Книга - Her Lone Cowboy

Her Lone Cowboy
Patricia Forsythe


He was looking for a quiet place to healFrom the hair-raising moment he rescues his neighbor's young son from an overprotective wild mare, wounded vet Caleb Ransom knows he'll have no peace. Living an isolated existence on his Arizona cattle ranch is out of the question with the intrusive Delaney Reynolds around. And once the single mother's little boy starts bonding with Caleb's mutt, it may be time to surrender… Because she's making Caleb yearn for something he didn't even know he wanted.







He was looking for a quiet place to heal

From the hair-raising moment he rescues his neighbor’s young son from an overprotective wild mare, wounded vet Caleb Ransom knows he’ll have no peace. Living an isolated existence on his Arizona cattle ranch is out of the question with the intrusive Delaney Reynolds around. And once the single mother’s little boy starts bonding with Caleb’s mutt, it may be time to surrender... Because she’s making Caleb yearn for something he didn’t even know he wanted.


Laney started to reach for Sam, but Caleb stopped her.

“I’ve got this,” he said, lifting Sam easily and holding him against his shoulder.

Her little boy sighed and snuggled his face against Caleb’s throat.

A look flashed across Caleb’s face that Laney couldn’t quite decipher. It was a combination of surprise and tenderness and something else she’d never seen there before. Joy, maybe?

Carrying Sam, Caleb turned away, heading for the barn. She followed slowly, watching the way Caleb adjusted his gait to compensate for the additional thirty-five pounds he was carrying. He held Sam tightly, and she knew that if he was in danger of stumbling, he would fall on his wounded leg before he would let Sam hit the ground.

She realized that if she wasn’t very careful, she could fall in love with him.


Dear Reader (#ulink_481b40f4-8d0b-5e49-8ff0-547b8cd3869c),

Sweetsilver, Arizona, is the home of Delaney Reynolds and her son, Sam, an adventurous four-year-old who is crazy about all things cowboy. Laney is a high school teacher and, in summer, a wildland firefighter. She and Sam have recently moved into their new home, which is right next to reclusive rancher, Caleb Ransom. Laney’s biggest challenge is keeping her son off Caleb’s property.

Caleb chose this ranch in the Sonoran Desert to raise cattle and horses and to heal from the physical and emotional wounds he’d received while deployed as a soldier. He simply wants to be left alone.

Sam has other ideas. The curious boy is unable to resist visiting Caleb and his animals, especially his dog, Bertie, who becomes Sam’s instant best friend. Whenever Sam shows up, his attractive mother is never far behind, making it impossible for Caleb to have the solitary existence he desires.

Like most Americans, I love the cowboy mystique. There’s something so appealing about a rugged outdoorsman who spends much of his time alone, or with his animals, honing skills such as roping, which most of us will never master. I thought about that continually as I was writing Her Lone Cowboy and I tried to do justice to the cattlemen who helped shape our country.

I hope you enjoy Caleb and Laney’s story, my first Mills & Boon Heartwarming book, and will visit my website, patriciaforsythebooks.com (http://patriciaforsythebooks.com), to see what else I’ve written. Also, drop by heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com (http://heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com) to meet other Mills & Boon Heartwarming authors.

Happy reading,

Patricia







Her Lone Cowboy

Patricia Forsythe






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


If it hadn’t been for a seventh-grade teacher who told PATRICIA FORSYTHE that her story characters were, well, crazy, she probably would never have become a writer. She didn’t think that was such a bad thing. After all, she has a large, extended family of decidedly interesting and unusual people who provide ideas and inspiration for her books. In Patricia’s opinion, that only makes them more lovable and worthy of a place in literature.

A native Arizonan, Patricia has no concept of what a real winter is like, but she is very familiar with summer. She has held a number of jobs, including teaching school, working as a librarian and as a secretary, and operating a care home for developmentally disabled children. Her favorite occupation, though, is writing novels in which the characters get into challenging situations and then work their way out. Each situation and set of characters is different, so sometimes the finished book is as much a surprise to her as it is to the readers. She is the author of many romance novels for Harlequin and Kensington Books and currently also self-publishes ebooks. She is thrilled to see the publication of Her Lone Cowboy, her first Harlequin Heartwarming novel.

Visit the Author Profile page at www.millsandboon.com (http://www.millsandboon.com) for more titles.


This book is dedicated to Roz Denny Fox and Vicki Lewis Thompson, my good friends, who have been such a source of encouragement, friendship and joy that words can’t express my gratitude.


Contents

Cover (#ud332170f-3e0c-5aa2-9d94-7dfd7056a5e1)

Back Cover Text (#u1547b9ec-9760-57ea-9793-4873f7525cad)

Introduction (#udfd5dfa2-08ea-5d09-919f-1f6303719b38)

Dear Reader (#ulink_a464e3f2-e4e1-5a90-9960-241ceb6d5f58)

Title Page (#u7feaced8-4cb0-5949-a6a0-6b8945d3dcd1)

About the Author (#u8908cc86-7c45-5a7a-b331-bad7f1ecf721)

Dedication (#u0bfc796b-8978-529e-b793-46191b80a7bb)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_49832985-00cc-526c-8708-ffbd490e10f1)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_dd92df57-c837-5d93-aab4-e5aefe46b586)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_555208d7-e267-54bb-868d-e72803e169e1)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_bf893a53-4805-5008-9e1a-8da15f3b11ae)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_4b638509-2777-5a67-b9fd-77fe4a2eb755)

WHAT WAS THAT? Caleb Ransom pulled on Cisco’s reins and brought the horse to a stop. He stood in the stirrups and looked across the pasture to where he’d seen something black moving along at a steady clip. Was it a dog? A coyote? One of the barn cats?

Whatever it was, it was heading toward Addie and her new filly.

Caleb’s eyes widened when he identified the little boy he’d seen hanging over the fence the past couple of days—and the boy was moving straight for the most overprotective mare Caleb had ever seen.

Sitting back down, he spurred Cisco into action. They galloped across the field, Caleb leaning forward in the saddle, urging his horse on.

* * *

WHERE WAS HE?

Delaney Reynolds hurried down the front steps of her house and made a frantic sweep of the front yard.

“Sam!” she called, as she had been calling for the past five minutes. Her son was one fast-moving four-year-old. He’d been equally fast at three, two and one. He had walked at nine months and she hadn’t had an easy day since. Her dearest hope was that she would be able to bring his adventurous nature under control and he would live to grow up.

His favorite hangout was the rail fence between her property and the one next door, whose owner kept cattle and horses. Sam was desperate to make friends with those horses. She had warned him away and threatened that he would find himself sitting in the “naughty chair” in the corner of the kitchen for a very long time if he disobeyed, but she had the sick feeling that his enthrallment with the horses had overcome his fear of forced immobility.

Laney climbed the fence and from the top rail, gazed out over the pasture, searching for Sam.

A hundred yards in front of her she finally saw a little black cowboy hat bouncing through the tall brush and grass toward a mare and her baby. Coming from the opposite direction was a horse and rider, heading straight for her son.

“Sam!”

Clamping her hands on the fence rail, she pushed off and ran, arms pumping, feet pounding.

* * *

CALEB KNEW THAT if he didn’t reach the kid before he got to Addie’s foal, there was a good chance the mare would turn aggressive. She hadn’t let Caleb near her foal for the first three days of its life and still watched him nervously, hooves dancing and head tossing when he came close or approached with a less-than-soothing voice. There was no way she would let this pint-size stranger touch her filly.

Caleb’s advance, at right angles from the child’s, would spook Addie, but there was nothing he could do about that. He could only hope that if she spooked, it would be away from the little boy.

As he’d expected, the sound of Cisco’s pounding hooves caught Addie’s attention. She lifted her head and swung it around to see what was going on. Her gaze fixed on Caleb and Cisco, but then, unerringly, her attention focused on the little boy who was closing in fast. She shook her head vigorously, then lowered it, a sure sign she was going to head-butt the child. Snorting, she pawed the ground.

Alarmed, Caleb saw that the boy was oblivious to the danger he was in because he wasn’t stopping or even slowing down. Addie, used and abused by drug smugglers and then abandoned, pregnant, in the desert, was already wary of people. Caleb couldn’t begin to guess how she might react to this kid, but he expected it wouldn’t be good.

Addie moved to stand between her baby and this small, determined human.

Before she could take more than a step toward the boy, though, Caleb was there, reins in his right hand, left arm outstretched, leaning over in the saddle as far as he could. He clamped his right leg against Cisco’s ribs as he bent, hoping that his weakened muscles would hold and not cramp up on him. With a mighty swing, he snagged the little boy by the back of his shirt and swept him up in front of him.

The kid shrieked in alarm as he was swung up and set just behind the saddle horn.

Caleb kept Cisco at a gallop as he wheeled around and away from Addie.

When they were far enough, he pulled his horse up, set the little boy on the ground and dismounted. Cisco, always happy to eat, ripped up a mouthful of grama and began chewing the grass placidly.

Caleb dropped Cisco’s reins, then took off his hat and clapped it against his leg. It wasn’t dusty, but he needed to do something to calm himself. He knew that turning this kid over his knee and paddling his little butt wasn’t an option. His heart was still pounding and alarm prickled along his nerve endings as he thought about what could have happened to the boy.

He placed his hat on his head and took several deep breaths. When he could trust himself to speak he said, “What were you doing?”

To his surprise, the boy took off his own cowboy hat and clapped it against his leg. Then he resettled it on his head just as Caleb had done and took a few deep breaths, too. Caleb would have thought the boy was mocking him if he hadn’t had such a solemn expression on his face.

Finally the kid said, “I wanted to see the pony.”

