A bigger challenge than she expected!

Shae McArthur once had it all. Perfect job, perfect fiancé. And when she lost everything, it was her own fault. Now she’s starting from scratch with one last project—turning the Bryan Ranch around. If she succeeds, maybe she can pick up the pieces of her former life.

The only problem is the ranch’s stubborn—and captivating—owner, Jordan Bryan. He’s fighting Shae on every change. What gives? True, his scars prove Shae’s not the only one starting over. Still, shouldn’t he, of all people, be able to see beyond the surface? Because she thinks maybe they could be each other’s perfect new beginning….

Jordan stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of her

No. Way.

The rodeo queen? Something else he’d held in his brain without realizing it. The memory of high and mighty Shae McArthur’s face—living proof that beauty was only skin deep. There’d never been one thing about her that he’d liked during the years they’d been on the rodeo team together…except for maybe that time she’d come on to him. He’d enjoyed her utterly shocked expression when he turned her down cold. She’d needed to be knocked off her high horse and he’d been glad to do the job. Literally, in fact.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Shae blinked as he spoke, letting her hands drop a few inches. He could see when recognition kicked in, followed almost immediately by a look of horror. Of course. Beauty and the Beast. Face-to-face. As he recalled, Shae wasn’t too fond of the imperfect. Nothing but the best for her.

“Good to see you, too, Jordan,” she said huskily.

Dear Reader,

In the first installment of The Montana Way series, Once a Champion (Mills & Boon Superromance, June 2013), I created a monster—a Bridezilla, to be exact. In that book, Shae McArthur was an overachiever who’d been spoiled by her widowed father and stepmother. She was utterly self-absorbed and clueless as to the effect her actions had on other people.

I must be honest—it’s a lot of fun writing clueless and self-absorbed people, and I had a ball creating Shae. The only problem was that Bridezilla Shae was to be the heroine of the third book in the series—this book—so I had to figure out a way to redeem her. The best course of action seemed to be to destroy her world as she knows it (sorry, Shae, but it’s for your own good) and to force her to take a long, hard look at herself. So in a blink of an eye, Shae no longer has a fiancé or a job. She’s struggling to pay wedding bills and fighting to convince her boss to hire her back. Things are no longer coming easily to Shae, and it’s an eye opener.

Enter the hero. Jordan Bryan just wants to be left alone to heal. The survivor of a bombing while serving in the military, he’s dealing with physical and emotional scars. He retreats to the Montana ranch he inherited during his convalescence, only to discover perfection-loving Shae McArthur working there. Well, he’s not so perfect anymore, but neither is Shae, and he starts to feel a connection with the woman he’d written off as beautiful but superficial years ago…and he’s not certain what to do about that.

I like writing characters with issues, and Shae and Jordan gave me a lot to work with. These two have ended up being some of my favorite characters ever. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. For more information about me and my books, or to contact me, please visit my website at www.jeanniewatt.com.

Take care and happy reading,

Jeannie Watt

All for a Cowboy

Jeannie Watt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jeannie Watt lives in rural Nevada with her husband, horses and ponies, and she teaches high school in a small combined school close to the Nevada-Oregon border. When she’s not teaching or writing, Jeannie enjoys sewing retro fashions and reports on her new projects regularly in her blog, Retro Sewing Romance Writer. She also makes mosaic mirrors, ignores housework as much as possible and is thrilled to be married to a man who cooks.

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To my editor, Piya Campana.

I liked The Montana Way stories when I turned them in. I loved them after you shared your insights and helped me tweak, edit and overhaul. Thank you so very much!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

WAS THERE ANY way she could wear sunglasses all day?

Shae McArthur tipped the dark glasses down and tilted the rearview mirror so she could see her eyes. Dreadful. As if she’d been crying all night. More like crying for a week, to the point that even if she wanted to cry again, she’d have no tears left. The last registry had been canceled, the last deposit surrendered, all the many details involved in calling off a wedding dealt with—to a degree. There was still the matter of informing friends and extended family.

And the embarrassment. No, make that the flat-out humiliation.

Shae lowered her head to the steering wheel, summoning strength. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and shut out the world for...oh...ever, but she had a huge presentation that day, which she would give with swollen eyes. In an effort to distract, she’d slicked her long dark hair into a barrette at the back of her neck and worn a bright red dress and chunky jewelry, hoping to draw the eye away from her puffy face.

Shae pushed the sunglasses back into place and opened the Audi door. At least she could wear them until she got to her cubicle. Forcing her lips into a semismile, she crossed the parking lot and pushed through the front door of Cedar Creek Enterprises: Guest Ranch Division—not to be confused with Cedar Creek Enterprises: Real Estate Division one door over.

“Way to take surprise vacation days,” Gerald Bruffett muttered as he crossed in front of her carrying a presentation board.

“It couldn’t be helped,” Shae replied.

“Floral emergency?” he called back to her as he disappeared into the conference room. Shae ignored him and walked on. Her part of the presentation had been completed before she’d left for her sister’s wedding—and the worst day of her life—exactly one week ago. She was prepared. Sort of. The fine-tuning she’d hoped to do the past week hadn’t been done, but if there was one thing Shae was good at, it was winging it. Heaven knew she’d done it enough over the past year.

“What happened to you?” Melinda Brody asked as soon as Shae walked around the cubicle wall. So much for red dresses and chunky jewelry—or sunglasses, for that matter—distracting anyone.

“Allergies.”

“Since when have you had allergies?”

“Last Sunday,” Shae said darkly as she shoved her purse into the bottom drawer of her desk. Mel had known her for far too long to be fooled by a lame excuse. She’d also been her only friend to decline the invitation to become a bridesmaid, because she spent every moment of her free time studying for a law degree. Shae sat and pulled off the sunglasses, surprised at how shaky she was—she who breezed through situations ordinary people hung back from.

She who had to tell her colleagues that the wedding was off.

“Allergies, my ass,” Mel muttered as she returned to her keyboard. Shae swiveled her chair toward her friend, who was now focused intently on the screen in front of her, and moistened her lips.

“Mel?”

“Yeah?” her friend asked, still studying the screen.

Reed called off the wedding.

The words stuck in her throat. She was gearing up to try again when Gerald stuck his balding head around the wall, somehow looking both harried and smug. “Wallace wants to see you,” he said.

Mel, who answered directly to the division manager, started to get up, but Gerald shook his head. “He wants to see Shae.”

“Thanks,” Shae said with a frown and Gerald disappeared again.

“Any idea?” Shae asked Mel. She hated going in blind if there was something she needed to know.

Mel shook her head, her eyebrows drawn together in a faintly perplexed expression. “Not a clue.”

Risa Lewis, Wallace’s associate, who, as usual, was wearing way too much makeup, smirked at Shae as she walked by. Risa always smirked at her, so that was no big deal, but this smirk seemed particularly self-satisfied, making Shae’s stomach tighten as she approached the open door of Wallace’s office. Something about this felt off, and when the division manager glanced up at her, all business, Shae’s midsection tightened even more.

