“You have a son.”

Releasing Christopher, Ronnie slowly rose to her feet. “Yes, I have a son.”

Cole frowned. “Where’s his father?”

“His father and I aren’t together anymore,” she told him stoically.

“Ran out on another one, did you?”

“I didn’t run out on you,” she cried.

“No? Then what would you have called it? Walking really fast?” he suggested sarcastically.

Putting her hands on Christopher’s shoulders protectively, she told Cole, “Making the right decision for me.”

Cole took a breath, trying very hard not to let his imagination go. Trying not to think of her in someone else’s arms. Making love with someone else.

Breaking loose, Christopher ran up to him just as he was about to get into his truck.

The little boy asked, “Are you a sheriff?”

“Yes, I’m a sheriff.”

Tension telegraphed itself throughout Ronnie’s body. Watching Cole interact with Christopher this way was causing all sorts of bittersweet feelings to go rampaging through her.

He doesn’t realize he’s talking to his son… .

Dear Reader,

It’s no secret that I love cowboys. A cowboy taught me how to speak English when I came to this country at the age of four. Okay, he wasn’t a real cowboy, but John Wayne played cowboys with such flare. And, technically, he wasn’t teaching me. He was acting and I was glued to the TV set.

I confess that I am not the rough-and-tumble type and I probably wouldn’t have fared well in the Old West, but writing modern-day romances set in rural places allows me to indulge in all those wonderful childhood fantasies. I was a very progressive child. I never went through that “boys are icky” stage. Romances had a definite place in all the stories I would spin. Even back then, I knew that life without romance was only half a life at best. Both the hero and heroine of this book, Cole and Veronica, come to discover this despite their determination to do without that all-important ingredient. A lot they know.

As always, I thank you for reading my book and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.

Fondly,

Marie Ferrarella

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author has written more than two hundred books for Silhouette and Harlequin Books, some under the name of MARIE NICOLE. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.

Montana Sheriff

Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To

Kathleen Scheibling,

who apparently likes

cowboys as much as I do.

Thank you.

Chapter One

Cole James blinked. As he did, he expected the image to fade away.

This wouldn’t be the first time that his eyes—aided and abetted by his heart—had played tricks on him.

In the beginning, when Veronica McCloud had initially left Redemption—and him—a little more than six years ago, he kept seeing her all the time. He’d see her walking down Main Street, or standing in line at the movie theater they used to go to regularly, or passing by the sheriff’s office which had, these last four years, all but become his second home.

He couldn’t begin to count the number of times he’d thought he saw her peering in the window, a funny little half smile on her lips, the one that always used to make his heart stop. But when he’d bolt from his chair to chase after her, or run across the street in pursuit, ready to call out her name, he’d discover that it was someone else who just happened to look like Ronnie.

The worst times were when there turned out to be no one there at all, just his memory, torturing him.

Eventually, his “sightings” of Ronnie became less frequent. Whole days and then even whole weeks would go by without him even thinking that he saw Veronica McCloud, the woman who had, for all intents and purposes, tap-danced on his heart and then deliberately disappeared from his life six summers ago.

Sheriff Cole James frowned as he watched the woman across the street walking toward the wooden building in the middle of the block: Ed Haney’s Livestock Feed Emporium.

She wasn’t disappearing.

Instead, she looked as if she had every intention of walking into the store. Just like Ronnie used to when her dad sent her into town.

The funny thing about this particular mirage was that all the other times, when he thought he saw Ronnie, she looked pretty much the way she had that last night by the lake.

The night that would forever be imprinted on his soul.

Her golden-blond hair would be flowing loose about her shoulders, that soft, cream-colored cotton peasant blouse dipping down low, making him all but swallow his tongue.

Each and every time he thought he saw Ronnie, she would be that green-eyed hellion, part eternal female, part feisty tomboy. The woman who could instantly make him weak in the knees with just one look.

But this time, the mirage—Ronnie—looked different.

This time, she looked a lot like the picture she’d once showed him of her late mother, Margaret, when she’d been a young woman. The photograph was taken just after she’d married Ronnie’s dad, Amos.

Old image or new, why wasn’t she vanishing the way she always did? he wondered impatiently.

Damn it all to hell, Cole silently swore. Lifting his Stetson, he dragged a hand through his dark chestnut, almost black, hair. Exasperation zigzagged through him.

He wasn’t going to go and check it out. He wasn’t. The people in town looked up to him. They depended on him for guidance. It went without saying that the sheriff of Redemption, a pocket-size town fifty miles north of Helena in the proud state of Montana, wasn’t supposed to be given to having hallucinations. Leastwise, not without smoking something—which he hadn’t done except for that one time when he was fifteen. He did take the occasional shot of whiskey, but only when the weather turned bitter cold, and never more than one. And even then, it was to warm himself up more than for any other reason.

He didn’t need anything to warm him up now, even though it was September and this year the temperature was already dropping down at night into regions that tried a hearty man’s soul. Just thinking of Ronnie, even after all this time, more than sufficiently warmed him up, thank you very much.

Cole bit off the rough edge of a curse. The next minute, he was making a U-turn at the end of the block. Telling himself he now officially qualified as the town idiot, he turned his truck around and slowly drove along the length of the street until his vehicle was parallel to the Livestock Feed Emporium.

The mirage had definitely gone inside.

Cole stopped the truck and squinted, looking in through the store’s huge bay window. From where he sat, his hallucination was talking to the store’s owner, Ed Haney. And Ed answered the hallucination.

Cole pushed back his black Stetson with his thumb and blinked again. Nothing changed. Either he was having one hell of a daydream or—

The word hung in midair, refusing to gather any more words around it. Refusing to allow him to even finish his thought.

Or.

He couldn’t finish his thought.

Because it wasn’t true. He knew that, knew it as sure as he knew his own name.

Veronica McCloud had left that summer six years ago. Left Redemption and left him. Left after they had enjoyed possibly the best night of their lives—certainly the best night of his life. And not once, not once had she come back to visit, or just to talk or even to throw rocks at him. She hadn’t come back at all.

