her blouse collar, then unfastened the top button. “I went to prep school in Connecticut. No common accents allowed. And if the headmistress hadn’t put her foot down, Eleanor would have.” Alana slid the second button free and took a deep breath. “Are we leaving soon? Otherwise I think I’ll take off my jacket. It’s a bit warm in here.”

He wouldn’t mind seeing what she looked like under that heavy tweed…. Hell, what was wrong with him? “How are you feeling? Think you could walk to my truck at the curb?”

Her cheeks were slightly flushed. “We’re going straight to the store, aren’t we?”

“If we are, better you sip some water and wait to give that sugar a chance to work.”

Moistening her lips, she nodded, then started to reach for the bottle. She stopped and shrugged out of her jacket. “I’m too warm.”

Noah stared at her thrusting breasts, realized what he was doing, and forced his gaze out the window. “Why haven’t you eaten?”

She hesitated, long enough that her apparent reluctance to answer drew his attention back to her. “I was rushed.” She grabbed the water bottle, looked away and gulped greedily.

He got the impression she didn’t want to be pressed. “In a hurry to get out of the city?”

“Sort of.” She dabbed at her mouth and sighed. “I feel better already. I thought it would be cooler here this time of year.”





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