“Close the door, Shae, and have a seat.”

Shae smiled, hoping it actually looked like a smile. “Thank you, Wallace.” She sat on the other side of the cluttered oak desk, smoothing her skirt.

“Shae, there’s no easy way to do this, so I’m just going to lay it out. We have to let you go.”

For a moment Shae simply stared at him, very much as she’d stared at her ex-fiancé less than a week ago, trying to wrap her mind around what he’d just said. This had to be a joke, something he’d cooked up to drive home the point that she’d taken vacation days at an inopportune time for the company.

“I have a marketing presentation today for the new acquisition,” she blankly.

Wallace gave his gray head a firm shake. “Risa has a marketing presentation today.”

Shae’s eyebrows shot upward. “You gave her my part of the project?”

“No. You did that.”

“I don’t understand.” And the numbness spreading through her insides as she realized just how serious Wallace was about firing her was making it hard to breathe.

“For the past eight months your mind has not been on the job.”

“I—”

He raised a hand. “You have been immersed in planning and executing not company business, but a wedding instead.”

“I’ve done my job—”

“Not with your full attention.” He leveled a hard stare at her over the top of his glasses. “You could have done better.”

Shae swallowed drily, desperately trying to come up with a strategy, but her brain, which always came up with a solution—except with Reed—seemed paralyzed. Do. Something.

She cleared her throat and said in her most reasonable voice, “If you’d given me some warning...a chance to redeem myself... If you would perhaps consider this a warning?” She smiled at him hopefully. Wallace had always liked her; surely he’d change his mind. Give her just one more chance. After all, she was good at what she did—especially when she was focused on it, and damn it, she would focus on her job, and only her job, in the future.

“Miranda is adamant that we need to cut back.” One corner of his mouth tightened ominously at the mention of the company owner’s name. She was a woman people tended to tiptoe around, but Shae had always prided herself on getting along well with their demanding boss. So why had she now been singled out?

“I’ve spent the past four days going over employee performance,” Wallace continued.

The four days she’d been gone. Things started to fall into place. “I took legitimate vacation days,” she protested.

“With very little warning.”

“I had a personal emergency.”

Wedding related? He didn’t need to say it. Shae could read it in his face. “I’m sorry about this, Shae.”

“Reed called off the wedding,” she blurted. “I needed a couple days to deal with it.”

A look of dawning comprehension crossed Wallace’s face. “I can understand that,” he said after a few silent seconds. “But it doesn’t change things.” His voice softened as he said, “I know this is a shock, but it’s not negotiable.” He pushed a packet toward her. “I’d like to go over the severance package with you.”

Shae didn’t hear a word he said about the packet, but she must have nodded at the right times, because he continued to explain while she tried desperately to think of some way to save herself. She’d always been able to save herself. Finally he said, “Vera will escort you from the building and be in contact in case you have any questions regarding severance.”

That got through to her. Shae’s head snapped up. “Escort me?” As in, she’d have to walk past Risa and out the door with Vera dogging her?

“Company policy.”

“I need my purse.”

“Vera has already collected your things.” And sure enough, when she walked out of Wallace’s office, the older woman was waiting near Risa’s desk with a cardboard box, Shae’s Dooney & Bourke purse balanced on the top of her other belongings. Shae reached for the box, but Vera stepped back.

“I’ll carry it, dear.”

Shae tilted up her chin, inhaled as she focused on the exit thirty feet away and started walking, wincing a little as her phone began buzzing from inside her purse. Last week it would have been a caterer or florist. This week it was probably her family, checking up on her.

Well, now she had more bad news for them and she had no idea how to tell them.

* * *

JORDAN BRYAN DIDN’T know how much longer he could drive without finding a place to pull over and sleep. His travel partner had been drifting in and out for most of the day, but once it got dark, the poodle had conked out for good.

The poodle.

Go figure.

Once he’d made his mind up to go, Jordan had tried to slip away while the dog was on his neighborhood rounds, but Clyde had come scampering around the Arlington apartment complex at the last minute, skidding to a stop at the curb next to the car, curly head cocked to one side as if to say, Really, man? After all this you’re running out on me?

Yeah, he was. He was running out on everything and nothing. He was running and he couldn’t even say why, except that every day he stayed where he was, doing the mindless job he’d been given, added to his raging sense of unrest.

The dog had then taken it upon himself to trot around the car to the driver’s-side door and jump up, his toenails scratching the metal. Jordan had tried to harden himself, just as he’d hardened himself that morning when he’d abruptly told his supervisor he was leaving his mercy job and wouldn’t be back, but at the last minute he’d opened the door. The homeless poodle had jumped in, scurried across Jordan’s lap and settled himself in the passenger seat as if there’d never been any question of whether or not he’d be going.

Jordan only hoped that the dog knew what he was getting into traveling cross-country in a tiny used Subaru with no air conditioning. He snorted now at the thought and wiped a hand over his tired face, his fingers grazing the numb ridges of the burn scars near his ear before he reached over to turn the volume of the radio up. Hell, he didn’t know what he was getting into—or going back to.

He just hoped Miranda hadn’t screwed him over.

* * *

THE BLACK BUTTE PORTER that Reed had left behind wasn’t working. Shae set the glass on the table and reached for the tequila, pouring a healthy shot before settling back against the teal-blue sofa cushions and staring out across the room. It looked barren without the boxes of wedding favors, her master-plan board...her dress.

The dress was listed on Craigslist for a price she’d never get but was still half of what she’d paid. The favors and master-plan board were in the trash, along with the tasteful ivory invitations embossed with indigo lettering inviting one and all to celebrate the joining of this man and this woman.

Shae socked back the shot and poured another.

She hadn’t heard from Reed in two days, but even if she did, it would just be a courtesy on his part. Whatever they’d had was well and truly over—mainly because she wouldn’t be with a guy who’d done this to her. A little notice might have been nice, before she and her parents had spent a fortune.

Shae reached for the bottle again. She probably should have had a clue that something wasn’t quite right when he’d refused to move in together to save rent after she’d pushed the wedding date back for a second time so she had time to make everything perfect. He hadn’t given a reason, but had said simply, “Let’s wait.” And since he’d seen things her way in all the other matters pertaining to their wedding, she’d agreed. It was only a matter of two months’ rent, and her apartment had been jammed with wedding stuff, anyway.

Tequila dripped onto Shae’s leg as she poured the next shot. At least he’d told her before the invitations had gone out. She’d organized her stunned bridesmaids into a phone tree, except for her stepsister, Liv, of course, who was on her honeymoon.

Liv, who was happily married.

Was she jealous?

Hell, yes.

Shae brought the glass to her lips, coughing as she inhaled the fumes at just the wrong moment. She wrinkled her nose, scowling as the doorbell rang.