She never wrote, never called, never sent carrier pigeons with messages attached to their tiny little ankles. Never tried to get in contact with him in any way at all. Half a dozen times he’d set out to see her father or her older brother, Wayne, to ask them for her address or her phone number, just about any way at all to get in contact with her. But each time he set out, he never quite completed his journey.

His pride just wouldn’t let him.

After all, he hadn’t left her, she had left him. And if she hadn’t wanted to stay gone, to remain missing from his life, well, hell, she knew where to find him. He had the same phone number, the same address, the same everything he’d always had. None of that had ever changed, not since they were kids together, growing up in each other’s shadows.

Back then, Ronnie had been a rough and tumble tomboy, more agile and skilled at being a boy than any of the boys in town. Partially, he’d always suspected, to curry her father’s attention and favor. And she’d always been a type A competitor.

In any event, they’d been each other’s best friends almost from the moment of birth. And they shared everything. They bolstered each other, supported each other and just enjoyed being kids in an area of the country that was still relatively uncomplicated by the demands of progress.

Everyone in Redemption knew everyone else by their first name. The people of the town were always ready to lend support through the hard times and especially ready to rejoice during the good times.

Sure the twenty-first century had brought some changes to the town, but not all that much. Certainly not enough to make him want to be anywhere else but right where he was.

But not Ronnie. For Ronnie it was different. Once she hit her teens, Ronnie started talking about someday wanting to go someplace where “the possibilities were endless and the buildings stretch up against the sky. Someplace where I don’t have to be stuck on the ranch all the time if I don’t want to be.”

At the time, he’d thought it was just talk. Or at least, he’d hoped so.

But then she started to talk about it more and more. Her big dream was to go to college, to get that all-important piece of paper that called her a graduate and allowed her to “make something of myself.”

As if she wasn’t good enough.

That was around when they began having arguments, real arguments, not just squabbles and differences of opinion about things like who had the faster horse—he did—or who was the better rider—she was.

Moreover, Ronnie wanted him to come with her. She wanted him to go to college, too, and “become someone”—as if he couldn’t be anything without holding that four-year degree in his hand.

But all he wanted to be was a rancher, like his father, and she, well, she didn’t want to live on a ranch her whole life. Didn’t want to be a rancher’s wife and certainly didn’t want to live and die in Redemption without “leaving her mark” on the world, whatever that meant.

He’d thought after that huge blowup they’d had that last night at the lake—and especially after the way that they’d made up—that the argument had finally been settled once and for all.

To his great satisfaction.

Apparently, he’d been wrong because when he woke up that morning at the lake, she wasn’t there beside him the way she had been when they’d fallen asleep.

She wasn’t anywhere.

Suddenly uneasy, afraid something had happened to her, he still pulled together his courage and went to her house just in case she’d decided to go home. When he asked to see her, Amos McCloud had looked at him for a long, awful moment, then said he’d just missed her. She and Wayne had just left. Her older brother was driving her to the next town. From there she was taking the train to Great Falls. There was an airport in Great Falls. And planes that would take her away from here.

Away from him.

Remembering all that created the same pang in his heart that had gripped him that terrible morning.

“Hey, Sheriff, you gonna sit in your truck idlin’ like that all morning?”

The sharply voiced question came from directly behind him. Wally Perkins was sticking his head out of his dark green pickup truck and he looked none too happy about the fact that the sheriff’s truck had stopped moving and was blocking his way.

Wally knew that he could always pull his vehicle around him, Cole thought, but it didn’t seem exactly right, seeing as how he represented the law and all.

“Sorry, Wally. Got lost in my own thoughts,” Cole murmured the apology.

With that, he pulled his truck headfirst into the first parking spot he could. It was in front of the next building, just one door down from the Emporium.

Cole cut off his engine and sat in the truck a moment longer.

If he had any sense at all, he silently told himself, he’d start the vehicle up again, go back to his office and work on this month’s monthly report. A report that was tedious given that there was actually very little to report. Crime in this small town of three thousand strong involved nuisance disturbances and not much else.

Of course, there was that horrible accident two weeks ago involving Amos McCloud and his son, Wayne, and a trucker who had been driving cross-country, but that wasn’t a crime, either, not in the sense that all those prime-time TV programs liked to highlight. His investigation had shown that inclement weather and bad brakes had been to blame for the truck suddenly jackknifing. Amos had seen the accident happening but it had been too late. He couldn’t stop his own truck in time.

Lucky for Wayne and Amos, Cole had been driving by or there might not have been anything left of the two men except for bits of cinders. Racing from his own truck, a sense of urgency sending huge amounts of adrenaline through his body, he’d managed to get first Amos and then Wayne out. The latter had been brutal. The cab of the truck had folded like a metal accordion, trapping Wayne in its metal embrace. He’d worked like the devil to get Wayne free and had succeeded just seconds before the whole damn truck exploded.

Fortunately, no one had died at the scene. But the jury was still out about the final count. The trucker and Amos had been pretty banged up, but Wayne had been unconscious when he was taken to the hospital in Helena.

He still was.

Was that why she was here? Cole wondered suddenly, straightening in his seat. Had Ronnie come back because of the accident? He might have tried to contact her about the accident himself if he’d known how to find her, but she’d done a good job of disappearing from his life.

“Damn it, she’s not here any more than she was all those other times you thought you saw her,” he declared angrily, upbraiding himself.

If he got out of the truck and went into the Emporium to investigate, he would feel like a damn idiot once he proved to himself that she wasn’t really there.

More than likely, it’d turn out to be some other woman. Or maybe nobody at all.

But if he didn’t go in, if he went back to his one-story, 1800-square-foot office, and tried to get some work done, this was going to eat at him all day. He knew that. Especially since he hadn’t imagined seeing her in a while now. Almost a whole month had gone by without a so-called “Ronnie sighting.”

It had begun to give him real hope. He was beginning to think he was finally, finally over her. For real this time. Not the way he’d thought before, the time he’d gotten engaged to Cyndy Foster at the diner.