Caleb didn’t bother to correct the child’s misconception by telling him the difference between a pony and a week-old filly. He had a more important goal in mind.

“You’re trespassing,” he said.

The kid’s big brown eyes grew indignant. “Not trepsassing,” he said then frowned. “What’s trepsassing?”

“Being where you’re not supposed to be.”

“I was visiting.”

“You could have gotten hurt.”

The kid gave Caleb a look that appeared to question Caleb’s sanity. “That little pony couldn’t hurt me.”

“Her mother could and she would have, too, if I hadn’t come along and grabbed you.”

The little boy’s face lit up and he gave a little hop of excitement. “That was fun! Can we do it again?”

“No!”

Stymied, Caleb stared down at the boy. He didn’t seem scared or even intimidated. He thought the whole terrifying episode had been fun!

The boy tilted his head back to look up at him and then stuck out his hand. “My name’s Sam,” he said. “Me and my mom live over yonder.”

Yonder? Who had this kid been talking to? Caleb put out his hand to shake Sam’s but before they made contact the noise of someone crashing through the brush caught his attention. He looked over to see a woman racing toward them. She barely seemed to notice the greasewood and acacia branches that whipped against her legs and plucked at her jeans and shirt as she ran. When she saw that Caleb knew she was there, she slowed to a fast walk, her chest heaving with the effort of fighting for breath. She lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

As she neared, Caleb had the chance to observe her. She was tall, maybe five-eight, and more full-figured than skinny. Her hair was dark brown shot with sorrel red and pulled back into a ponytail that swung as she moved. Her features were strong, with a straight nose and full lips. He would call her good-looking rather than pretty, if he was going to call her anything—which he wasn’t. He could tell right away where her son had gotten his big brown eyes.

Because he found himself admiring her looks, he scowled at her. He didn’t want this kind of complication, didn’t need it and didn’t need this woman and her kid right next door. He’d liked it when the old Reynolds place had been empty and forlorn. It suited his purposes—and his disposition—just fine.

“Thank...thank you for gr-grab...bing him out of the way,” the woman said, gasping for breath as she hurried up to them. She pressed a hand to her side where she must have developed a cramp. “I...I didn’t realize what was happening. I th-thought you didn’t see him and might run him down...then I saw that mare and colt.”

Against his will, Caleb was touched by her concern for her son and by the flush of exertion on her cheeks.

“It’s a filly,” Caleb said.

She blinked and her head drew back. “Oh, of course, a filly.” She looked at him for a couple of seconds as if she expected him to say more. When he remained silent, she turned to her son, going down on one knee in front of him and grasping his shoulders so that he was forced to look at her.

“Sam, what did I tell you about leaving our property?”

He screwed up his face. “What’s property?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you try to be tricky. I’ve told you many times in the past few days that our property is our house and yard and that’s where you’re supposed to stay.”

The little boy turned his head, avoiding his mother’s firm gaze. “Maybe I forgot.”

“Maybe?”

He jerked his small thumb toward the mare and her foal. “That pony wanted me to come play.”

“How do you know that?”

“’Cause I just know,” he said stubbornly.

She sighed. “Never mind what the pony wants. I want you to stay in our yard.” She forced him to keep eye contact with her for a few more seconds. When his gaze skittered guiltily away from hers, she said, “We’ll talk about this at home. You’re going to be in time-out.”

“Aw, Mom,” Sam said in an injured voice, sticking out his bottom lip and crossing his arms over his chest.

She turned to Caleb and held out her hand. “I apologize for my son. I’m Delaney Reynolds—Laney to my friends—and this is Sam. You’re Caleb Ransom, right?”

Caleb looked down at that hand—long-fingered with unpolished nails. It looked competent, as did she. Deep inside him something stirred, reacting to the intensity of her. He hadn’t experienced this emotion for a long, long time, but he knew it for exactly what it was—longing.

He kept his arms firmly at his sides until her open smile faded.

She finally dropped her proffered hand to her son’s head.

“Yes, I’m Caleb Ransom,” he acknowledged with a nod. “This is my property. Your son could have been in real danger.”

Again her head pulled back at his curt tone and she stammered out an apology. “I realize that and I’m very sorry...”

Caleb tilted his head toward Addie. “That mare doesn’t like anyone coming around her foal. She’ll hardly let me come near. If Sam had gotten too close, she would’ve head-butted him or, worse, kicked him.”

Her face had been flushed from running, but now it paled. “I...I didn’t...”

“Have either of you ever been around horses before?”

“Yes, of course.” Her arms came up to cross over her chest, mimicking her son’s stance. Caleb decided not to see how charming that was.

“Then you should have some idea how dangerous it is for a little kid like this to run up and surprise a mare. You don’t have any idea what could happen, do you? Which is why you need to stay on your own property.”

Anger sparked in her eyes.

Good, he thought. Maybe that meant she’d stay away.

“We will certainly stay on our own property,” she said, reaching to take her son’s hand. “Won’t we, Sam?”

Silence. Both adults looked down at the bent head hiding under the black hat. Laney cupped her son’s chin, lifting his face so that his eyes met hers. His brow wrinkled and his nose crinkled as he gazed at his mom.

Caleb wondered if the little guy was trying to figure out how to sound as though he was agreeing with his mom without really agreeing with her.

“Won’t we, Sam?” she repeated.

“Okay, Mommy,” he said.

She looked up and met Caleb’s gaze. “Thank you again for saving my son’s life. We’ll stay off your property and leave you alone.”

“It’s best if you stay out of this pasture,” he said, emphasizing this point. She, and this boy, disturbed him. “Be a good idea if you passed that along to your husband, too.”

Her dark eyes flashed angrily. “I’m not married. Goodbye, Mr. Ransom,” she said, turning and pulling her son with her. The boy went willingly enough, but after a few steps, she swung him up into her arms, transferring him smoothly to her hip, her head bending close to his as she walked, his short legs bumping against her with each step.

Caleb wondered if she was reminding her son to stay off the neighbor’s land, or if the two of them were discussing what a mean old grump he was. Either way, he didn’t care so long as they left him alone.

He swung onto Cisco’s back, ready to ride away. It was impossible for him to keep his eyes off the pair of them, though. Their heads were close together, her dark hair shining in the sun. She strode confidently ahead, her arm holding the boy safe. They were a solid unit of two.

Suddenly, Sam twisted in his mom’s arms, whipped off his hat and lifted an arm to wave at Caleb.

“I’ll see you later, Mr. Ramson,” he called, mangling Caleb’s name. His big brown eyes, shock of dark hair and wide grin were like a punch to Caleb’s gut. He nearly doubled over in the saddle.

Memory washed over him, making his breath cut through his lungs like a sharp blade. With iron will, he shoved the image that had seared his mind back to the place where he kept it secured. Still, it was several long seconds before he could wrestle the image of desert sand, hot sun and the face of a grinning little boy into the vault. Finally he straightened and gathered Cisco’s reins into his hands.

He’d worked long and hard to get this peaceful little corner of the world, and he wasn’t going to let them disrupt it. He clucked his tongue and headed Cisco toward home.

* * *

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER Sam was still sitting in the time-out chair, stealing sidelong glances at his mother and punctuating the air with aggrieved sighs. For her part, Laney had almost stopped shaking from the combination of fright for her son and anger at her neighbor.

“The man certainly has the right to his privacy,” she muttered as she trimmed shelf paper to fit a kitchen cabinet. “But does he have to be so rude?”

“Maybe he needs to sit in the naughty chair,” Sam said brightly. “I could go tell him.”

Laney pointed a purposeful finger at him. “You stay right where you are, young man. You’re not going anywhere.”

Sam frowned and settled down with another sigh. He spread his knees out to each side of the small chair seat and leaned over to look underneath it. Then he started to kick a leg with each foot, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump in rhythm.

“Wish I had somebody to play with,” he said, peeking at his mom. She didn’t respond. “I wanna play with Logan and Shane.”

“You’ll see them soon enough.”

“Does Mr. Ramson have kids?”

Laney paused and glanced at him. Sam had scooted so far forward on the chair and stuck his head so far under the stool that he was in danger of landing on his head.

“It’s Ransom,” she corrected him. “Now, Sam, sit up straight.” When he complied, she said, “And I don’t know if he has kids for you to play with.”

“He looked mean.”

Laney wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want Sam to be afraid of their neighbor, but she didn’t want him to be a pest, either. She certainly wanted Sam to stay on their property. It was impossible to keep him safe if she didn’t know where he was. Raising a boy was a bigger challenge than she’d ever anticipated.

Sam was right. Ransom did look mean.

“What’s that guy’s problem, anyway?” Laney muttered. She finished lining the shelf, stacked the plates neatly inside and closed the door with a satisfied snap, then ran her hand over the worn surface of the birchwood.

The cabinets were probably much older than she was, no doubt original to the house, which had been built in the early 1950s by her great uncle, Calvin Reynolds, and left to her when he passed away last year. Everything about the place showed its age, but it was solidly built, the roof was only a few years old and her dad, brother and friends had gotten together and surprised her with a new paint job, inside and out. Somehow, they’d known her favorite colors and which ones to paint on the walls of which rooms. That had probably been her mom’s influence, since she and Vivian had spent hours discussing décor, design and color choices.

But best of all, the house was hers; security for Sam and for her. Now the money she’d been spending on rent for that apartment in town could go into savings and into Sam’s college fund, where most of the child support money from Sam’s father went. It was another brick in the solid foundation of protection she was building for her son.