What? What now? No doubt someone had just hit and totaled her new car where it was parked on the street. Fully expecting to see either a neighbor or her stepmother, she peered through the peephole to see Mel standing there, still wearing her work clothes.

Shae unlatched the door and pulled it open. Mel shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, shifting her weight uncomfortably.

Silently Shae stepped back, allowing her to come in. Once the door was closed, Mel turned toward her. “I heard the wedding is off.”

“Yep.”

“Were you going to tell me?”

“I was, but then the bad thing happened and I figured Wallace would pass word along,” Shae said, going to sit on the sofa. Mel stayed where she was.

“He did,” she agreed. She nodded at the bottle with the full shot glass sitting next to it on the coffee table. “I see you’re coping.”

“Just numbing the pain for a while. Getting fired came as kind of a shock.”

“Really.”

Since Shae had thought this to be a sympathy visit, Mel’s flat tone surprised her. “Did you know?” she asked candidly.

“That Wallace was letting you go? No. But I understand why it happened.”

Shae studied Mel for a moment, more than a little surprised at the answer. They’d known each other forever, and even though they were polar opposites in many ways, their friendship had remained strong since the first grade. There’d been times when they’d gone their own ways, lived their own lives without a lot of contact, but Shae knew she could count on Mel. Or she had. “Why can you understand it?” Shae asked.

“Because you were living and breathing that wedding. And when Montana Skies signed on for the photo essay, you spent the majority of your time in another world that had nothing to do with the job. Even when you were there, you weren’t there.”

“I did my job,” Shae protested.

“You went through the motions. Gerald and Risa were forever clearing up loose threads you left.”

“They’re my assistants.” And if there was one thing Shae was good at, it was delegating.

“You weren’t doing your part.”

“Well,” Shae said briskly as she got back to her feet. “Thank you so much for stopping by. I feel better now.”

“I’m not here to bury the knife deeper,” Mel said bluntly.

Shae wrinkled her forehead. “Then why does it feel so much like that’s exactly what’s happening?”

Mel sighed. “Pretending you were fired for a bogus reason might make you feel better tonight, but it won’t help in the long run.” She nodded at the bottle. “Are you willing to share, or do you need the whole thing?”

“I’ll let you have a little,” Shae said, getting to her feet and walking into the kitchen. With altitude the tequila had more of an effect. She turned around.

“Maybe you’d better have that shot,” she said pointing at the glass she’d left on the coffee table. Getting drunk out of her mind sounded good in theory, but was the aftermath worth it? Wasn’t she dealing with enough aftermath as it was? “If you’re not afraid of loser germs.”

Mel smirked at her as she reached for the shot and sipped at it. Mel always had been a sipper, very much like Liv, while Shae was a tosser. She liked to have the whole thing. Now.

“Have you told Whitney and Bree and Heather—”

“No,” Shae called from the kitchen, stopping Mel before she could name all seven bridesmaids. She turned on the faucet, filled a glass, thought about what she wanted to say. A moment later she walked back to the doorway, took a sip of water and faced the truth. “I don’t think they’re that anxious to hear from me.” She’d run them hard for over a year. As the plans had escalated, so had their duties, and she had been sensing some rebellion close to the end. Besides that, there was the embarrassment factor. Dumped and fired.

Shae gave a sniff, feeling the ridiculous tears starting to surface. She was not going to fall apart. Not again. “How’d Risa’s presentation go?” she asked as she came to sit beside Mel, who’d barely made a dent in the tequila shot.

“Not so well,” Mel said. “Miranda was there, and you know the effect she has on people.”

“I know the effect she’s had on me,” Shae said darkly. Hearing that Risa had crashed and burned wasn’t as satisfying as it should have been. “And do you know what really fries me? I admired her. I thought that she was a tough, capable businesswoman.” She’d actually thought they were two of a kind, confident go-getters who said what they thought, went after what they wanted.

“I think she still is, Shae.”

Shae hated hearing that. Hated thinking that she’d screwed herself here. Much better to feel the victim...except that Shae never embraced that sort of role. She changed things that needed to be changed until she was happy with them.

How was she going to change this?

“So you’re saying I lost my own job,” she finally said.

“It was like wedding planning possessed you.”

“Planning a wedding is time-consuming and stressful,” Shae said, once again eyeing the tequila bottle.

“I understand, but it was...” Mel made an odd face. “You were...” She shifted her position on the sofa, turning toward Shae with a frown knitting her forehead. “It was like everything had to be beyond perfect—bigger and better than any wedding anyone had ever seen.”

“There’s a problem there?”

“There is if you let the need to be the best rule your life.”

“I like things to be...nice.”

“Over-the-top nice.” Mel exhaled and settled back against the cushions. “I’m just trying to point out what got you into this trouble. And until the wedding plans began, you poured that energy into the job, which was why Miranda loved you. And Gerald and Risa hated you.”

“Gee. Thanks so much.”

“You know it’s true,” Mel said. “And you know it doesn’t bother you that they resent you.”

“Touché.”

“Do you have any leads for jobs?”

“I’ve only been fired for a matter of hours.”

“Are you telling me you don’t already have a plan?”

“I have a list of firms to cold-call,” Shae admitted before sipping the water again. “I’ve posted my résumé on the job-search sites.” Her mouth tilted down at the corners. “I want my old job back. I liked it. And Mel, I was ten months away from being vested in retirement. Ten months!”

Mel reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “If you need a reference, I can give you one.”

“Meaning Wallace won’t?”

“I don’t know. Depends on Miranda.”

“Yeah.” Shae pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment. She’d get past this. Mel finally finished off the shot and set the glass on the table.

“I have a study session. Are you going to be all right here? Because I can cancel and stay.”

“Don’t do that,” Shae said. She would have liked the company, but she was beginning to think some alone time wouldn’t be bad, either. She’d had enough hard truths for one night.

Mel picked up her purse, then gestured to the tequila bottle. “Maybe you should do yourself a favor after I leave...pour the rest of that bottle down the sink.”

Shae flashed her friend a frown. Damned if she was pouring good tequila down the sink. Shae picked up the bottle, putting the stopper back in and pressing it down hard before handing it to Mel. “If it makes you feel better, take custody. I really need to be alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. I want you to stay and tell me about how I had my head up my ass for months.”

Mel smiled. “Call if you need me?”

Shae closed her eyes. Mel was the best friend she’d ever had. And the most sensible. Maybe this was the time to tell her that her head had been where the sun didn’t shine, while she was still reeling from shock. That way it didn’t ruin yet another day. “I’ll call,” she said. “Will you be available to answer? I know how you are when you study.”

“I’ll leave the phone on.” She gave Shae a quick hug. “Call.”

“I will.”

Once Mel’s footsteps faded into the distance, the apartment was too quiet. So quiet that the lack of sound seemed to press in on her. Where were the noisy neighbors when she needed them?