Getting engaged to Cyndy had just been a desperate act on his part to force himself to move on. Except that he really couldn’t. Not then. And when he caught himself almost calling Cyndy Ronnie one night, he knew it wouldn’t be fair to Cyndy to go through with the wedding.

So he’d called it off and tried to explain to Cyndy that he thought she deserved better than spending her life with a man who was only half there. He’d hoped she’d take it well, the way he’d meant it. But she didn’t. His ears had stung for a week from the riot act she’d read him at the top of her lungs. Not that he hadn’t deserved it.

From that point on, he dedicated himself to the job of being town sheriff and saw to it that he was a dutiful son, as well. Cole figured he’d either eventually work Ronnie out of his system, or become a confirmed bachelor.

These last few months, he’d begun to think that he was finally coming around, accepting what his life had become.

A lot he knew, Cole thought sarcastically. If he was on the road to being “cured,” what the hell was he doing having another damn hallucination?

Only one way to battle this, he decided, and that was to walk in, see who Ed was really talking to and be done with all this racing pulse nonsense.

With that, Cole pulled his key out of the truck’s ignition.

Tucking the key into the breast pocket of his shirt, he shifted in his seat and opened the driver’s side door. He got out and walked the short distance to the Livestock Feed Emporium. Cole deliberately avoided glancing in through the window, giving himself a moment to prepare for the inevitable disappointment.

He opened the door to the store. The same tiny silver bell, somewhat tarnished now, that had hung there for fifty years, announcing the arrival or departure of a customer, sounded now, heralding his crossing the store’s threshold.

Cole’s deep blue eyes swept over the rustic store with its polished, heavily scuffed old wooden floors. Ed took pride in the fact that the store looked exactly the way it had back in his grandfather’s day when Josiah Haney opened the Emporium’s doors for the first time. The only actual concession that had been made to modern times was when the original cash register had finally given up the ghost. Ed had been forced to replace it with a computerized register since manual ones were nowhere to be found anymore.

The air had turned blue for more than a week until Ed had finally learned—thanks to the efforts of his incredibly patient grandson—how to operate the “dang infernal machine.”

The store was empty. Even Ed didn’t seem to be around. The man was probably in the back, getting something—

Okay, Cole thought, relieved and disappointed at the same time, the way he always was when a mirage faded. She wasn’t here.

It had been just his imagination, just the way it always was. Just the way—

And then he heard it. Just as he turned back toward the door to leave, he heard it.

Heard her.

He froze, unable to move, unable to breathe, as the sound of her voice pierced his consciousness. Skewered his soul.

Taunted him.

Almost afraid to look, Cole forced himself to turn around again. When he did, he was just in time to see the owner turning a corner and walking down an aisle. He was returning to his counter at the front of the store.

He was also talking to someone. A visible someone. He was talking to a woman.

And that woman was Ronnie.

Ed Haney’s round face appeared almost cherubic as he continued conferring. He seemed to be beaming as he bobbed his head with its ten wisps of hair up and down.

Ronnie McCloud returned the shop owner’s smile. “I’ll tell Dad you were asking after him.”

Ed was doing more than just asking after the rancher’s health and he wanted her to be clear about that. “Tell Amos that if there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all, he shouldn’t let that damn pride of his get in the way. All he has to do is say the word. I want to help. We all do,” Ed emphasized, then said in a conspiratorial voice, “There was really no need for you to have to come back here, although I have to say it surely is a pleasure seeing you again, Veronica. You’ve become one beautiful young woman, and if I was twenty years younger—well, no need to elaborate.” He chuckled. “You get my meaning.”

Veronica McCloud laughed. “Yes, I do.” He was teasing her. But he meant the other thing, the part about offering his help. Edwin Haney, a man she had grown up knowing, was a man of integrity—even if he did remind her a little of Humpty Dumpty. He meant what he said. About himself and about the others. The one thing she could never fault this town for was indifference.

The citizens of Redemption were anything but indifferent. So much so that at times they seemed to be into everybody else’s business. A private person didn’t stand a chance in Redemption. The people wore you down, had you spilling your innermost secrets before you could ever think to stop yourself.

She knew they meant it in the very best possible way, but when she’d been younger, she felt that it was an invasion, a violation of her rights. She’d wanted to be her own person, someone who made up her mind without the benefit of committee input or an ongoing, running commentary.

She wanted more than Redemption had to offer.

Even so, she had to admit, especially at a trying time like this, it was nice to know that there were people her father could count on. God knew he was going to need them once she left and went back home again, she thought. Her new home, she emphasized, since this had been home once.

“Hi, Sheriff, what can I do for you?” Ed’s voice broke into her thoughts as he addressed someone just behind her.

Ronnie smiled. The sheriff. That would be Paul Royce. He had to be, what? Seventy now? Older?

Remembering the gregarious man’s jovial countenance, Ronnie turned around, a greeting at the ready on her smiling lips.

The greeting froze.

She wasn’t looking up at Sheriff Paul Royce and his shining coal-black eyes. She found herself looking directly into the new sheriff’s blue ones. And suddenly wishing, with all her heart, that she was somewhere else. Anywhere else.

But she wasn’t.

She was right here, looking into deep blue eyes she used to find hypnotic, her mind a complete, utter useless blank.

“Hello, Ronnie.”

Chapter Two

As she was driving to Redemption, Ronnie had told herself that she would have more time before she had to face him. Instead, Cole had appeared out of the blue, and she was so not ready for their paths to cross.

Who was she kidding? There wasn’t enough time in the world for her to prepare for this first meeting after so much time had passed.

And, damn it, Cole wasn’t helping any. Not looking the way he did. This harsh land had a terrible habit of taking its toll on people, on its men as well as its women. So why wasn’t he worn-out looking?

Why wasn’t Cole at least growing the beginnings of a gut like so many other men who were barely thirty years old?

Heaven knew that her father looked like he was coming up on eighty instead of being in his early sixties. And the last time she’d seen her older brother, Wayne, the land had already begun to leave its stamp on him, tanning his skin—especially his face—the way that tanners cured leather.