She had a good job—two good jobs—friends and family. She had a retirement fund, life insurance and a will giving custody of Sam to her brother Ethan and his wife if anything should happen to her. Now she had a house and land. There was a good pasture she could rent out to a neighbor if she wished, with a small freshwater stream—a rarity in southern Arizona—that dried up or just trickled most of the year but ran full during the summer monsoon rains. She remembered playing in the creek as a child and hoped to give Sam that same pleasure in a few weeks—if she could keep him in one piece until then.

She was grateful for the financial security she now had and for the family members who had stood by her, helped and supported her throughout her life and throughout every stupid mistake she had made. They had showed her love and compassion every day of her life. They had also ingrained in her the belief that God had put people on earth to help each other.

She glanced up guiltily, her gaze traveling to Caleb’s pasture, which she could see from her kitchen window. Maybe she should give some consideration to showing her neighbor some compassion.

Caleb Ransom. She had barely given him a moment’s thought since she’d moved in, but now that she’d met him she couldn’t get him off her mind.

Laney tried to think back over what she had heard about him. She had been so busy with her move that she hadn’t given much thought to any of her neighbors. She already knew Chet and Karen Bartlett who lived in the first house nearest the road and had named their lane after themselves. Their son had been in her English class—she taught high school in Sweetsilver. It was a town where everyone knew everyone else, but few people knew Caleb Ransom.

Bartlett Lane dead-ended at his place. Anyone who went that far was only going to his ranch. In the few days she’d been in her house, no one had passed on their way to see Caleb. No one seemed to interact with him except maybe Don Parkey, the local vet who took care of everyone’s animals—unless Caleb doctored his own animals as she knew many ranchers did.

Either Caleb was naturally a grump or he was a deeply troubled man. And she had seen something in his eyes, a spark of...something that had both puzzled her and drawn her to him. He’d extinguished that spark with a frown, but it had only ignited her curiosity about him.

In spite of his attitude, though, he had saved Sam’s life. He didn’t want her and Sam to trespass, but she felt she owed him gratitude for saving her adventurous little boy. And then there was that insatiable curiosity of hers that she probably shouldn’t feed—but knew she would.

Laney glanced over at her son, who had now moved off the chair except for the tip of his big toe, which was still touching one of the legs. She knew she should warn Ransom that today’s visit probably wouldn’t be the last he’d receive from her son.

Sam must have felt her gaze on him because he looked up. All Laney did was point to the chair and he climbed back on with another wounded growl.

Ignoring his theatrics, she returned to the cabinet and took down a bowl. She knew how to make a terrific chocolate cake.

* * *

CALEB LOOKED INTO the pot of chili he’d been attempting to make and wondered what had gone wrong. Maybe he’d put in too much chili powder. Except that it wasn’t red like chili powder. It was dark, really dark, and resembled industrial waste. He had to eat it, though, or go into town and buy a meal, which meant being around people—something he wasn’t willing to do. Meeting his neighbor and her kid today had fulfilled his quota of socializing for the month, unless Don Parkey showed up with another half-dead horse.

Resigned, he took a bowl from the cupboard and used a coffee cup to ladle out a generous portion. He knew he couldn’t go without eating. He’d learned that in Afghanistan when he’d been on patrol for hours with no food and very little water. Light-headedness didn’t allow good decision-making. He only hoped this chili didn’t taste as bad as it looked, but he was afraid that it probably did. Grabbing a spoon from a drawer and two cold beers, because it would take more than one to choke down this stuff, he sat at the table, took a deep breath and dug in.

The first mouthful gagged him and brought tears to his eyes. Salt. He’d put in way too much. And he’d put in chili powder, all right, along with a big dose of cayenne. Caleb dropped the spoon and stared down at the mess.

“Face it, Ransom. You can’t cook. You’ll be eating canned and frozen for the rest of your life, or worse, army surplus MREs,” he said. Even the Meals Ready to Eat he’d hated the most had tasted better than this.

He looked across the kitchen to where his dog, Bertie, a mystery mix of breeds, lay sleeping. As if the animal could read his thoughts, he raised his head and gave Caleb a look that clearly said, “Don’t even think about it.”

“You’re not interested, either, huh?”

Before Caleb could give any more thought about what to do, Bertie lumbered to his feet and emitted a low woof to indicate someone was coming. His duty done, he collapsed back onto his rug and closed his eyes.

Caleb’s chair scraped on the linoleum as he stood and went to the window. It couldn’t be Don; he never showed up this late in the day. Through the uncurtained window, he saw a well-traveled Jeep pull up. After a few seconds his new neighbor and her son stepped out.

The little boy looked around, spied a stick on the ground and picked it up. He waved it around for a few seconds, then tossed it in the air with a whoop of laughter and watched it land near the porch.

“No,” Caleb grumbled. His gut roiled. Hadn’t he been clear that he didn’t want company? What kind of woman came back for more? And brought her child. A desperate one? A crazy one?

Or, the most unthinkable prospect, one who wanted to rescue him?

“Oh, man,” he said, running his hand through his hair and looking around. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t home. The light was on and his truck was out front. If she looked in the kitchen window, she’d see him standing there, gaping at her.

He watched as she opened a back door of her Jeep and carefully took something off the seat. When she straightened and slammed the door with a swing of her hip, he saw that it was a cake. A chocolate one.

His traitorous stomach growled in anticipation.

He walked to the front door and opened it. Sam bounced up the steps and greeted him with a big grin.

“See, Mr. Ramson?” the boy said. “I told you I’d see you later. Mom says this is later, but it’s not tomorrow yet. ’Cause I checked.”

Flummoxed, Caleb looked down at the eager little boy. He’d cleaned up since their encounter in the pasture. He carried his cowboy hat and he wore a pair of blue shorts and a bright red T-shirt with a bronc-riding cowboy on the front. In place of the boots, he wore sandals and his thick hair had been inexpertly slicked down and combed. No doubt, he’d done it himself.

He looked so happy, healthy...whole, that a huge lump formed in Caleb’s throat. Well, he’d shoved away the memory earlier that afternoon and he wasn’t going to let it surface now. He glanced away from the boy and into the half-apologetic face of his mother.

She had changed clothes, too. Instead of the jeans and T-shirt she’d worn to chase her son across the pasture, she wore a simple, sleeveless blue dress that buttoned up the front and fell in a swirl of skirt to below her knees.

Laney gave an ironic little twist of her lips. “Before you say anything, yes, you made it clear that you don’t want company or trespassers, and I’m not ignoring what you said, but I came to thank you again for keeping Sam from getting hurt.”

Caleb looked at the sincerity in her eyes and the gentle curve of her lips. Her face looked ready to break into a smile with the tiniest encouragement from him. He glanced down at Sam, who returned his regard with a big, innocent grin. The scent of chocolate nearly sent him to his knees.

Caleb wanted to take the cake from Laney and shut the door.

“I know seeing him in danger of being attacked by your mare probably scared you. Whenever he scares the life out of me, I feel snappy, too.” Her smile widened, lighting her eyes, inviting him to share her rueful humor at her son’s actions.

This woman was willing to credit him with an excuse for his rudeness.

Behind him, he could hear Bertie’s nails clicking on the linoleum. “A dog!” Sam shrieked, scooting past Caleb and into the living room, even as his mother tried to call him back. Laney hurried after him, trying to make a grab for her son, but was hampered by the cake she still carried. Focused on the little boy, she shoved the cake at Caleb, who had no choice but to take it.

Before Laney could pull Sam away, her son fell on Bertie like a long-lost best friend. He threw his arms around the animal’s neck and gave him a hug.

Bertie turned his head and gave the boy a lick on the side of the face that sealed their bond. Laughing, Sam wiped his cheek. “He likes me. I want a dog,” he told Caleb with a sigh. “But my mom says I’m not ponsible.”

Puzzled, Caleb looked at Laney, whose cheeks had reddened. “Responsible,” she answered his unspoken question.

“What’s his name?” Sam asked. He sat back on his heels to admire what he certainly considered to be the most beautiful animal on earth.

“Bertie.”

Sam buried his face in the canine’s neck. “I love you, Bertie.”

“I’m sorry about this,” Laney said. “Come on, Sam. We need to go and leave Mr. Ransom alone.” She indicated his big rancher’s hands. “I hope you like chocolate cake.”

He looked down at the thick swirls of frosting. All he wanted was to be left alone, to stop her and her son from trespassing.

If he took this cake, he’d be taking a step forward he wasn’t ready to take.

For the second time that day.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_5f91c7c5-5077-5301-80d9-d16d6b880fa0)

“WE WOULD LOVE to join you,” Laney told him with a warm smile. All right, so he hadn’t exactly invited them in to join him, but he hadn’t kicked them out, either. She was thrilled. This was going much better than she had anticipated given their earlier encounter.

He stood there, staring at her openmouthed for a moment. Then, abruptly, he turned toward the kitchen.

Laney’s gaze followed him. This was the first time she’d seen him walk a few steps and she noticed that he did it with a pronounced limp that favored his right leg. She wondered if he’d had this since birth or if he’d been in an accident. Somehow, the stiffness with which he walked told her he was still getting used to this change in his body and she wondered if it was a fairly recent injury. But she knew she couldn’t ask.

Earlier, she’d been too frantic about her son to really notice the man, and then she’d been furious with him and his rudeness.

Now, as she watched him, she saw that he was a few inches taller than she was, putting him at maybe six feet. His face looked tough, she would even say hard, but she hadn’t really been able to get a good look at him earlier because the sun had been in her eyes and his face had been shaded by his hat. She had thought his eyes were filled with shadows, but maybe she’d been attempting to give him characteristics that would account for his prickly attitude.

Glancing around, she saw that Sam was busy scratching Bertie’s stomach. The dog had rolled over onto his back and hung his paws in the air. His head lolled to the side and his tongue protruded in cartoonish contentment. Sam looked equally ecstatic. Knowing he would be therefore safe for a little while, she followed Caleb from the room.