The phone rang then, the vibration making it dance on the glass coffee table. Shae glanced at the number. Vivian calling for the second time since hearing Shae’s most recent bad news. Shae wanted to ignore the call, but if she did, her stepmother would be there knocking on the door, probably with her father in tow.

The phone rang again. One more ring and it would go to voice mail....

Taking a deep breath and suddenly regretting the lack of readily available tequila, Shae picked up the phone, forced a smile and said hello. Her father’s voice, heavy with concern, answered her.

“Shae, honey. We’re in Missoula and Vivian wants to stop by, if it’s not too late.”

In Missoula? At this hour?

“Dad, I’d love to see you,” Shae said. There was no way she could turn them away after they’d obviously driven in from their home a good hour away.

“We’re right outside. I thought it might be too late, but we passed Mel as we turned into the cul-de-sac.”

“Come on in,” Shae said, picking up the shot glass and carrying to the dishwasher, where she popped it in out of sight. “See you in a few.”

She hung up, raced into the bathroom and quickly gargled some mouthwash. If Vivian thought she was drowning her sorrows, no telling what steps she’d take. Seconds later the doorbell rang.

Vivian hovered for a moment, then said, “I can’t help it,” and threw her arms around Shae. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

Shae tried to smile as she gently eased out of Vivian’s embrace and then hugged her father.

“I called around,” her father said. “Checked with some buddies to see if they’ve heard of any openings. No luck yet, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.”

“The problem is the real-estate market,” Vivian lamented, taking Shae’s hand and leading her to the sofa.

“I know,” Shae replied gamely.

“Of course, we’ll help you with the bills until you get back on your feet,” her father said. Shae started to say thank you, but he held up a hand. “No arguments.”

“I appreciate that,” Shae said. The bills were her big concern at the moment. She’d charged an entire trousseau and had yet to see the final damages. And then there were the living expenses, which were going to catch up with her soon, since she’d been living paycheck to paycheck, spending every dime she had, as well as several dimes she didn’t have, on the wedding. “I’ll pay you back, of course.”

“Of course,” Vivian said, shooting a glance toward her husband that Shae couldn’t quite interpret. “Whenever you can.”

Her father sat down on the sofa, pulling a list out of his jacket pocket. “Here are the guys I contacted for you. You should check back in with them periodically. Several of them owe me favors. The ones without check marks are people I couldn’t get hold of.”

Shae stared down at the list, a bit overwhelmed. Her parents were in full rescue mode, and even though a small voice inside her protested, it was soon overpowered by logic and necessity. These were her parents. This was what they did, and Shae wasn’t about to stop them.

CHAPTER TWO

JORDAN MADE IT as far as Wisconsin before trouble struck in the form of a faulty alternator. Since it was impossible to travel without headlights, he’d stopped in the first town he’d hit at dusk. On a Saturday evening. When no garages were open, or even due to be open, until Monday.

The first night he’d slept in his car in a campground, putting the seat down to open up the cargo space and make just enough room for him to almost stretch out. The second night he thought, Screw it, and rented the cheapest motel room he could find, smuggled Clyde in and settled for the night. Less than three hours later he woke up fighting, his breath coming in short, painful gasps, his body covered with sweat.

Shoving the tangled sheets aside, Jordan stumbled out of bed, his head swimming as he regained his feet.

Whoa, shit.

Jordan wiped the sweat off first his forehead and then his upper lip with what was left of his now-healed hand, feeling the unwelcome scrape of overly dry skin across his damp face. He paced to the window and stopped, staring at the brown plaid drapes. Clyde shadowed his movement, keeping a distance away, as if not wanting to crowd him.

The dog understood.

Jordan tried to clear his throat, found it impossible on the first try. He hadn’t cried out. Usually he woke up yelling, but not this time. This time he’d felt as if he was drowning. Suffocating as water filled his lungs.

What the hell?

He turned away from the window, scrubbing both hands over his face. It’d been months since he’d had a nightmare, months since he’d cautiously weaned himself off the prazosin, which had been prescribed to help him deal with the symptoms of post-traumatic stress and had stopped the dreams cold.

There was no point in going back to bed, so Jordan slumped down into the uncomfortable armchair next to the window and stared into space until Clyde jumped up into his lap.

The dream had to be stress related. The alternator. The trip home. Having no means of support except for his disability check. All of his instincts were still urging him to go back to Montana. He needed to go home.

But since his dad was dead, what was he going home to?

The question had niggled at him more than once on the drive and he had no answer to it. Maybe it was because the High Camp, the remote ranch he and his dad had co-owned, was one of the few places where he’d felt a modicum of peace after Miranda had come into his life; it was the one thing she hadn’t poisoned. Not that she hadn’t tried. When he’d proposed to Becky Christopher just before he’d gone into the service, Miranda was the one who’d suggested that he and his father create a formal lease, so that Hank could continue to farm the land if something happened to Jordan and Becky inherited. She’d referred to Jordan’s possible demise so often that he’d gone overseas with the distinct feeling that Miranda hoped something did happen to him.

Well, Miranda had gotten her wish shortly after Becky had called it quits—and he was still suspicious about Miranda’s influence with his former fiancée. Something bad had happened to Jordan, but he hadn’t died. His father had, so now he owned the place outright and there wasn’t one freaking thing she could do about it.

It took three days to get the alternator repaired, then Jordan made it as far as North Dakota before finally pulling off the highway and following the frontage road until he found a gravel lane leading off into the hills. He followed it for a ways, then pulled off. Clyde woke up as he slowed to a stop and they both stepped outside to pee before once again making themselves as comfortable as possible in the Subaru. Jordan debated before reaching for the bottle of pills in his jacket pocket. He’d hate himself in the morning when he couldn’t wake up, but he’d hate himself more if he woke up in a cold sweat gasping for air in an hour or two. He’d wait until he got home, then wean himself off the pills once again.

* * *

SHAE CLOSED HER apartment door and let her designer bag drop to the floor with a thud. Would it have killed any of the people she’d cold-called to give her a smidgen of encouragement?

Apparently so, because even the people she knew well—come to think of it, especially the people she knew well—had been pretty damned blunt about the possibility of employment. True, her firm had been unique, combining real estate and guest-ranch management together, but as far as she could see, that gave her experience in two fields, which should have doubled the job opportunities. Not so. Three days of looking and not much hope. Meanwhile, bills for things she’d forgotten buying had started trickling in. She needed to find a job before the trickle became a flood.

The way people had reacted to her cold calls, even the ones on her father’s list, made her wonder if word of why she’d been let go had spread through the small real-estate community. Had Miranda blackballed her?

And if so, why? It wasn’t as though she’d done anything heinous.

Shae reached into the fridge to pull out her last bottle of chardonnay. She’d just started working on the cork when a knock sounded on her door.

Opportunity, perhaps?

Her mouth twisted as she pulled the cork before abandoning the bottle and crossing the living room to look through the peephole. Her younger brother, Brant, stood on the other side.