Not that there weren’t any changes with Cole. But those changes only seemed to be for the better. Cole had lost that pretty boy look he’d once had—although his eyelashes appeared to be as long as ever. But now there was the look of a man about him, rather than a boy. A lean, muscular man whose facial features had somehow gone from sweet to chiseled.

In either case, his face still made her heart skip a beat before launching into double time.

No, that hadn’t changed any no matter how much she’d tried to convince herself that it would.

Oh, but so many other things had changed. Her whole world had changed and it wasn’t because she’d gone on to college, or gotten a business degree, or now worked in one of the larger, more prestigious advertising firms in Seattle. It also had nothing to do with her carefully decorated high-rise apartment in the shadow of the Space Needle and everything to do with the little boy who lived in it with her.

Christopher, the little boy she hadn’t wanted to bring to Redemption with her, but knew she had to. Leaving her son behind with the woman who looked after him every day after kindergarten was not an option. Oh, Naomi had even volunteered to have him stay with her for the duration, saying she would be more than happy to do it. Heaven knew that the woman was very good with Christopher and Christopher liked Naomi. But there was no way she was going to leave her son behind, especially since she really wasn’t sure exactly how long she would be gone.

The occasional overnight trips that her company sent her on were one thing. Christopher thought of it as “camping out” when he stayed at Naomi’s house. But an open-ended trip like this one promised to be was something else entirely. So she had brought the five-year-old with her, hoping that his presence would somehow help to rally her father’s alarmingly low spirits.

Meanwhile, Ronnie was struggling to do her best and ignore the stress that having Christopher here with her in Redemption inadvertently generated.

The one thing she clung to was that the boy looked like her.

And not like his father.

Forcing a smile to her lips, Ronnie waited half a beat while the rest of the surrounding area pulled itself out of the encroaching darkness and slowly came back into focus.

She couldn’t wait until her knees came back from their semiliquid state. If she took too long to respond, Cole would be able to see the effect he still had on her. And that was the very last thing in the world she wanted.

It was bad enough that he probably suspected as much. She didn’t want to confirm the impression.

So she forced a smile to her lips and returned his greeting. “Hello, Cole.”

Her eyes slid down to take in the shiny piece of metal pinned to the khaki-colored, long-sleeved shirt that Cole wore. Had her father mentioned this development to her in one of his visits to Seattle? She couldn’t remember but she really didn’t think so. She would have remembered if he had.

In a rare display of sensitivity, her father went out of his way to avoid all references to Cole whenever they talked. He never even asked if Cole was the father of his grandson. Amos McCloud was a firm believer that everyone was entitled to their privacy. It was basically a policy of don’t ask, don’t tell. She didn’t ask and her father didn’t tell—even though there were times when she ached to know what Cole was doing these days.

She still didn’t ask. Because if her father had said that Cole had gotten married, or worse, gotten married and started a family, the news would have sliced through her heart like the sharp blade of a cutlass. No, not knowing anything was the far better way for her to go.

But that had left her entirely unprepared for this first encounter.

Ronnie struggled against the feeling that her soul was suddenly completely exposed.

“So, you’re the town sheriff now,” she acknowledged pleasantly, silently congratulating herself on being able to mask all the feelings that rushed to the surface. “When did that happen?”

Cole’s reply was sparsely worded. Just long enough to get the answer across. “Four years ago. The old sheriff got sick. Decided he needed to be someplace warmer. Nobody would take the job, so I did.” He punctuated the final sentence with a careless half shrug.

She could feel every one of his movements echoing inside of her. Get a grip, Ronnie, or you’re going to blow this.

“He’s being modest,” Ed told her, cutting in. “The whole town took a vote when Paul left and just about everyone cast their ballot for Cole here. Couldn’t ask for a better sheriff, either,” Ed said, beaming his approval in the town’s choice. “Painfully honest, this boy. Won’t even take a cup of coffee when it’s offered to him at the diner without paying for it.” Ed chuckled as he shook his head, his wide waist undulating ever so slightly as he did so. “Gives graft a bad name, Cole does.” And then the Emporium owner sobered just a shade. “We’re all lucky to have him here.”

Ronnie looked at Cole for a long moment. She could see why Ed and the other citizens of Redemption would feel that way. Something about Cole exuded strength.

That had always been the case.

Having him in a position of authority allowed people to sleep better at night, she imagined. He made them feel safe. She had certainly felt that way when she was with him. Right up until the end. But then, the threat had come from her own feelings at that point, not from him.

“Where else would he be?” she asked quietly. She’d meant her question to have a touch of humor in it, but it had come out deadly serious. “He never wanted to be anyplace but here.”

To the outside observer, the comment seemed to be addressed to the shop owner. But her eyes never left Cole’s.

His eyes were still hypnotic, she thought. Even after all this time, they hadn’t lost their ability to pull her in. To make her long for things that just didn’t have a prayer of working out.

In the end, that last turbulent summer where they seemed to argue all the time, it came down to a matter of the irresistible force meeting the immovable object. She wanted him to leave Redemption, to test his wings and fly away with her, and he wanted her to stay with him. Wanted her to start a life with him in earnest.

So, he had stayed and she had gone.

But not before taking a part of Cole James along with her.

And that, along with the radio silence that followed, was something she knew Cole would never forgive her for. There wasn’t any point in thinking about it, or any of her reasons—good reasons—for having done what she had.

Forcing herself to look away, Ronnie turned her attention back to Ed. “So, you’ll deliver the order to the ranch today?” she asked, referring to the items she had just paid for.

“I’ll get on it right away,” Ed promised. “You’ll have it by this afternoon.” He beamed at her, his brown eyes regarding her kindly. “Nice seeing you again, Veronica. You do your father proud.”

Ronnie inclined her head, feeling a little embarrassed by the compliment. “Family does what it has to do,” was all she said, deflecting any further words of praise.

Right now, all she wanted to do was get back into her car and drive away. Quickly. Before her knees melted away altogether.

Cole surprised her by asking, “Mind if I walk you out?”

The words sounded so formal, so stilted. So unlike anything that had ever been exchanged between them before, even going back to the time when they were kids. She couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t known one another.