Laney looked around Caleb’s kitchen without appearing to be examining it as closely as she was. The house was about the same age as hers, but nothing here had been upgraded or freshened up. The wallpaper was a splash of huge flowers in avocado green and harvest gold à la 1970s. The appliances had to be that old, too, as was the worn linoleum. The kitchen was squeaky clean, though.

On the scrubbed top of the wooden table sat a bowl of some dark substance and two beers.

She turned to him in consternation. “Oh, we’ve interrupted your dinner.”

“It wasn’t worth eating.” Caleb set the cake down on the counter, found some small, mismatched plates and opened a drawer. He took out three forks, gazed at his collection of knives and then at her.

“Any one will do,” she said with a smile. “Would you like me to cut it?”

“Sure.” He handed over a knife and while she cut the cake, he removed the bowl from the table.

“What’s wrong with the chili?”

“You could recognize what it was?”

Her eyes twinkled. “The beans gave it away.”

“I guess I’m not much of a cook. It looks weird and it’s way too salty—and too full of cayenne.”

“If you have a potato, you can cut it up and simmer it in the chili. Remove it when it’s soft and it’ll take out some of the salt. If you’ve got more diced tomatoes, you can add those, too. They’ll help the appearance and the taste and water down the saltiness—though probably nothing will tone down the spiciness.” She handed him a plate. “And while it’s simmering, you can enjoy a chocolate cake appetizer.”

For the first time his eyes met hers. She saw that they were dark gray like the sky before a summer rainstorm. Sadness and regret lurked in them. She’d been angry at him because he’d been rude to her and Sam, but the torment she thought she’d seen in his eyes at their first encounter and again now told her his moodiness came from deep pain. His expression was wary and guarded. As she looked at him, really seeing his features for the first time, she noticed the scar that ran down the side of his face and ended at the right corner of his mouth. What had happened to this man? Her heart filled with compassion.

He must have sensed what she was thinking because he glanced away. “I’ll try that,” he said. “Like I said, I’m not much of a cook.”

He set his plate down, grabbed a potato from a bin beneath the sink, scrubbed and sliced it and put it in the chili pot, along with a can of diced tomatoes.

Laney placed small slices of cake on two other plates and called Sam in to join them. He came, bent at an awkward angle, half dragging, half walking with Bertie, his arms still wrapped around the long-suffering animal’s neck. “Can Bertie have cake, too?”

“No, dogs can’t eat chocolate,” Laney said. “It’s bad for them.”

“Can I have his piece?”

“No.”

Sam’s arms fell away from Bertie’s neck and dropped stiffly to his sides. “Why can’t I have two pieces?”

“It’s not your cake. Mr. Ransom is kindly sharing it with us. You can have one piece.” She waved the plate gently in the air. “Or you can have none.” She hid the plate behind her back.

His bottom lip started to jut out but Laney gave him a steady look that helped his decision. “One,” he said as if he’d thought of it himself.

“Good choice. Wash your hands.”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

She looked questioningly at Caleb, who pointed the way, and Sam skipped off in that direction.

Laney considered following and assisting him, but knew she needed to give him a little bit of leeway without hovering. When she heard the sound of water running, she turned back to the kitchen table.

As soon as she did, Sam broke into a loud, off-key rendition of the alphabet song.

She winced. “Sorry. There’s something about running water that always makes him want to sing. I taught him the ABC song and told him he had to sing it all the way through while washing his hands. That made him love water, I guess. He would live in the shower if I’d let him.” She pressed her lips together as she realized she’d shared way more than he could possibly want to know.

Caleb’s eyes were steady on her face. “He’s quite a kid.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. I sometimes have the horrible feeling that he’s already smarter than I am.”

Caleb smiled; a lift of the lips that curled up more on the left. Laney realized that the scar must have changed the way he smiled, stiffening the right side of his mouth. It was crooked and endearing. Her heart gave an unaccustomed flutter.

Disconcerted, she turned away. Sam shut off the water and quit his song in midsyllable. He dashed into the kitchen and clambered onto a chair. “I’m ready!” he sang out as if the world had been waiting breathlessly for his return. “Can I have some of that?” he asked, pointing to the beer. “Uh, please?”

Taken aback, Caleb said, “No.”

“Samuel John!” Laney said.

The little boy divided a confused look between them at what he clearly considered to be an overreaction. “What can I have to drink?”

“I’ve got lemonade. It’s powdered.” Caleb gave Laney a questioning look.

“Lemonade would be great,” she said, not able to imagine having beer with cake.

Caleb took two tall glasses from the cabinet, looked at Sam’s small hands, put one glass back and removed a plastic juice glass. After filling both glasses with ice and lemonade, he brought them to the table, stopping to give his chili a stir.

When Caleb joined them, Sam picked up his fork and said, “My mom makes cake real good. But you have to use a napkin to wipe your face. It’s rude to lick off the frosting. I used to do that when I was a little kid.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Caleb. “You’re not gonna lick off the frosting, are you? ’Cause that’ll make my mom mad. You don’t wanna see her get mad.”

“Sam...” Laney said in a warning tone.

He gave her another questioning look, wondering what he’d said wrong this time.

“I’ll remember that,” Caleb said, his eyes meeting Laney’s. He picked up his fork and took a bite of cake. “He’s right. It’s good.”

Pleased, Laney ate her own piece. The three of them sat in companionable silence. She thought this was a very domestic scene for three people who had been at odds a couple of hours ago.

“Are you settling into your house okay?” Caleb asked awkwardly. Small talk was clearly not his forte.

He reminded her of one of her freshmen students, giving a presentation in front of the entire class for the first time. She decided to take pity on him since teachers are accustomed to taking charge of a conversation.

“Yes. We lived in a small apartment before, so we didn’t have much to move in and it was easy to get settled. There are still some things I want to do.” She launched into a description of her plans for her house, which she realized couldn’t possibly interest anyone but her, but as she talked, she saw him relax.

“We’re gonna put pictures of cowboys on my wall in my new room,” Sam announced. “Can I put your picture on my wall? You and Bertie?” He glanced down at his new best friend, so he missed the look of consternation that flashed across Caleb’s face.

Laney couldn’t imagine what had caused their new neighbor to look like that. She felt as if she was picking her way through booby traps, careful not to get caught by one or to let her son get hurt. And yet there was something about the way Caleb looked at Sam that told her he would never hurt the boy—a sort of sad longing mixed with regret. And it clutched at her heart to see that Caleb could only look at Sam for a few seconds before glancing away.

“We’ve got plenty of cowboy pictures, Sammy,” she said. “If you’ve finished your cake, why don’t you take your plate to the sink so I can wash it before we go?”

Sam hopped down to do as she asked, then hurried back to Bertie, who had pulled himself to his feet. The dog walked into the living room with Sam trotting along behind.

She turned back to their host, whose haunted eyes followed her son. This was a troubled man. It was clear to her that coming here had been a mistake. She had done the neighborly thing, but it was over now. From this point on, she and Sam would keep their distance.

She stood and said brightly, “Sam and I had better be on our way. I’ll wash these dishes up before we go.”

“No, that isn’t necessary. I’ll take care of it.” Caleb surged to his feet, his right leg twisting awkwardly. His breath hissed from between his teeth and he reached out to grab the back of his chair, but it skidded away from his grasping fingers. He would have fallen if Laney hadn’t leaped to his side, wrapped her arm around his waist and braced herself against him.

There was nothing for Caleb to do except put his arm around her shoulders. She heard his ragged breath rasp in his throat as he tried to gain control over the surge of pain she knew must be racking his body. His arm spasmed and his hand gripped her shoulder. When she looked up, she saw that sweat had popped out on his face.

Turning carefully, she reached for his chair and pulled it close so he could sit. It took him a minute, though, because he had to rest all his weight on his left leg as he stretched out his right. A tight, pale line appeared around his mouth when he clamped his lips together—probably to keep from crying out in pain.

Turning, she grabbed another chair, pulled it close and then bent to lift his leg. Holding the back of his knee with one hand and his ankle with the other, she gently raised his leg to rest on the chair. She knew he probably would have protested if the pain hadn’t obviously stolen his breath.

“Thank...thank you,” Caleb said when he could get air back into his lungs.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, stepping back because she instinctively knew he would hate it if she hovered.

He shook his head, his eyes avoiding hers.

“Then I suppose Sam and I had better go. I have to read him Goodnight Moon and then half a dozen books about cowboys before he goes to sleep...” Her voice trailed off. The man clearly wanted to be alone and she was only prolonging things. “Well, good night.”

Caleb’s eyes finally turned to her, guarded and full of pain. She fought the urge to bustle around getting him an ice pack or a hot compress for his leg—to do something to help. She mustn’t, though. He didn’t want her help and he certainly didn’t want her pity.

“Thank you,” was all he said.

She didn’t know if it was for the cake, the visit, for catching him so he wouldn’t fall or because she was finally leaving. Feeling as if she was abandoning him, she turned, crossed into the living room and collected her son, scooping him up from his place beside Bertie and setting him on his feet.

“Time to go, sport,” she said brightly, capturing his hand. “Say goodbye.”

“Aw, Mom. Me and Bertie was gonna...”

“Say goodbye,” she repeated, sweeping him toward the door.

“Goodbye—”

The word was barely out of Sam’s mouth before she whirled him out the door and closed it behind them. She hustled him across the porch and down the steps to the Jeep, lifted him inside and strapped him into his booster seat. She jumped in behind the wheel, fastened her seat belt and had them on their way within seconds.