Shae opened the door and without hesitation walked into her brother’s arms, hugging him close. His arms closed around her and for a moment they just stood. The last time Shae could remember him hugging her was when she’d lost the Miss Rodeo Montana crown by one and a half points. She’d needed moral support then and she needed it now.

“How was Texas?” she asked as she eased out of his embrace.

“Flat and humid, but I won some money.” He pulled off his hat as he walked into her apartment. “I hear you’ve had some life changes since Liv’s wedding.”

Shae nodded as she closed the door behind him. “Want a beer?” she asked.

“You know I do.” He put his hat on the table, then took a seat on the sofa while Shae went to the fridge.

“Is Black Butte okay?” she called. She had two bottles left and once those were gone, yet another reminder of her three-year relationship with Reed would be history. After that she never wanted to see another bottle of Black Butte Porter again.

“Fine,” he called. She popped the top on the beer, poured herself a glass of chardonnay—although at this point in the day she could have easily chugged from the bottle—and brought both out into the living room. Brant took the beer from her, lifting it in a salute as he always did when they drank together. Shae did the same, glad that he didn’t feel the need to toast anything in particular. What could she toast right now? Here’s to all the sucky things that are happening?

“Want to talk?” her brother asked.

“No,” she said candidly. “But I will.” She took a sip of wine, which was sweeter than she liked, but adequate for helping her through yet another recital of how her life had gone so terribly wrong. “I got dumped and lost my job.”

Brant looked at her over the top of the bottle. “Anything else?”

“I can’t find another job?” She sank back farther into the sofa cushions, staring across the room. “Bills I’d forgotten I had are starting to pile up?”

“What happened with your old job?”

“Reduction in force.”

“I didn’t think you were lowest in seniority.”

“I’m not sure how they picked who got canned.”

She shot him a sideways glance and could tell that he didn’t believe her, but he let it pass. “So how’s the...wedding canceling going?” he asked.

“Not good. I’ve lost all of the deposits. Reed paid for his half, though.” Brant nodded over his beer and there was something in the way he was studying her that seemed...off. “Vivian is really upset, as you can imagine. She’s put a lot into this.”

“Yes, she has,” Brant said slowly, and Shae’s radar kicked up a notch.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Brant met her gaze dead-on, his expression solemn. “Don’t take any money from Vivian and Dad, okay?”

“What?” Shae asked, startled at the unexpected request.

“If you need money to tide you over, come to me, but not them. I know they’ll offer—it’s the way they are—but don’t take it.”

Shae closed her eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t take their money.” She thought of the check from her dad that was nestled in the bottom of her purse, the godsend she’d hoped to live on while she found a decent job, because the way things were looking, eight weeks of severance wasn’t going to cut it. Not if she was going to keep making her car payment.

“Shae...you always land on your feet. You know you will this time, too. I’ll help.”

Her eyes snapped open and for a moment she simply stared at him, stunned. Really? He thought it was that easy? She’d just jump to her feet, dust herself off and carry on?

“I know no such thing.”

“Tell me a time you haven’t.”

“Brant...maybe you don’t quite get what is going on here. My fiancé walked out on me six weeks before the wedding I’ve been planning for almost two years. Then my boss fired me—”

“I’m here for you, honestly I am. But Shae...I don’t know if you realize how much you depend on other people to bail you out of your problems.”

Again she stared at him, a slow burn starting deep inside of her. “First Mel and now you. Why are you adding fuel to the fire?”

“What?”

“Mel stopped by the day I was fired to tell me it was my fault, and now...” She didn’t finish because there was no need. He knew where she was going with this. “Why are you doing this?”

Brant considered for a moment, then said, “Because it’s something that needs to be said. And it’s time.”

“It’s time. Now while I’m down is the time to give me another swift kick?”

“No. I’m not trying to kick you while you’re down.” He set down the beer and slid across the sofa to sit next to her, his voice earnest as he said, “If you need a loan, I’m happy to give it to you. Just...don’t take anything more from Vivian and Dad, okay? They’ve dipped into their retirement for your wedding and they don’t need to be dipping again.”

Shae’s head was starting to throb. “I’ll pay them back,” she muttered, putting a hand to her forehead. “They insisted that I take it. I told Dad that Reed and I were paying for everything, but he insisted on helping with my half. He said it was his duty as a father.”

“And maybe,” Brant said softly, “Since you knew they were trying to save for retirement, it was your duty as a daughter to say no.”

She set her wineglass down abruptly, sloshing chardonnay over the glass tabletop. “I care about my family,” she said.

“Yeah, I know, Shae. But do you think about us?”

“Yes.” Shae pressed a hand to her forehead. “Yes, I do. I’ve just... The wedding... Crap!”

Brant reached out to pull her hand away from her head and held on for a moment. “Like I said, Shae, I’m here for you. It’s a rough time. If you need to depend on someone, depend on me.”

Shae pulled her hand out of her brother’s and reached for her wine. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer.” But at that moment she was pretty damned sure that she wasn’t going to depend on anyone to bail her out of her problems.

Brant hung around long enough to finish his beer and reiterate his offer of help, then took off to meet his girlfriend, Sara, for dinner.

Shae waited only a few minutes after he left to get on the phone and call Wallace—at home—and request a face-to-face meeting.

“I need closure,” she said.

“Closure?”

“And to talk.”

“Shae...”

“Please? I can come in early before anyone gets there. Or I could meet you at a coffee shop.” She swallowed drily. Begging was so not her thing, but neither was feeling this desperate. She picked up a Macy’s bill—the one she’d been afraid to open—then dropped it back down on the counter. “Ten minutes. I’ve gone the extra mile for you, Wallace. Please.”

“You haven’t gone the extra mile during the last year, but...” Shae bit her lip, held her breath. “Ten minutes. At the coffee shop across the street.”

“Thank you.”

Shae hung up, feeling as if she might have a toehold. Wallace had always had a soft spot for her. Maybe...just maybe...

* * *

“I’M NOT GIVING you your job back, Shae.” At the last minute Wallace had called and asked her to meet him at the office after hours, which had made Shae hopeful that perhaps he was reconsidering. He was, after all, allowing her back on the premises, and he’d seemed more human than the last time she’d spoken to him.

Now that he’d made his proclamation, Shae wasn’t feeling one bit hopeful, but she had him there and she wasn’t giving up this easily.

“Not even in a probationary capacity?” Wallace picked up the pencil lying on top of a pile of spreadsheets, looked at it instead of at her. “It was Miranda who made the decision to let you go. I went over the performance evaluations with her, but it was obvious from the beginning that she’d already decided you were the one going.”

That stung. “I don’t understand. Why me? It isn’t like I was slacking off while she was around, and you gave me a satisfactory evaluation.”

“That,” Wallace said pointedly, “was a gift. And—” he tapped the pencil again “—she didn’t need to be at the office to see you.”

“Meaning?”

“The cameras.”