And now, now they were just strangers, feeling awkward in each other’s presence.

Strangers with a past.

If she wanted to get through this with her sanity intact, she would have to treat Cole James the way she treated a client. Politely, competently, but always with preset boundaries.

Never once had she mixed business with her private life. Mainly because her private life was all about Christopher.

“Of course not,” she finally replied. “I wouldn’t want to say no to the sheriff.”

This time the smile that rose to her lips came of its own accord. The idea of Cole being the sheriff of the town they had grown up in just didn’t seem real to her. It was more like something they would pretend in one of their elaborate games.

Cole opened the door for her and held it. The bell just above the door rang softly, ushering them out.

She barely heard it, listening instead to the sound of her heart pounding.

Breathe, Ronnie, breathe. You knew he was going to be around.

The thing was, she’d expected him to be on his ranch. Which cut the chances of running into him down rather drastically.

“What happened to you being a rancher?” she asked him.

“Town needed a sheriff,” Cole said. “And my mother got a really good man to help her run the ranch,” he added. After a moment, he shrugged. “I still help out once in a while, during branding season, if Will’s short-handed.”

Ronnie tried to put a face with the first name. “Will?”

“Will Jeffers,” he clarified. “The man my mother hired to help run the ranch after …” Cole’s voice trailed off for a moment, his discomfort with the topic more than mildly evident.

Ronnie pressed her lips together. She hadn’t meant to inadvertently dredge up a painful subject for him. Cole’s father had died suddenly last year, coming down with and succumbing so quickly to ALS no one even knew what was happening until it was almost all over. Her father had told her about that last night, after she’d put Christopher to bed.

“I was sorry to hear about your dad,” Ronnie said haltingly.

She had to stifle the urge to put her hand on his shoulder, to communicate with Cole the way she used to, with a simple look, a touch. They’d had their own unique way of “speaking” without words once. Back when the world was new and their paths hadn’t diverged so very sharply and far apart.

“Yeah, well, these things happen,” Cole replied, his voice distant as he made an attempt to shrug off her sympathy.

He didn’t want sympathy from Ronnie. He didn’t want anything at all from her.

And then he made the mistake of looking directly at her again.

Cole could almost feel her getting under his skin, shaking his world down to its foundations. Just the way she always used to. Searching for some way to distract himself, he asked, “When did you get in?”

What went unsaid was that he was surprised that he hadn’t heard about her arrival. Redemption was a small town and most information became general knowledge within the space of a few hours. Usually less.

“Late last night. My father didn’t even let me know about the accident until just two days ago.” When she’d received the call from her father, she’d known, the moment she heard his voice, that something was terribly, terribly wrong. She vaguely remembered sinking onto the sofa, both hands wrapped around the receiver to keep it from dropping to the floor as she listened to her father tell her about the accident.

He told her about Wayne being in a coma. The moment she’d hung up, she’d galvanized into action. Calling the company where she worked, she cited a family emergency and put in for a leave of absence. Then, packing up everything she thought she would need, she’d strapped Christopher into his car seat and then drove straight from Seattle to Redemption, covering close to six hundred miles in just a little over nine hours.

She’d been too wired to be exhausted until after she’d put Christopher to bed and talked at length to her father who was surprised that she’d driven all the way to Montana to see them.

Ronnie shook her head as remnants of disbelief still clung to her. “A whole two weeks and he didn’t think to call me.” She and her father were closer than this. Or at least she’d thought they were. Now it felt as if she didn’t know anything.

“You know your dad,” Cole told her. “He’s a stubborn son of a gun. Doesn’t want help from anyone.” He looked at her pointedly. “Not even you.”

For a split second, some of the hurt, the anger and especially the fear she’d been harboring since she’d received the phone call—harboring and trying to deal with—surfaced and flashed in her eyes.

“I’m not anyone,” Ronnie retorted. “I’m his daughter,” she emphasized, then struggled to get her temper, her feelings under control. “I’m his family,” she said in a softer, but no less emphatic voice. “He’s supposed to call me when something like this happens. I’m not supposed to learn that he and Wayne were nearly killed because I just happened to call to ask him what he wanted for his birthday.”

He could see why she was upset, but he was having trouble dealing with his own issues, his own hurt feelings, so it was difficult for him to be sympathetic about what she’d gone through.

“Yeah, well, maybe Amos lost that page in the father’s handbook for a while.” And then he told her something he wasn’t sure she was aware of. “Your father’s been busy beating himself up because he was the one behind the wheel, driving the truck, and he feels responsible for what happened to Wayne.”

Cole saw her clench her hand into a fist at her side. He could all but see the tension dancing through her. “Wayne’s going to be all right,” she declared stubbornly. “I called Wayne’s attending surgeon as soon as I got off the phone with my father. Dr. Nichols said all my brother’s reflexes seem to be in working order and that sometimes a coma is just the body’s way of trying to focus on doing nothing but healing itself.”

Cole saw no reason to contradict her or point out that a lot of people never woke up from a coma. She was dealing with enough as it was. Besides, what she thought or felt was no longer any concern of his outside the realm of her being a citizen of Redemption—or a former citizen of Redemption, he amended.

“Have you been to see your brother yet?” he asked as they walked past his truck.

“No. Not yet. But I’m going this afternoon,” she added quickly. She’d wanted to go the second she’d arrived in Montana, but there was more than just herself to take into account. She had Christopher to take care of. No one had ever told her, all those years ago when she had so desperately longed to become an adult, that being a mother required so much patience. “I wanted to get a couple of things squared away for my dad first,” she added.

Ronnie took a deep breath, debating whether or not to continue. The easy thing would be to terminate the conversation here. But in all good conscience she couldn’t ignore the particulars that had been involved in the aftermath of the accident.

She approached the topic cautiously. “Dad said that you were the first one on the scene after the accident.”

His expression gave nothing away, neither telling her to drop the subject nor to pursue it. “I was,” he acknowledged.

He said it without any fanfare. How very typical of Cole just to leave the statement there, she couldn’t help thinking. Another man would have thumped his chest. At the very least, he would have basked in the heroism of what he’d done, risking his very life in order to save someone else.