“Is somebody chasing us, Mom?” Sam asked. He tried to twist to look behind them. “Is it the bad guys?”

She laughed and hoped it sounded genuine. “No, of course not. It was time to go, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay.” He sat back. “I love Bertie,” he said with a sigh of happiness.

“Okay, but you don’t go visit him without being invited.” She didn’t know how to tell him that such an invitation almost certainly wouldn’t be forthcoming. All she could do was hope he’d forget about Bertie if she kept him busy with other things.

Her neighbor wanted to be left alone to deal with whatever was bothering him. She would respect that and she would do her best to make sure Sam understood.

As she turned into her drive, though, she wondered how recent the injury to his leg was and how it had happened. Although she was pretty sure it hadn’t been that long ago, the faint scar on his face wasn’t new. What on earth had the man been through?

* * *

CALEB’S EYES JERKED open with a start, his right hand flying out to search for his rifle. When his hand didn’t close on the familiar stock, he came fully awake, his heart pounding as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He didn’t need his gun. He needed to find that kid—the little dark-haired boy with the big grin who’d invaded his dreams. He shook his head, trying to free himself from the image of the child waving then disappearing in the flash of a fireball. He groaned, trying to orient himself.

Home. He was home at his own place, not on guard or on patrol in Afghanistan, not sleeping on the ground beneath a Hummer with O’Malley’s stinking feet near his face.

He started to turn over, but a strong twinge from his bad leg had him falling back against the pillows with a sharp breath whistling between his teeth. After several minutes the spasm passed and he was able to sit up, massage his tortured leg for a while, then turn to put his feet on the floor and sit with his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands.

When the pain subsided, he lifted his head to glance at the clock. Midnight. He’d only been asleep a couple of hours. It was those blasted painkillers. Whenever he had to take them, as he had right after Laney and Sam had left, they knocked him out, but then he’d jerk awake too soon, sure he was back in a war zone. He’d be half off the bed, looking for his soldiers, before reason would kick in and he’d know where he was.

Most of the time he could keep the memories at bay, but often they’d plague his sleep, coming in nightmare form, seeping under his defenses like smoke curling beneath a closed door. He knew if he opened the door, the memories would blaze up in a flash fire to consume him.

Taking a painkiller before he slept almost always triggered the nightmares, but they came more often when he took nothing at all.

Caleb rubbed his palms over his face, shoved his feet into the worn-out slip-ons he kept next to the bed and then stood cautiously, waiting for his leg to become accustomed to his weight once again, before walking through the house to work out the stiffness. Down the hall, past the two empty bedrooms, he moved into the living room, where he stood in front of the big window—uncurtained because he had no clue how to go about buying drapes and had no desire to learn.

As he stared out at the yard, he heard coyotes, the bothersome pack that roamed the area and had probably been responsible for the disappearance of many domestic animals. No doubt, the predators had dens in the nearby Mule Mountains, where they hid out, waiting for some unsuspecting cat or jackrabbit to happen by—

A sudden scream split the air, sparking a shiver up Caleb’s spine. That sound wasn’t made by a coyote, but he didn’t know what had made it since he’d never heard it before.

It came again, high and sharp. It wasn’t human, but it ignited a memory of a fire fight, of Mack, wounded, fallen, clutching his side as he tried to swallow cries of anguish that would attract more enemy fire to their position.

Memories overwhelming him, Caleb rushed to the door, grabbing his rifle on his way out. He didn’t know where the attack would be coming from, but he was ready. Crouching, moving stealthily, he slipped off the porch and hunkered down into a shooting stance as far as his bad leg would let him. His gaze swept the yard then the area beyond.

He saw something ahead of him, moving through the low bushes, too fast and steady to be a man doing the belly crawl. What was it?

The creature turned its head. Caleb saw the flash of yellow eyes. It wasn’t human. But what was it? Confused, he stepped forward. The crack of a stick breaking under his foot snapped in the air and jerked Caleb back to reality.

Whatever he’d seen in the yard disappeared with a gentle whoosh of sound.

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, working to recall why he was standing out in the yard in his underwear. He glanced down. He held a piece of one-by-two-inch board, the one he used to prop open the living-room window.

Hands falling to his sides, he stood for a minute, concentrating on his breathing, letting his waking nightmare dissipate as he shoved the memory back into the mental vault where he kept it under lock and key.

His gaze moved out past the yard and the barn to the pasture where he’d encountered Sam and Laney earlier, then beyond to their house where a porch light speared the darkness. He couldn’t even see the outline of the house, only the glow of the light, a faint beacon of reassurance.

Reassurance? He didn’t need reassurance. He needed to be left alone.

He lifted the board, holding it up in front of his face. He’d thought it was his rifle; that he was going to protect his home with it.

No. He couldn’t be a neighbor. It wasn’t time yet.

He turned back to the house with a sound of disgust, returned the board to the sill of the window, which he double-checked to make sure it was closed and locked.

Bertie, asleep on his favorite rug, raised his head as if willing to commiserate, but then apparently decided that Caleb was doing a good enough job of being miserable on his own. He dropped his head on his paws and sighed.

Caleb looked down at the old dog. “Yeah, buddy, that’s how I feel.”

He wandered into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Leaning against the sink, he drank it down, grateful for the miracle of clean, good-tasting water, so unlike the filtered, never-quite-right stuff they’d had in Afghanistan.

Like all the other military personnel, they’d consumed bottled water by the gallon, along with electrolyte drinks. When he’d come back to the States, he’d never been able to get enough clean water into him and he still drank more than he ever had in his younger years. He set the empty glass down and stood with his hands gripping the edge of the sink. The memories were close tonight and he couldn’t seem to shove them away as he usually could. He’d been back for more than a year and a half, but as his mother had said, he’d left the war but he’d never really come home.

Pushing away from the sink, he wandered back to the living-room window and stood, arms crossed over his chest, staring into the darkness while he thought about his new neighbors.

“What do you think, Bert? You think she ever had a husband?”

He glanced down. Bertie’s gentle snores told him that this man’s best friend couldn’t have been less interested.

In spite of that, Caleb continued with his speculation. “Did the guy abandon her and Sam? Didn’t care that he had a wife and kid?”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed as he thought it over. “Maybe she was impossible to live with.” He straightened, his arms dropping to his sides as another thought came to him. “Or did she always want to be a single mom so she got some clinical assistance?”

He ran his thumb along the stubble on his chin. “Nothing wrong with that, Bert. But, nah, I don’t think so. I think...that I’m losing my friggin’ mind.”

Caleb admitted he was out of his element and had been for a while.

At one time he’d had an unerring sense of direction, a built-in compass that could point him the right way even if it was pitch-black outside and only safe to move a few inches. Now he tried to defend his home from night noises with a stick and stood staring at his neighbor’s house.

And he didn’t even care about his neighbors.

He turned, headed back to bed, giving in to the twinge in his leg that told him he’d been on it too long and ignoring the one in his gut that told him he was a liar.

* * *

BY THE NEXT afternoon Laney thought she may have convinced her son that he wasn’t to visit Caleb, or Bertie, until he was invited. She had left him inside to play with a building set he was using to make a replica of Caleb’s place.

Sam had only seen the yard and the house, but in his imagination it contained endless corrals made of snap-together pieces of plastic fencing, as well as a barn of cardboard and masking tape.

With a few minutes to herself, she decided to take a break from organizing her house and get her turn-outs ready for the coming fire season. During the summers when school was out, Laney was a wild-land firefighter, a member of Fire Team 8, currently an all-woman group that fought wildfires during the summer. There had been men on the team in the past and there probably would be again, but right now, it was all women who, like Laney, had families and additional jobs. The money from fighting fires paid for both necessities and luxuries.

She spread her coat, pants and boots out on the patio attached to the back of the house and examined them closely for damage. Her fire boots appeared to be in good shape, as did her coat, but there was a rip in her pants caused when she’d fallen over a log last summer and snagged them on a broken branch. She thought she could mend it.

Laney stepped back into the house for her sewing kit, calling out to Sam as she went.

“Sam, everything okay?”

Silence.

Whirling around, she hurried to his room. His construction project lay scattered across the floor, but he wasn’t there. His black cowboy hat was gone from the top of the dresser where he left it when he wasn’t wearing it. That told her exactly where he was headed. He was so taken with the whole cowboy mystique that he wouldn’t have left without that hat if he had gone to visit Caleb and Bertie, and she was sure that was exactly what he had done.

He had probably only left a few minutes ago, but she knew from long experience that he could move like the wind when he wanted to. If she took the Jeep and hurried, she might make it to Caleb’s house before Sam did. Having his mother greet him when he arrived would be an unpleasant surprise that might make him think twice about going over there without permission again.

“And maybe pigs will fly,” Laney muttered as she ran to get her keys. “So much for keeping our distance from Caleb Ransom.” She had tried to impress on her son that their neighbor wanted to be left alone, but clearly she hadn’t succeeded.

Laney knew that in this rural area, neighbors often had to depend on each other, but Caleb didn’t want that. She thought he was probably embarrassed that she had seen him in pain last night, had seen him weak and vulnerable. Having Sam pop up there again, with her chasing him, might make things even more strained.

That wasn’t her biggest worry, though. She was most concerned that Sam had gone back to the pasture where Caleb kept his horses. She ran out to the fence, climbed up to balance herself on the rail and scanned the area for the mare and her foal. She spotted them quite close by with no little black cowboy hat bouncing toward them, so she knew Sam probably wasn’t in the pasture.

“Thank heaven,” she murmured, jumping down and running for the Jeep.

Starting the engine, she wheeled out of the drive and headed for the Ransom ranch.