Shae’s heart jumped. “She’s using them?” The cameras had come with the building when the company had first moved in four years ago and as far as she—or anyone she worked with—knew, they’d never been turned on. Well, guess again.

“I did my job,” she said stiffly.

“And a lot of other stuff.”

“I didn’t think a phone call here and there would matter.”

“It did, and it was more than a few phone calls, Shae. Miranda’s not happy, and she’s making an example of you.”

Shae let her head fall back. “A little warning would have been nice.”

“I dropped some hints.”

“When?” Shae asked, perplexed. Wallace pressed his fingers to his forehead as if staving off a headache and she abandoned the topic. “What about the good things I’ve done? Before the wedding plans,” she added quickly. “What about the Tuscan Canyon Ranch? I put most of that purchase agreement together. I found the property, which wasn’t even for sale, if you remember right, and matched it to the perfect client. We made a great commission and then we got the management contract on top of that!”

“You’re good, Shae, when you focus.”

“And I will focus. The wedding... I let it get out of hand.” It was finally starting to sink in just how far out of hand she’d allowed it to go.

“But what if something else comes up?”

“I’ve learned my lesson.”

Wallace gave her a doubtful look. “I’m not certain that would reassure Miranda.”

Shae leaned forward, placing her palm flat on the desk. “I made a mistake. I can change. I need a job.”

“Then you should have taken care with the one you had.”

“And that’s that?” she asked softly.

“Afraid so, Shae.”

It can’t end this way.

“Sorry,” Wallace said.

“Yeah.” Shae got to her feet, gave him a faint smile mustered from the need to hold on to a few shreds of her dignity, then turned to go, her stomach so tight she felt as if she was going to throw up. She was almost to the door when she glanced at the aerial map on the wall, then stopped. She slowly turned back, wondering if Wallace had indeed shrunk back in his seat as he met her speculative gaze or if she’d imagined it. “What about this?” she asked, pointing at the faded fluorescent-pink circle drawn around a mountain property.

“What about it?” Wallace asked slowly.

“Remember how Miranda was slated to sell it, but found out she couldn’t?”

“Vividly,” Wallace said. The sale had fallen through after she’d discovered she was not the sole heir to the place and apparently had been unable to hammer out a deal with her stepson, the other heir.

Shae was not surprised. Her own dealings with Jordan Bryan, brief as they’d been, had not gone well, either.

“But what if it made her some money while it was sitting there?”

“How so?” Wallace asked, his pale eyes narrowing, but Shae saw a spark of interest there.

“What if I could shape it into a guest ranch? Miranda has the operating rights.” A fact she’d gleaned from office gossip and speculation after the sale fell through. “Why not use them?”

“Have you seen the place, Shae?”

“Mel and I went there once during college to collect a horse she’d bought from Miranda’s husband. So yes, I’ve seen it.”

“And how did it strike you?”

“Isolated. Run-down.” Shae had excitement in her voice as she said, “But there were cabins there that the family had rented to miners during the gold strikes. Think how cool it would be if those could be refurbished. And there were quite a few other buildings, if I recall.”

Wallace looked over his shoulder, as if checking for a camera or perhaps a recording device, before leaning across his desk to say in a low voice, “If it had any moneymaking potential, don’t you think she would have thought about that?”

“Not if it’s isolated and run-down.” Shae pointed to the map. “Look—it’s surrounded by Forest Service land. Perfect for riding. Fishing. But in a more—” she smiled slightly as a thought struck her “—manly environment than at Miranda’s other two ranches.” Both of which were sprawling properties with rich histories as working cattle ranches. Lots of little niceties included in the vacation package. Spas, babysitting, crafts classes for kids, riding lessons.

“Manly.”

Shae walked back to his desk, plans already taking shape in her head. “Yes, manly. A more rugged experience. Not for sissies, that kind of marketing. Kind of a one-percenter ranch.”

Wallace shook his head. She could see he was intrigued, but didn’t want to admit it, so she gave one more small push.

“Come on...it’s a great idea. Run it by Miranda.”

“It’s not bad,” he agreed grudgingly. “She’ll probably give the project to someone else if I pass it along—like, say, someone who works here?”

“I’ll contract the job for eighty percent of my previous salary,” Shae said, “for three months. I’ll evaluate the property, make recommendations for renovations, handle any permitting nightmares. I’d hand her a finished product for less salary than she’d pay a regular employee.”

“And if you succeed...?”

“It would put me in a position to discuss getting my old job back. I heard that Risa’s not doing as well as hoped.”

Wallace fiddled with the pencil he held, then exhaled slowly, his breath fluttering the spreadsheets in front of him. “I’ll run it by her. No promises.”

“None asked,” Shae said feeling a faint welling of confidence. If she could get this second chance, it meant she could stay on her career path. And more than that, maybe she could prove she wasn’t the loser that everyone apparently thought she was. Rebuild one or two of those bridges she’d obliviously burned.

* * *

WHEN JORDAN LEFT home to join the military, he’d told himself he wasn’t coming back—at least not as long as Miranda was in the picture—and the Subaru was doing its best to help him keep his promise. He’d ended up staying three nights in Miles City just after crossing the Montana border, waiting for yet another repair part. And even though he was in Montana and had a deep appreciation for the rolling hills in this part of the state, it wasn’t his part of the state. In some ways he felt as foreign here as he had in Virginia.

Maybe that was why he spent all of his time in the motel, leaving only to walk Clyde or to get a cheap meal. Or maybe he’d hidden out because he was still raw when it came to people staring at him, studying the burns and what remained of the fingers of his left hand. He’d never liked being the center of attention and now people couldn’t help but notice him.

He’d gone one night without taking a pill and had been slammed with another nightmare. After that he’d taken the pills every night. He had enough for three more weeks and he hoped that once he was at the High Camp, he’d be able to work his way past the dreams again...and past the cavernous emptiness that seemed to be enveloping him.

Was he ever going to get a grip?

Once upon a time he’d thought he was. The PTSD therapy had worked so well that Jordan had come to believe that his principal scars were the physical ones. Now he wasn’t so sure...and it scared him.

He’d put all that time and effort into therapy, gone through the accompanying emotional trauma, and what had it gotten him? A six-month reprieve. No—make that four months. For the last two he’d been fighting against the insidious backslide.

The thing that scared him most was that he had no idea what had triggered the backslide, the feelings of emptiness and uselessness. One day he was doing fine and the next...the next he felt overwhelmed. Trapped, yet at the same time drifting.

So now he was following his gut and doing therapy his way. He was going home.

* * *

DRIVING THE AUDI to the High Camp had been a mistake. It was a sturdy car, but parts of the road leading to the mountain ranch were rougher than Shae had anticipated. She carefully maneuvered her baby through a long stretch of six-inch-deep ruts, wincing at the sound of branches scraping the sides of the car, before easing back into the center of the track when the road once again smoothed out.

Shae let out a breath and loosened her death grip on the steering wheel. Scratches on the Audi were not the end of the world—she could afford to have them buffed out when she completed this contract.