But this was Cole. Cole, who stoically did what he did and then just went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Cole, who wanted no thanks, no elaborate show of gratitude, no real attention brought to him.

But she couldn’t let it go. She had to thank him, to give him credit where credit was so richly deserved.

If not for Cole, the only family she’d have at this very moment would be a five-year-old.

“He also said that if it wasn’t for you practically lifting the cab of the truck single-handedly and dragging Wayne out of the mangled vehicle, my brother—” her throat went dry as she pushed on “—would have been burned to death when that old truck of Dad’s suddenly caught fire.”

Again, Cole shrugged. And this time, he looked away. He found it easier to talk if he wasn’t looking at her face. Wasn’t fighting off feelings that were supposed to be dead by now.

“I didn’t do anything that anyone else wouldn’t do,” he told her.

“Maybe so,” Ronnie allowed, even though she sincerely doubted that many men would have rushed in to do what he’d done when faced with the definite possibility of their own death. Good people though they were in Redemption, not everyone was that brave or that selfless. “But I still want to thank you for saving my brother’s life. And saving my dad.”

Cole shoved his hands into his back pockets and stared at leaves chasing one another in a circle along the street.

“Just part of the job,” he told her.

They’d stopped walking and were standing before what, in his estimation, was undoubtedly a very expensive and utterly impractical vehicle. It was a late-model black sedan, a Mercedes, far more suited to a metropolitan area than a town that still shared its streets with horses from the surrounding ranches on occasion.

She had changed, he thought. The old Ronnie would have been the first to point out how impractical and out of place a car like that was. Was she trying to impress him and show him how very successful she’d become in her new life?

He didn’t measure success the same way she did. Something else they didn’t have in common anymore, he thought.

“You renting that?” he asked her, curious. If so, she had to have gotten it somewhere other than in Redemption. The town’s one rental agency was run by the town car mechanic and he sincerely doubted that Hank Wilson had a car like that in his possession.

“No, it’s mine,” she told him. She suddenly felt self-conscious about owning the car and told herself she was being needlessly uncomfortable. The car was reliable and she liked it. That it was also out of place here wasn’t her concern. She wasn’t about to feel guilty because she’d made something of herself. “I had a few things to bring with me,” she went on to explain, “so I drove here.”

She saw his mouth curve ever so slightly. There was a hint of a smile on his lips that she couldn’t begin to fathom.

It was official, Ronnie decided. She was on the outside, looking in. And it was by her own design.

So why did it feel so lousy?

Chapter Three

“You drove here,” Cole said, repeating what she had just stated.

“Yes.”

Ronnie said she’d just learned about the accident two days ago. That meant she had to have left almost immediately after that. No matter what else she was, the woman still had the ability to amaze him.

“All, what? Six, seven hundred miles from Seattle to here?” he asked.

“Five hundred and ninety three,” Ronnie corrected tersely.

“Oh, five hundred and ninety three,” he echoed, as if enlightened. “Big difference. And I suppose that you drove straight through.”

The tone of his voice hadn’t changed, but she could swear he was mocking her. Ronnie raised her chin, bracing herself. Waiting for a challenge or a careless statement tossed her way, which would, to her, amount to fighting words. “Yes, I did.”

Cole’s eyes held hers, as if he was looking directly into her head. “No breaks?”

Of course there had been breaks. She wasn’t a robot. Besides, she hadn’t taken the trip alone. But then, he didn’t know that, she reminded herself.

“Well, I had to stop to eat a couple of times,” she told him, then decided she wanted to know what he was up to. “Why?”

“No reason,” he said a tad too innocently. “Just guess some things never change.” Ronnie had been stubborn as a kid and she was still just as stubborn now. Maybe even more so.

Don’t go all nostalgic on her now, Cole warned himself. So she drove like a maniac to get to her father. This doesn’t change the fact that she didn’t even try to get in contact with you to say she was sorry. Hell, she’s not even saying it now. Time to give up on this and move on with your life.

As if he could.

There was something about Cole’s mouth when it quirked that way …

Belatedly, Ronnie realized that her breath had backed up in her throat. Clearing it, she began to move away. “Um, I’d better be getting back. My dad’s going to be wondering what happened to me.”

Aiming her keychain at her car, she pressed the button. The vehicle emitted a high-pitched noise and winked its lights flirtatiously as all four of its locks stood up at attention.

Cole glanced at the dark car, unimpressed. “He’d probably think that fancy car of yours broke down somewhere.”

Ronnie narrowed her eyes. Well, he wasn’t going to make her feel guilty because she’d bought a car that she had secretly fantasized about ever since she’d hit her early teens.

With a toss of her head, she informed him, “It’s a very reliable car.”

His mouth quirked again, this time a half smile gracing his lips. It was obvious he didn’t believe her. “If you say so.”

“I say so,” she retorted as she slid in behind the car’s steering wheel. Yanking the door to her, she shut it. Hard.

She knew she had to go before she found herself suddenly caught up in an argument with Cole. It was all too easy to do, and the last time that had happened, Christopher came along nine months later.

Christopher. The little boy was the absolute light of her life.

After pulling away from the curb, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Cole was still standing there, in the street, arms crossed before him, and watching her drive away.

God, the man was just too handsome for her own good.

And when he finds out you never told him about Christopher, he’s going to be one hell of an angry man.

No way around that, Ronnie told herself, sighing as she drove back to her father’s ranch.

Think about it later, she ordered herself. Right now, she needed to touch base with both her father and her son before she drove down to Helena to see Wayne in the hospital. She had too much to do to let herself get bogged down in her thoughts of what could have been and what, in actuality, really was.

One final glance in her rearview mirror, one last glimpse of Cole, and then she focused her eyes and her attention on the road before her.

But her mind insisted on remaining stuck in first gear. With Cole. And their son.

There were a lot of reasons why, six years ago, she hadn’t told Cole she was pregnant with his baby. Right now, she was damn sure that he wouldn’t accept any of them, but that didn’t change anything. Certainly didn’t change the fact that she knew she was right in doing what she had.