Only a few yards down the single-lane road she had to squeeze past a car pulled over and stopped partway in a ditch. Driving past, she saw that someone was inside so she stopped, jumped out of her car and hurried back to ask if the driver had seen Sam.

When she recognized the driver, her steps slowed and her heart sank in dismay, but she forced a smile. Monette Berkley had been her neighbor in the tiny apartment building where she and Sam had lived in town. She was a busybody, a long-time social worker employed by Arizona’s newly revamped and name-changed Department of Child Safety, and she delighted in spying on her neighbors.

She was a definite oddball, but Laney didn’t think she meant any harm—although she couldn’t imagine what the woman was doing out here, and there was no time to find out. As she approached, she noticed that Monette’s appearance, always haphazard, was approaching sloppy. Her hair slid out of a loose topknot and the front of her blouse was stained with what looked like coffee.

Leaning over, she said, “Hello, Monette. Did you see my little boy on the road?”

“Your little boy? You mean Sean?”

“Sam,” Laney corrected. “Yes. He’s the only little boy I’ve got.”

“What’s he doing off by himself?” the woman demanded, her dark eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why aren’t you watching him?”

“Monette!” Laney cried in exasperation. “Did you see him?”

“No,” the woman answered, looking miffed. “I only stopped a second ago. Did he run away?”

Laney whirled around. “Of course not. He probably went to visit the neighbor.”

Or at least the neighbor’s dog, she thought, rushing back to her car.

Monette called out to her, but Laney ignored her as she put the Jeep in gear and sped down the road to Caleb’s driveway.

* * *

CALEB MOVED CAUTIOUSLY toward the front door where he’d heard scuffling noises and then a soft knock. Since his leg had seized up on him last night, he’d been moving much more carefully, trying to handle the pain and outlast the muscle seizures without resorting to more of the painkillers the doctor had given him. Aside from making him woozy and giving him nightmares, they’d probably caused him to stand by his window gawking at his neighbor’s house. Besides, the pills didn’t really cure anything, so why bother with them?

He finally reached the door and swung it open, his curious gaze at eye level. Seeing no one, his focus swung down to right above knee height where Sam Reynolds grinned up at him.

“Hi, Mr. Rasmon.”

“Ransom,” Caleb corrected automatically.

“Ransom. Can Bertie come out and play?” Sam’s huge smile and big brown eyes begged him to agree.

From behind him Bertie shuffled up, tail wagging and mouth open in his own big, doggy grin. He wiggled past Caleb to greet his new best friend, giving Sam a lick on the cheek that sent the eager boy into peals of laughter. Sam threw his arms around Bertie’s neck and sighed blissfully. “I love you, Bertie.”

These two were made for each other, Caleb thought sardonically, stepping onto the porch. He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “Sam, does your mom know you’re here?”

Into Bertie’s furry neck, Sam mumbled something that sounded like “Maybe.”

Caleb wanted to pull the boy away and get down at eye level with him, but his weakened right leg wouldn’t let him do that. And if he fell, he might land on the boy. Instead he reached down, cupped Sam’s chin and brought the boy’s face up until their eyes met, the way he’d seen Laney do the day before. He tried to make his voice sound as firm as hers had without resorting to his army sergeant’s voice.

“Sam,” he repeated, “does your mom know you’re here?”

“Sorta.”

“Sam...”

“Maybe, sorta.”

“That means no, doesn’t it?” Caleb said then jerked when another thought jolted him. “Did you come through the pasture? The same pasture where Addie and her filly are? That I told you to stay out of?”

Sam wrinkled up his nose and squinted as if he was thinking about it. “You mean where that pony is? No. I came on the road. I ’membered the way.”

Caleb threw his hands in the air. “That’s just as dangerous. What if a car had come along?”

“I woulda moved,” Sam responded as if he was talking to someone who wasn’t too bright. He went back to petting Bertie, who was eating up the attention.

Caleb stared at him. As an only child of parents who had both worked long hours, he knew what it was like to be lonely and to need distraction, but this had to stop. Why didn’t his mother keep him away? He was still trying to figure out what to say when he became aware of a vehicle on the road. A rooster tail of dust kicked up behind Laney’s fast-moving Jeep and gravel scattered as she turned into his drive. Caleb could see her sitting forward, peering anxiously over the steering wheel, and then visibly relaxing when she saw Sam standing on the front steps with Bertie and Caleb.

On the lane behind her, he saw another car slow at his gate, wait for a few seconds, then turn around and head back the way it had come. Caleb didn’t have time to ponder who that could have been because Laney was headed straight for them.

Sam turned to see his mom’s fast-approaching car. “She looks mad.”

“Ya think?” Caleb fought the urge to laugh at the crazy situation. He didn’t want them here, didn’t want to get caught up in the struggle between this lovable kid and his attractive mother. He knew the more he saw of them, the more he was going to get pulled in.

He was adamant about not getting pulled in, he reminded himself. He had everything carefully planned, exactly what his life would be like and who would be in it—or not.

Laney stopped the Jeep and jumped out. She strode over to the steps; her gaze never leaving Sam, whose face was buried in Bertie’s accommodating neck.

“Samuel John Reynolds, what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“Visitin’ Bertie and Mr. Ramsun.”

“Ransom,” Laney and Caleb said in unison. Their gazes met and skittered away from each other.

“You weren’t invited. Go get in the car. We’ll talk about this at home when I’ve had time to calm down.”

Sam looked at her for a second. “Bertie wants me to stay.”

“I want you to go. Now move,” she said, tilting her head toward the Jeep.

That ended any argument. Sam trudged toward the car. She turned back to Caleb with a look of consternation. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll find some way to keep him off your property.”

Her gaze went to his leg as if she wanted to ask him how it was.

Questions, sympathy, pity were things he didn’t want. He straightened, belying his need to lean against anything for support.

He looked her straight in the eye. “Keep him off my property.”

With a nod, she went back to her Jeep and got her son and herself inside in record time. She started the vehicle, turned in a wide circle and was gone.

By his feet, Bertie whined. Caleb braced himself against the doorjamb once more and leaned to run his hand over the old dog’s head. “It’s better this way, Bert,” he said. “We don’t need them complicating our life.”


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1adbc19b-dede-5b3d-afc0-fcc06103de49)

“SAM, THIS IS getting really old.” Laney picked up her son and stood him in the middle of the kitchen table so she could talk to him at eye level. As soon as they had arrived home, she had sent him to sit in the naughty chair while she picked up the items she’d left on the back patio and put them away. Then she had scrubbed the kitchen sink while she tried to think of what to tell him.

It had been physically exhausting, but emotionally easier when Sam was tiny. She had made all the decisions for the two of them. Now that Sam was getting older, Laney was constantly second-guessing herself. Two things she did know: she had to keep him safe whether he wanted that or not, and she had to keep him off Caleb Ransom’s property.

Now she was attempting to make that clear. Whenever he tried to avoid her gaze, she turned his face back to hers and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, holding him in place. “You are not to leave this house without my permission. Do you understand that?”

He looked at her for a second and then nodded.

“You can’t go over to Mr. Ransom’s house unless I’m with you. He has...things to do and he doesn’t need you underfoot.”

“You sure?” Sam asked. “He hurt his leg so maybe he needs help with...”

“No, he doesn’t want or need us there.”

“But I like Mr. Ramsun and I love Bertie,” Sam answered in an aggrieved tone. He looked up at her, his big brown eyes swimming with tears. “He loves me, too.”

Laney dropped her head forward and closed her eyes as she took a breath. This was like trying to have a conversation with a grasshopper who kept bouncing from one place to another.

“You can’t go over there without permission. You can’t go see Bertie—”

“But—”

“You can’t or you’ll be in big trouble with me.” Her firm tone brooked no disobedience. “Sam, there are other reasons, too.”

She paused, watching emotions play across his face with heartsick dismay. She couldn’t let him spend his young years the way she had, never knowing where she would be or what would be happening that day or the next, who she would be with...

She frowned, trying to think of a way to make him understand without scaring him.

Taking a deep breath she said, “Sam, as your mother, I’m the one who is supposed to take care of you, so you have to do what I say.”

His bottom lip quivered. “But why?”

She paused, deciding he wasn’t being defiant, merely curious. “Because little boys have to have someone to take care of them, make sure they’re safe. That’s my job, so I have to know where you are all the time.”

He hung his head, his gaze on the tabletop, and she pondered whether to tell him that other people would have to take care of him if she couldn’t, but then decided against it. Her mind filled with memories of being in the backseats of strange cars, all of her worldly possessions packed into a big, black trash bag, her favorite stuffed animal clutched to her chest as she stared big-eyed at the back of the driver’s head, wondering who this person was and where she was being taken this time.

No, Laney decided. She would keep that information to herself. No point in scaring him unnecessarily.

“You have to do what I say,” she repeated. “Now it’s time for you to say, ‘Yes, Mommy.’”

“Yes, Mommy,” Sam responded, but she didn’t know if he would obey or not.

“Thank you.” She stared at him for a few seconds as she tried to decide if there was anything more she needed to say, something more convincing, compelling. Something he wouldn’t “forget.” Deciding that there probably wasn’t, she lifted him and set him on the floor. “Now, you go stay in your room until dinner is ready and you’d better be there when I call you.”

Sam shuffled off to his room. She gazed after him, hoping and praying she’d made him understand.

* * *

THE SOUND OF gravel popping beneath tires had Laney looking out the front window. She watched as her older brother, Ethan, stopped his truck and gave a wave when he saw her.

The truck doors sprang open and his twin sons, Shane and Logan, jumped out. The twins were happy, outgoing boys with dark hair that sprung out in wild curls unless it was kept cut very short, as it was now. Having recently begun to lose their baby teeth, they each greeted their aunt with gap-toothed grins. They were two years older than Sam, but the three of them got along well.