A small smile played on her lips. This contract. She had a contract. Her impromptu proposal had worked. Almost as soon as Wallace ran her idea past Miranda, the ball had started rolling. Early Friday morning she’d been summoned back to the office to meet with Miranda herself.

Shae went into the meeting determined to prove herself and thirty minutes later the deal had been struck—a two-month contract at 70 percent of her former salary, instead of the 80 percent she’d suggested. At the end of that time, she was to have a complete proposal worked up, ready to put into place the next spring. If Miranda approved the proposal, then she’d oversee renovations and implement small-group beta test runs of all activities. After that...no promises.

Typical Miranda. But Shae had left feeling good—about the job ahead of her and about Miranda, who’d explained quite candidly why she’d let Shae go. Shae had to admit that given the same circumstances, she might have done the same thing. The job, whatever it might be, came first now, and, as Mel had pointed out when Shae called her with the good news, if she could get this project up and running, it would be gold on a résumé. She could see the presentation portfolio in her head—before and after pictures of the ranch she was about to rehabilitate on a shoestring budget. Smiling guests with big fish. A guy holding the horns of a trophy buck. A big campfire with manly men sitting around it laughing.

Good stuff.

But first she had to make it happen.

First she had to get there.

Shae rolled to a stop at the windfall tree across the road. Excellent. Getting out of the car, she walked to the tree, nudging it with the toe of her boot. Sturdy as a rock. There was no way she was going to move it.

She turned and looked at the road she’d just driven up. The trees had grown so close to the edge that it was going to be impossible to turn around, so she had two choices—drive the car in reverse down the road or walk on. It was the thought of backing around those ruts that convinced her. Not that backing around them would be any easier later in the day, but at least she would have completed the first step of her mission—to reconnoiter the abandoned ranch. As per Miranda’s suggestion, she planned to eventually live there during the renovation. It was, after all, almost forty miles from Missoula, and five of those miles were on unpaved roads—not exactly an easy day trip. She definitely needed to know what was necessary to live there comfortably and since she’d come this far, there was no sense turning back now.

* * *

THE SUBARU RATTLED as it bumped over the cattle guard at the bottom of High Camp road, the familiar sound something Jordan had never thought about missing until now. Home. He was almost home, close to a place where he could hole up and let the world go about its business and forget about him. He would return the favor.

“Almost there,” he said. Clyde bounced up to a sitting position, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he watched the scenery roll slowly past. A rabbit darted across the road and the poodle practically hit the windshield in excitement.

Clyde was going to be a busy dog when they got to the ranch.

Jordan wondered what kind of shape the house was in. It’d been six years since he’d last seen the place; over a year since his father, who’d hayed the meadows and used the ranch as a hunting retreat for his buddies, had died. Jordan had no idea if his cousin Cole had done anything more than close the door.

Would it be full of mice?

Or just full of memories? He wasn’t certain which one would be worse. He figured he could check the place out, sleep in the Subaru one more night if necessary, then head to Missoula to get what he needed to make the place livable.

Less than a quarter mile up the road, the gravel thinned to bare dirt in places and he could see fresh tire tracks. Narrow car tracks rather than truck tracks. Who, other than him, would drive a car up this road? There was only one set of tracks—going in—so apparently he would soon find out.

Company. Great.

It had to be someone sightseeing or berry picking. People tended to explore the woods during the summer months—and apparently ignore the Private Road sign next to the cattle guard—so that made sense. Ironic that he came here to escape people and it appeared that the first thing he was going to have to do was kick someone off his property.

“I’ll be nice,” he muttered to the dog, who had edged closer to him as the road grew more rutted and the trees closed in, pressing his firm, warm body against Jordan’s side. Whoever had driven up the road hadn’t been deterred by the ever-deepening ruts. He was actually glad to see the ruts, since it meant that no one had been traveling the road regularly. It was his property, but he didn’t trust Miranda. He wasn’t even certain he could trust his cousin, Cole, who’d thrown in with his stepmother when she’d coerced his dad, Jordan’s uncle, to turn their ranch into a working dude ranch to make more money. Miranda did love money.

He rounded a sharp corner, then stopped. Ahead of him an expensive Audi was parked with its bumper practically touching the tree lying across the road. What the hell? An Audi? Really?

Jordan opened the car door and was instantly struck by the strong, familiar smell of pines and bracken and damp Montana earth. Something else he’d missed without even being aware of it.

“Stay here,” he said to the dog, who jumped back over the console to his side of the car at the command, obediently plopping his butt down in the passenger seat. Jordan closed the door, wondering not for the first time if the poodle understood English.

The Audi was locked and empty except for a leather briefcase and two map tubes in the backseat. Odd, to say the least. Jordan stepped away from the car, his eyes narrowing as he slowly surveyed his surroundings, looking for signs of movement in the brush or on the road past the tree. Nothing except for Clyde bouncing up and down in the Subaru.

Cool. Well, until he got a chain saw, this tree was staying where it was and there was nothing he could do except to walk on to the ranch. He went back to the car, found Clyde’s leash and settled his hat on his head, more than a little curious as to where the driver of the Audi was.

After crossing over the tree, Jordan put Clyde on the ground, where he raced around on the leash, sometimes getting jerked back if something particularly interesting caught his urban eye. And every now and again Jordan spotted footprints heading in the same direction as they were going—those of a smallish female wearing some kind of heeled boots. Not cowboy boots, but probably something along that line, which made him wonder if this person was part of Miranda’s crew, up here doing a monthly check or something.

That would be nice...but unlikely. Miranda didn’t like him enough to check on his property in his absence. Hell, she hadn’t even contacted him once while he’d been recovering in the burn unit. She’d probably hoped he’d die and then she’d have everything, instead of almost everything.

One last turn in the road and first the ancient barn, then the almost-as-ancient house, came into view. Jordan slowed down and then stopped. Damn. It looked the same as when he’d left—from a distance, anyway—but he was not overwhelmed by any kind of sense of at long last being home. In fact the scene struck him as being very much like an old photograph—a place he’d once loved, but could never go back to because it was lost to time.

Physically the ranch was still there, but while surveying the familiar scene Jordan instinctively knew that it would never feel the same as it had before he’d left. His dad was dead. Miranda lived on. All this ranch could be to him now was a sanctuary, a way to escape from the world and heal. The old times were gone, never to be recovered.

And he could live with that.

Hell, he had to live with that. He hadn’t exactly ingratiated himself to his superiors when he’d abruptly quit his job, so this was his future. Now all he had to do was figure out who was there horning in on his future.

As he got closer to the house, Clyde started pressing against his leg, as if sensing trouble ahead. The door to the house was wide-open and Jordan caught sight of movement inside.

Time for introductions and explanations.

He walked up onto the old porch, the thick boards echoing hollowly under his boots.