She knew Cole, knew how honorable he was, and how very, very stubborn he could be. If she’d told him about the baby, he would have insisted on marrying her and at the time, marriage hadn’t been in her plans.

Neither was having a baby, but there was nothing, given her convictions, that she could do about that—other than what she’d done. She adjusted and found a way to deal with it, the same way she did with everything else. Consequently, she had her baby and also went on to get her education. All she had to do in order to accomplish that was give up sleeping. Permanently.

Cole, if he’d known, would have insisted that she stay in Redemption instead of going off to college. Would have pointed out how much better it was for the boy to grow up in a place like this town rather than in a large city.

She could see the scenario unfolding before her as if it was a movie. She would have given in and stayed in Redemption. And every day she would have felt a little more trapped than the day before. And a little more resentful that she’d been made to stay.

Leaving Redemption hadn’t been an easy decision for her, even before she’d known she was pregnant. Part of her would have wanted to take the easy way out, would have wanted to stay here because, after all, this was where her family was.

And this was where the only man she’d ever loved or would love was.

But a part of her craved to explore the unknown, desperately wanted to spread her wings and fly, to see how far she could go if she pushed herself. She didn’t want to live and die in a tiny corner of Montana because she had no choice in the matter. If she decided to live in Redemption, she wanted it to be by choice, after having experienced an entire spectrum of other things—or at least something else. She didn’t want to become one of those people who died with a box full of regrets.

Didn’t she have them anyway? Not having Cole in her life had made for a very large, very painful regret. But then, nobody had ever said that life was perfect and any choices she made of necessity came with consequences.

Besides, she was happy.

Or had thought she was, Ronnie amended. Until she saw Cole again.

“You still did the right thing,” Ronnie said out loud to herself, her voice echoing about the inside of the sedan.

If she’d told Cole that she was pregnant, there was no question that he would have married her. The question that would have come up, however, and would continue to come up for the rest of her life was would he be marrying her because he loved her—really loved her—or because it was the right thing to do? The right thing to give his name to his child and make an honest woman out of her so that there would never be any gossip about her making the rounds in Redemption?

Ronnie knew she wouldn’t have been able to live with that kind of a question weighing her down.

What she’d done was better.

Not that Cole would ever see it that way.

But that was his problem, not hers, she thought, pushing down on the accelerator.

COLE WATCHED HER CAR BECOME smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely, then he went back to his office on the next street.

He’d barely sat down at his desk after muttering a few words to Tim—the overly eager deputy he’d hired last year after Al St. John retired—before the door opened again and his mother walked in.

Midge James was a lively woman, short in stature but large of heart. Over the years she’d gone from being exceedingly thin to somewhat on the heavyset side. But each time she tried to make a go of a diet, her husband Pete, Cole’s father, would tell her that she was perfect just the way she was and that he really appreciated having “a little something to hang on to.”

Eventually she stopped trying to get down to the size where she could fit back into her wedding dress. She figured if she was lucky enough to have a man who loved her no matter what her size, she should just enjoy it. And him. So she did.

As she walked in now, Cole saw that his mother was carrying a basket before her. A very aromatic basket that announced it was filled with baked goods—muffins most likely—before she even set the basket down and drew back the cloth she’d placed over the top.

“Something wrong, Ma?” Cole asked as he started to rise to his feet.

“Sit, sit, sit,” Midge instructed, waving her hand at her son in case he hadn’t picked up on her words. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured him. “Why?” she asked. “Can’t a mother visit her favorite son without there being something wrong?”

Cole’s lips curved in a tolerant smile. “I’m your only son, Ma.”

“Makes the choice easier, I admit,” Midge responded, punctuating her statement with her trademark cherubic smile. Crossing to his desk, she placed the basket smack in the middle. “Just thought you might like a snack.” She pulled the cloth all the way back. Beneath it were at least two dozen miniature muffins. “They’re tiny. Makes it kind of seem like you’re eating less,” she explained, one of the many diet-cheating tricks she’d picked up along the way.

Glancing at the deputy who was eyeing the basket contents longingly from where he sat, she assured him, “There’s enough for you, too, Tim.”

She didn’t need to say any more. Tim was on his feet, his lanky legs bringing him to Cole’s desk in less than four steps. And less than another second later, he was peeling paper away from his first of several muffins. His eyes glowed as he bit into his prize.

“Good,” he managed to mumble, his mouth filled with rich cake and raisins.

Midge beamed. “Glad you approve, Tim.” She pushed the basket closer to her son. “Have one, Cole,” she coaxed him.

Cole eyed the contents and then selected a golden muffin. There were also chocolate ones and he suspected several butterscotch muffins in the batch, as well. His mother never did do things in half measures.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you trying to fatten me up, Ma,” he said, “but why are you really here?”

The expression on his mother’s face was the last word in innocence as she lifted her small shoulders and let them fall again. “I just felt like baking today, and then, well, you know what happens if I leave this much food around. I get tempted and I absolutely refuse to go up another dress size.”

He eyed the basket. “You could have given them to Will,” he pointed out, mentioning the ranch foreman.

Midge dismissed his suggestion. Been there, already done that. “Don’t worry, Will and the other hands already got their share.”

Cole regarded the muffin in his hand for a long moment.

“It tastes better if you eat it without the paper around it,” Midge prompted in a pseudo stage whisper.

For a moment, he wrestled with his thoughts. And then Cole raised his eyes to his mother’s kindly, understanding face.

“You know, don’t you?” he asked.

For a brief moment, Midge contemplated continuing to play innocent. But Cole was too smart to be fooled for long—she doubted if she’d succeeded in fooling him even now. With a shrug, she decided to let the pretense drop. After all, she’d come here to offer him a little comfort if comfort turned out to be necessary. And if Cole let her.

God knew Cole was as self-contained as his father had been. Her son certainly didn’t get his stoicism from her. She had always been more than willing to talk about what was bothering her.

“Yes,” she admitted quietly.

“How long have you known?” he asked. Just because she lived on a ranch didn’t mean that his mother was out of the loop. Hell, she was the loop.