She called to Sam that his cousins were there and went outside to say hello. So much for making Sam stay in his room until dinnertime, she thought. But some fun, positive interaction with his uncle and his cousins might take his mind off Caleb and Bertie—at least for a while.

Ethan reached into the back of his truck and removed a small bicycle, which he set on the ground. He rolled it forward and propped it against a porch post so that it was the first thing Sam saw when he came barreling through the front door.

Ethan then went back to the truck and removed two more, slightly larger, bicycles.

Sam’s eyes widened as he looked at the bicycles and then at his two grinning cousins.

“Sam,” Ethan said, “it’s time for you to learn how to ride a bike. We thought you might like this one the boys have outgrown.”

“Yeah!” Sam shrieked. “Thanks, Uncle Ethan!” He raced down the steps as Laney gave her brother a worried look.

“Don’t you think he’s too young, Ethan?”

“No, I don’t. He’s got the coordination already. It’ll take a little practice. I’ll bet he figures it out in no time.”

“Oh, great,” she muttered as Logan and Shane showed Sam how to get on his new bike. “Now he’ll be able to move even faster.”

Ethan barely seemed to hear her as he joined the three boys. Giving Sam a few basic instructions, he then held the back of the bicycle while Sam took his first wobbly turn around the yard. Laney watched from the porch steps.

To Laney’s amazement and, admittedly, pride, Sam caught on quickly, just as Ethan had predicted. Within half an hour he could go a short distance by himself before the bike began to wobble and he had to stop and regroup. Shane and Logan rode their bikes around in circles, demonstrating their skill to their younger cousin. Sam watched them for a few moments, stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and tried harder.

When he felt that Sam was well on his way, Ethan joined Laney on the porch.

“Told ya,” he said smugly.

Laney punched him on the arm. “I hate to admit you’re right.”

Ethan grinned. “He’s always had good balance. That’s why he walked so early. He’s an active kid. He needs something to keep him busy.”

Chin lifted and lips pinched together, Laney said, “I keep him busy.”

Ethan bumped her with his shoulder. “Oh, don’t get defensive. I’m not criticizing your parenting, but in town, he had other kids to play with. Jenny and the boys and I were only three blocks from your apartment. Our kids played together every day. It’s different out here.” He glanced at her. “But moving here was the right thing for you to do.”

“Still, you’ve got a point. He needs something to do besides make a nuisance of himself with the neighbor.”

“Who, Caleb Ransom?”

With a nod she told him about the encounters they’d had with their reclusive neighbor.

“I’m trying to keep Sam away from his place, but my son is enthralled with the animals, especially the dog, so it’s not easy.” Her shoulders slumped. “And I don’t think Ransom likes people very much.”

“Have you considered getting Sam his own dog?”

“Ethan, he’s four. He’s too young to be responsible for an animal. He can’t even tie his own shoes yet.”

“It would be a companion for him.”

“So the two of them can run off together? So Sam can take his new dog over to make friends with Ransom’s dog, Bertie? That’s all I need.” She gave him a helpless look. “Ransom...Ransom doesn’t like people very much, so I can’t imagine he’d want my son popping in to visit with his new puppy.”

Ethan frowned. “There’s probably more to it than him disliking people, although I understand he pretty much keeps to himself.”

She turned to look at her brother fully. “Do you know him?”

“Not really. When he first came here, he was in the office to pay the property taxes and find out the exact location of the property lines on his place. I got the impression he wanted to know what his boundaries are to keep people out—although he didn’t actually say that.”

“What did he say?”

“Not a lot, as I recall,” Ethan admitted. “Haven’t seen much of him since.” Ethan worked in the county assessor’s office, but was really a jack-of-all-trades for the county, handling many tasks. “The only person who knows him is Don Parkey, the vet. He takes care of Ransom’s animals and hauls those broken-down drug horses out there.”

Laney stared at him. “Drug horses?”

“People find them all the time out in the desert, used, abused and abandoned by drug smugglers. They take them to Don, who patches them up the best he can and then takes them to Ransom’s place to recover. The county pays him a small fee to take them in and try to get them rehabilitated.”

Laney frowned. “I noticed there were some sad-looking horses in his pasture. One of them has a brand-new filly.” She was pleased that she’d remembered the correct gender.

“Maybe he likes people okay, but he likes animals better. He seems like the kind of guy who takes care of things, tries to fix them. I guess once the horses are rehabilitated, they’ll be sold to people who want riding horses. I doubt they’d be any good as cutting horses.”

Maybe what Ethan said about her neighbor being a fixer-upper was true, Laney thought. After all, the old Camacho place, which everyone called the CR Ranch, had been pretty run-down when he’d bought it and she could see evidence of the repairs he’d made. Now she was learning that he was taking in stray, abused horses. Given the state of his old truck, she was certain he wasn’t receiving much compensation from the county for their care. That kind of thing simply wasn’t in the budget.

What puzzled her was that, in her mind, none of this squared with his wish to be left alone.

“He was a soldier, you know,” Ethan continued. “Injured in Afghanistan. Don told me that’s why he limps like he does. I guess it was pretty bad.” He gave her the big-brother look. “Maybe you could be a little more understanding.”

“I’ve done my part,” she insisted, then told Ethan about their first meeting and their second.

“Hmm, that should soften him up. Nobody makes a chocolate cake as good as you do.”

She smirked at him. “Thank you. And before you ask, there’s none left. I gave Ransom the whole cake.”

“Aaagh!” Ethan reached back and pretended to be pulling a knife from his back. She giggled.

Ethan stopped his silly pantomiming and gave her a close look, his dark eyes examining her.

“What?” she asked.

“Sam’s four years old.”

“I know how old my son is.”

“So when do you think you’ll start dating again?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Where did that question come from? We were talking about Ransom and... You’re not thinking I’d be interested in Caleb Ransom, are you?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

Laney thought about her encounters with him. “I don’t think so.”

“Give it some consideration.”

Laney answered with a swift glance of annoyance, but Ethan’s steady gaze held hers and she looked away. Color stained her cheeks.

“Not every man is like James Carson,” he said gently.

“What’s James got to do with this?”

“Only that not everyone is like him, selfish and egotistical. Could be that you’re letting your experience with that jerk color your view of Ransom.”

Her mouth dropped open again. “How did this get to be my fault?”

“Maybe he doesn’t know how to act around people anymore, been alone too long. He’s got no one around here. No family or friends.”

“So far, he’s made it clear he doesn’t want friends.”

“Well, Laney, I’d think you’d understand better than anybody that what people say they want and what they really want are two different things,” Ethan pointed out.

“Like James,” Laney whispered, her gaze going automatically to Sam, who had mastered the art of turning his bike without falling off. Her ex-husband had said he’d wanted to be a father and then run off when it was about to happen. She knew she didn’t need to say it out loud. The entire family—and everyone else in Sweetsilver—knew what had happened. She hadn’t realized how it had affected her interaction with every new man she met in even the most casual way.

“Maybe you could cut Ransom some slack, Laney.” Ethan gave her the big-brother look again and she wrinkled her nose at him.

“Dad,” Shane yelled, riding up and turning his bike with a show-off skid on the gravel. “Sam can ride good now. Can we go out on the road?”

“Sure, as long as we’re with you.” Standing, he pulled Laney to her feet.

“You could have asked me if it was all right, you know,” Laney said in annoyance.

“Why? You would’ve simply told them no.”

She gave a disgusted click of her tongue and he laughed, throwing his arm around her shoulders and giving her a sideways hug. When he dropped his arm, Laney hooked hers with his and they walked side by side.

“You’re so smug and irritating,” she said with a long-suffering sigh.

“Part of my big brother charm.”

They walked down her drive and onto the road, watching the boys as they wheeled along. It pleased her to see that Shane and Logan had slowed their pace to accommodate their smaller cousin.

“You’ve been a pretty good big brother,” she admitted. “Considering I was dumped on you when you were only nine.”

“Mom said I had to be nice to you and I figured I could do it for a few days until your mother came back. By the time we realized your mom wasn’t coming back, it was a habit.”

Laney smiled, knowing there was more to the story than that.

She barely remembered her mother who had dropped her on her older sister, Laney’s aunt Vivian, when Laney was only seven. Her life up until then had been chaotic, lacking any kind of routine or stability.

Lauraine Reynolds had promised she’d be back in a few days but she’d never returned. Laney recalled how scared she had been and how Vivian and Frank Crown had welcomed her, saying they’d always wanted a daughter.

And Ethan had been great. He hadn’t seemed to mind her tagging along with him until she made friends of her own.

When the family had learned a few months later that Lauraine had died from some kind of massive infection while working as a card dealer in Las Vegas, Vivian and Frank had adopted Laney. She would be forever grateful. At seven, she hadn’t really understood the finality of death and asked Vivian and Frank if she could keep the name Reynolds in case her mother ever came looking for her.

“You’re not like her, you know,” Ethan said.

“Who?” Laney glanced up at him.

“Your mother. You would never abandon your child or put him at risk, but it’s okay to let him take some reasonable risks.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know about that. He’s only four.”

“What if you let him risk life and limb by coming over to our house tonight? We’ll probably watch a movie and play a wild and crazy game of Candyland.”

Laney laughed and agreed to the plan as they continued their ambling walk down the road.

After a few more steps Ethan cleared his throat. “Laney, there’s something I need to warn you about.”

“Uh-oh.” She looked over, concerned. “What is it?”

“Mom bought a tree.”

Horrified, she stared at him. “No! They actually let her back into the nursery?”