“Not long. I stopped by Amos’s place late yesterday afternoon to see how he was getting along.” Amos had been there for her to offer his support when her husband had passed away; it was only right that she return the favor. “I saw her car pulling up as I was leaving.”

Cole nodded slowly as he took her words in. His expression gave none of his thoughts away. “Did you talk to her?” he finally asked.

She’d debated stopping to exchange a few words, then quickly decided against it. Midge shook her head in response now.

“No, I thought it’d be better if she just saw her father first. After all, Ronnie had just come much too close to losing both him and her brother. She would have,” Midge emphasized, “if it hadn’t been for you.”

Taking credit, even when he deserved it, wasn’t what he was about. “Maybe,” Cole allowed vaguely.

“No maybe about it,” Tim piped up jovially from his corner of the office. He looked at the man he considered to be his role model. “Folks are saying you’re a regular hero, Sheriff.”

Cole had never cared for labels, and praise had always made him uncomfortable. Now was no different.

“And what’s an irregular hero, Tim?” he asked.

Caught off guard, Tim opened his mouth to answer and couldn’t even begin to form one. He blinked, summarily confused. “What?”

“Don’t mind him, Tim,” Midge told the younger man. “He’s just being surly.” Looking at her son, the woman shook her head. “Don’t know what that girl ever saw in you, Cole.” Her exasperation with her son could only last a few moments, if that much. He was as close to perfect as a man could be. Just like his father before him, she thought with a pang. “Must have been your charm and your silver tongue.”

“Must’ve been,” Cole deadpanned, finally taking a bite out of the muffin he’d selected. As always, the muffin all but melted on his tongue. His mother had a knack for making baked goods that turned out to be practically lighter than air. But Cole wasn’t given to gushing effusively. Instead, he gave her an approving nod. “Not bad.”

“You always did lay on the flattery,” Midge told him with a laugh. “I swear, Cole, you’re getting to be more and more like your father every day.”

And that only reminded her how much she still missed her late husband.

Squaring her small shoulders, Midge left the basket where she’d placed it and took a couple of steps toward the front door.

“Leaving?” Cole asked, finishing the muffin. Rolling the paper that was left between his thumb and the first two fingers of his hand, he tossed the small ball into the wastebasket.

“Well, if you don’t feel like talking, I figured I’d better be getting back to the ranch.” And then a thought occurred to her. “Come over for dinner tonight,” she told her son. “I’ll make your favorite,” Midge added to seal the deal.

Cole sighed. He knew what she was up to. She was trying to draw him out of what she referred to as his “shell.” She’d all but undertaken a crusade to accomplish that the summer Ronnie took off.

“I’m okay, Ma,” he insisted.

The very innocent look was back. “Didn’t say you weren’t,” Midge replied.

She looked at the deputy as she walked past his desk. Tim McGuire hardly looked old enough to shave despite the fact that he was edging his way toward his twenty-second birthday.

“Tell your mother and father I said hello,” she told him.

“Sure will,” the deputy cheerfully assured her. As he spoke, a golden crumb broke away from the muffin he was in the midst of consuming and fell onto his shirt. Looking down sheepishly, Tim laughed and brushed the crumb—and several others—off. “You sure do bake the best things, Mrs. James. I wish you’d teach my mother how you make these.”

Unlike her son, Midge absorbed praise, fully enjoying each compliment.

“I’m sure she does fine without my input, Tim.” Her bright blue eyes danced as she paused at the door, one hand on the doorknob. “But I can teach you anytime you’d like.”

“Me?” the deputy asked incredulously.

He glanced up at the sheriff’s mother, stunned. Tim was the stereotypical male who had yet to master the art of boiling water—not that he felt he had to. He still lived at home and thought that was what mothers were for—among other things.

“Nothing wrong with a man knowing his way around a stove, Tim,” Midge told him.

Cole rolled his eyes. “That’s all I need,” he grumbled. “A deputy in an apron, his face smeared with blueberries as he’s burning the muffins he’s trying to make.” With a shake of his head, Cole slanted a sidelong glance toward his mother. And then he raised another muffin as if to toast her with it. “Thanks for bringing these.”

“Don’t mention it. And don’t forget about dinner tonight,” she pressed, opening the door. “Six-thirty. Don’t be late.”

“Or what, you’ll start without me?” Cole teased.

“Don’t get fresh,” his mother warned. But she was smiling at him as she said it. “Goodbye, Tim,” she called out.

“Goodbye, Mrs. James,” Tim responded with enthusiasm.

“Your mom really is a nice lady,” the deputy said with feeling, his eyes on his task. He was preparing to eliminate his third muffin.

Cole marveled at the way Tim could put food away and still look like a walking stick. Had to be all that enthusiasm he kept displaying, Cole thought.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied.

He took a bite out of his muffin, thinking. It occurred to him that this wasn’t the first time his mother had mentioned stopping by Amos McCloud’s place. Seemed to him that she was doing that quite a lot.

He made a mental note to ask her about that the next time he got a chance. He didn’t recall his mother and Amos being all that close before.

But then, loss had a way of bringing people together, and his mother wasn’t the type who liked being alone. He could recall her taking part in whatever needed doing around the ranch, never worrying about getting her hands dirty or complaining about having to work too hard.

In that respect she was a lot like Ronnie, he mused, breaking off another piece of the muffin.

Except that, growing up, Ronnie had been even more so. Part of the reason, he knew, was because she’d grown up without a mother. Margaret McCloud had died shortly after giving birth to Ronnie. Never a strong woman, according to his mother, one morning Margaret just didn’t get out of bed. When Amos came in to see why she wasn’t up yet, or at least tending to the baby, who was screaming her lungs out—Ronnie was loud even then—Amos found that his wife was dead.

The doctor who had to be called in from the neighboring town said she’d suffered from a ruptured aneurysm. Just like that, she was gone.

Life could change in an instant.

Cole got up. “I’ll be back in a while,” he told Tim as he walked out.

“What’s ‘a while’?” Tim called out after him.

“Longer than a minute,” Cole called back. And then he was gone.

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