“No, she ordered it online. Dad didn’t know anything about it until he came in and found it growing in a huge pot in the living room.”

“What kind of tree is it?”

“Banana.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Apparently it’s the only kind she hasn’t killed yet. It’s even got tiny little green bananas on it.” He held up his hand, thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart.

“The poor thing,” Laney said in a mournful tone. “It has no idea what it’s in for.”

“A slow and agonizing death from too much love, overwatering, overfertilizing.”

Laney flung out her hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t understand how someone who’s so kind and generous can be the angel of death to any plant she comes into contact with.”

“It’s a mystery,” he agreed sadly.

They continued walking as they contemplated the problem. Vivian Reynolds Crown had never successfully grown a garden, a bush, a tree, or so much as a philodendron, but she never gave up trying, and many lush, living things had been sacrificed on the altar of her horticultural ambitions.

“Well,” Laney finally said with a sigh, “at least it will keep her busy and involved for a while.”

“Yeah, and we’ll hear about every drooping leaf and dead stalk.”

Laney slipped her arm through Ethan’s and gave him a squeeze. “It’s the burden we must bear for being her children.”

Ethan gave a miserable nod and they followed their sons up the road.

* * *

WHO WAS THAT GUY? Caleb reined in Cisco behind a stand of paloverde on a rise near the road. Telling himself he was only watching because he was nearby, preparing to move Addie and her filly out of the pasture and move a few cattle in. Besides, he needed to see what was going on because he didn’t want any strangers coming to his place unannounced.

He observed Laney as she walked down the lane behind Sam and two other little boys on bicycles. Her arm was entwined with that of a man whose face he couldn’t quite see.

Caleb’s mouth twitched in annoyance. Laney and the guy looked pretty friendly. It irritated him that he couldn’t see the guy’s face. If someone was around, anywhere near his place, he wanted to know who it was. He didn’t like surprises and he didn’t want unexpected company. He had avoided people since he’d moved to Sweetsilver and he fully intended to keep it that way.

* * *

LANEY DIDN’T KNOW what to do with herself. She had finished getting her turnouts and other gear ready for the coming fire season, worked in her yard, swept the kitchen, and showered and washed her hair, deciding to let it air dry, allowing the dark curly waves to do whatever they wanted. Sometimes she simply didn’t feel like fighting them.

She ate a quiet dinner then wandered around the house, missing Sam. She had a book to read, a suspense novel guaranteed to keep her interested and probably terrified until dawn. Or she could call her best friend, Sarah, to see if she wanted to go into Sierra Vista to see a movie, have a girl’s night out—something they hadn’t done in months.

None of those things appealed, though. She was too restless, too unsettled and, probably thanks to her brother’s words, thinking too much about Caleb Ransom.

He did intrigue her. He was closed off, said he didn’t want company or friends. He was scarred on the outside and doubtless on the inside, too, but because of the defensive wall he’d put up, she would never know the nature of his scars, never know him. For despite all good judgment, she sensed a need in him that drew her.

Laney couldn’t have said why she even cared. He didn’t want her around; not her or her son. He had his own life, his own business, and she had hers.

Thinking about him made her move to her kitchen window, which looked out onto his land. The late-afternoon sun slanted down, casting long shadows across his pasture.

So much of her mind hadn’t been taken up with a man since James Carson—and she hadn’t had a pleasant thought about him in years.

Laney doubted that Caleb was anything like James. No doubt he kept his promises, she thought as she gazed out the window dreamily, and carried through with anything he’d decided to do.

Taking in abused and abandoned horses was proof of his compassion, his abilities as a horse owner and—

His cattle were in her yard!


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_756dc3e3-ec63-5508-bff3-1df845a4073d)

LANEY’S EYES WIDENED when she realized some of the shadows she’d been watching with gooey-eyed dreaminess were moving. In fact, they had abandoned their own grama and were trampling the flowers she’d planted and devouring the small area of lawn she was trying to coax back to life. She was determined that her plants would avoid the fate of her mom’s.

She turned to dash out the kitchen door, then remembered she was barefoot. She had put on a tank top and shorts after her shower, and now she yanked on the boots she’d left by the back door.

Allowing the screen door to slam behind her, she ran out waving her arms. “Get out! Get out!” How did you get in here?

The four cows didn’t even bother to lift their heads, since they were too busy feasting on her lawn. She tried slapping one on the rump. It took a couple of steps away from her then glanced back as if to thank her for directing it to a fresh patch of grass.

“Stupid, smug beasts!” she huffed, fuming.

Looking around, she saw that the gate between her property and Ransom’s was open. The animals had probably pressed against it as they were grazing on his land, and the latch had popped open. Never ones to waste an opportunity to find food, they’d simply invited themselves in.

She would have to call Caleb to come get his cattle. She reached into her shorts’ pocket for her cell phone, then realized she had no idea what his number was, and if she had and her name came up on his Caller ID, he might not even answer.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be with neighbors. Neighbors help each other, welcome each other, share phone numbers, keep an eye on their own darned cattle.” In her righteous indignation, she was building up a healthy head of steam. This time when she swatted one of the cows on the rump, it moved in the right direction, back toward the gate where it had made its unwelcome entrance. Satisfied with that outcome, she whistled at the next one, slapped it, too, and got it headed the way she wanted. The last two animals seemed to realize she meant business, so they followed along, as well.

When she had them back on their own side of the fence, she locked the gate securely and strode across the pasture to talk to Caleb about his cattle and to set him straight about exactly how neighbors were supposed to act toward each other. The fact that she had to dodge cow and horse manure as she went didn’t improve her mood at all. Glancing around, she looked for the mare and filly, but they were nowhere to be seen.

She could have driven, but she was too mad. She hoped the fifteen-minute walk would take the edge off her annoyance, but by the time she stomped up his front steps and rapped on his door, she was still as annoyed as she’d been when she’d found the cows trampling her flowers and eating her grass.

* * *

CALEB THREW OPEN the door and gaped at the woman on his doorstep. He was pretty sure it was Delaney Reynolds, but in their three previous encounters, she hadn’t looked like this. She was dressed in a skimpy tank top and shorts that left about twelve miles of legs for him to appreciate. It didn’t matter that her feet were tucked into an old pair of boots—made an interesting contrast, if he were interested. Which he wasn’t.

His gaze made a quick sweep upward once again and he saw that she was breathing rapidly, obviously from exertion. Her scent, amplified by her agitation, swept over him, bringing a hint of citrus—sharp and tangy.

Her hair was loose and wild around her shoulders, with every lock doing business for itself. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were full of fire.

She looked like an Amazon on the hunt.

“Mr. Ransom,” she said, biting off the words.

“Yes?”

“Your cattle...” She had to stop to catch her breath.

“What about them?”

“They somehow got the gate open and were on my property, trampling the flowers I planted only days ago and eating my grass.”

“Oh.” He stepped outside. “I’ll go get them and...”

“Never mind.” She held up her hand to stop him. “I took care of it. They’re back in your pasture.”

“Well, thank you, I—”

“This isn’t what neighbors do, you know.”

He didn’t know exactly what she meant. “It isn’t?”

“No, it isn’t.” She paused as if to ready the next salvo in her argument.

“I can’t watch them every second and...”

“That’s not what I meant.” She waved her hand as if his words were dandelion fluff. “I mean neighbors give each other their phone numbers so they can call if there’s a problem. I’ve got the Bartletts’ phone number and they’ve got mine.”

“You’re mad because I didn’t give you my phone number?”

“I realize you don’t want anything to do with us,” she said, lifting her chin and fixing him with a steady glare.

He backed up and leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest as she went on. “True,” he said.

“But since we’re each other’s only neighbors—only us and the Bartletts out here on this dead-end road—we have to keep each other’s best interests in mind.”

“And you think having my phone number would be in your best interest?” he asked, studying the intensity in her face.

“It would also be in your best interest,” she continued. “What if I saw that your cattle got out on the road next time and went clear out to the highway? I could call you and tell you before they caused an accident, and...”

“It’s nearly a mile out to the highway and I guarantee you my cows are too lazy to walk that far.” It occurred to him that this was the most ridiculous argument he’d ever been involved in. “That was only an example of why it’s important to be able to keep in touch.” She clammed up, obviously preparing more arguments. He couldn’t wait to hear what they were.

“I see,” he responded. “You may be right and— Aaagh!” He scooted past her and made for the hose attached to a water pipe at the front of the house.

“What are you doing?” She followed him down the steps.

Caleb picked up the hose, turned the faucet on full-blast and aimed it across the yard. “I’m trying to keep a worthless tomcat away from my barn cats. The mama has had two litters since I’ve been here.”

“You mean she hasn’t been spayed?”

“No. Apparently, along with being a lousy cattleman, I’m a lousy cat owner.”

“Yes, you are. That’s completely irresponsible. The feral cat population in this county is already out of control. If she’s had two litters and each of them is responsible for a litter, that could end up being hundreds more cats. Why haven’t you taken care of this?”

His lips tightened and his eyebrows pulled together in a ferocious frown. The argument became too personal. “Don Parkey took the kittens to his clinic, spayed and neutered them, brought two back to me and put the rest up for adoption, but he couldn’t catch the mother because, first of all, she is feral, and second, she and the other two know there’s a pack of coyotes roaming the area, so they all pretty much stay up in the rafters. And, no, I don’t know how the tomcat has stayed alive to keep coming to pay her conjugal visits.” He stopped and pointed to his bad leg. “And, obviously, I can’t catch her, either.”

In a flash Laney’s expression went from annoyance to embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

When he saw pity drench her eyes, he looked away. That was what he hated—someone feeling sorry for him. And worse, someone wanting to do things for him that he used to be able to do without a second thought.





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