The woman he’d seen moving inside the house, oblivious to his approach, swung around at the sound of his footsteps, taking an immediate defensive stance as if she fully planned to take him out with a karate chop or something, her eyes wide.

Jordan stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of her.

No. Way.

The rodeo queen? Something else he’d held in his brain without realizing it: the memory of high-and-mighty Shae McArthur’s face—living proof that beauty was only skin-deep. There’d never been one thing about her that he’d liked during the years they’d been on the rodeo team together...except for maybe that time she’d come onto him. He’d enjoyed her utterly shocked expression when he’d turned her down cold. She’d needed to be knocked off her high horse and he’d been glad to do the job. Literally, in fact.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Shae blinked as he spoke, letting her hands drop a few inches. He could see when recognition kicked in, followed almost immediately by a look of horror. Of course. Beauty and the Beast. Face-to-face. As he recalled, Shae wasn’t too fond of the imperfect. Nothing but the best for her.

“Good to see you, too, Jordan,” she said huskily.

He walked into the musty-smelling living room, stopping to rest his good hand, the one holding Clyde’s leash, on his hip. He purposely used his damaged left hand to rub his jaw, watching Shae’s eyes as she took in the stubs of fingers he’d lost to shrapnel before the flash had burned his back and face. “You’re working for Cedar Creek Ranch?”

She cleared her throat, but her voice was still husky when she said, “Yes.”

“But you’re here, not there.”

“I am,” she agreed. “Is Miranda expecting you?”

“Not unless she’s a mind reader.”

“You should have called her,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because if you plan to stay here, it isn’t going to work out.”

CHAPTER THREE

“LIKE HELL IT WON’T work out,” Jordan said through gritted teeth.

Shae tore her fascinated gaze away from his scars and met his eyes. This was bad in so many ways that she couldn’t begin to count them. Jordan, the long-lost stepson—the reason Miranda couldn’t sell the property in the first place as she’d wanted to—showed up now? Why? And where on earth had he been? Judging from his injuries, wherever it was, it hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

“What happened to you?” she asked in a low voice, figuring there was no reason to pretend he hadn’t changed since the last time she’d seen him.

She had a feeling he was going to say something smart-ass such as, “Cut myself shaving,” but instead he said simply, “Explosion.”

“Must have been bad.” Her gaze drifted back to the scarred part of his face and then on to his damaged ear.

“Worse than you can imagine.”

His emphasis led Shae to think she’d probably been insulted, but she didn’t much care. Scars aside, Shae had forgotten how fierce Jordan Bryan could look when crossed. She’d only crossed him once back when they’d been in rodeo, and that once had been enough. Flirtation had been wasted on the man. The one time she’d tried...well, she’d never bothered trying again.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated.

“I have a contract to work on the place.”

“Why would you be working on my place?”

“Your place?”

“Shit.” He rubbed his injured hand over his face again and Shae couldn’t help staring at it, her insides clenching at the sight of the twisted, shiny skin. She hoped no signs of disgust crossed her face, but she couldn’t be certain. At the moment she was having a difficult time processing everything—the man, the injuries, the possible consequences to her employment contract.

“She’s at the ranch?” he asked abruptly.

Shae swallowed and met his eyes. Deep blue eyes, filled with cold, cold anger. “Miranda? I don’t know.”

He turned without another word and walked out the door, the curly white dog trotting daintily behind him. An odd picture, but Shae was in no mood to reflect on why a guy like Jordan Bryan would be here with a poodle. She stayed where she was, next to the map tubes she’d placed on the dusty oak table, watching through the open door until she saw Jordan disappear down the road.

Once she was certain he was gone, Shae stepped out onto the porch, squeezing her forehead with one hand to stave off the headache that was starting to build. The prodigal had returned at the most inopportune moment and it appeared that Miranda was in for one hell of a rude awakening.

She couldn’t let that happen. Not if she wanted to keep her job.

Shae went back into the house and picked up her backpack, leaving the map tubes where they lay. There was no way she’d be able to reach her car before Jordan reached his, but she could follow a few miles behind him to the highway and call Miranda once she got into cell-phone range. She needed to warn her boss that trouble was coming.

* * *

BLOOD POUNDED IN Jordan’s temples as he stalked down the rutted road, barely aware of Clyde struggling to keep up with his long strides. The Subaru keys were in his hand, held so tightly that he was pretty damned certain there’d be a permanent imprint in his palm, but he didn’t relax his grip.

Miranda Bryan had just officially screwed with his life once too often and she was going to be one sorry woman when he caught up with her. He swallowed drily as he rounded the last corner before the windfall. Just a few more minutes to the car, then forty-five minutes to the ranch. Once there he knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to throttle her.

Oh, damn, yeah. He was going to put his hands around her neck and— Jordan exhaled sharply, feeling his short nails dig even deeper into his palm —go to jail for assault, no doubt, once her henchmen pulled him off her.

That would solve everything—for her.

Shit. What was he doing, heading off half-cocked like this, blinded by rage? More than that, what was he thinking? Throttling Miranda wasn’t the answer. Nor was having a shouting match with her at the ranch, where she could have him arrested for trespassing.

Jordan forced himself to stop in the middle of the narrow road and release the death grip on the keys. Slowly his cramped fingers obeyed. And then he drew in a long breath and exhaled again as his head bent forward and he pressed his injured hand against his forehead.

Think. Think hard. Don’t let her gain control.

The ranch was his. Miranda hadn’t inherited her husband’s share of the common tenancy Jordan had shared with his father and he had the papers to prove it. He’d been the sole heir of the High Camp. So what the hell? Something was very wrong here.

Was she actively working on his ranch because she was so certain he was never coming back?

Was she that ballsy?

A definite yes to the latter, as he knew from personal experience, but Miranda was also careful, which concerned him.

No, it chilled him. Miranda did not leave i’s undotted and t’s uncrossed. If she was working on the High Camp, she felt safe doing so, and Jordan needed to find out why. And he had to be careful as to how he did it.

He crouched down and stroked the dog’s curly head, the corners of his mouth lifting in spite of himself as the poodle laid his chin on Jordan’s knee and stared up at him, his expression clearly indicating that he didn’t know what was going on, but whatever it was, he had Jordan’s back.

Jordan scooped the dog up and stood, holding the sturdy little animal to his chest, feeling better knowing he was not alone. Miranda was not taking over his property as she’d taken over everything else Jordan held dear. But before he did anything, he needed to find out what in the hell was going on. He could think of only one person who could help him—if the guy was still alive.

* * *

“IS MIRANDA AT THE RANCH?” Shae demanded the second time the guest-ranch receptionist, who’d identified herself as Ashley, tried to put her off. “Because this is an emergency and I need to talk to her.”

“What kind of emergency?” Ashley asked in an ultraefficient tone that made Shae want to shake her.

“The kind where you’ll get fired if you don’t let Miranda know I’m on the phone. Now!”

“I don’t know where she is,” the girl snapped. She abruptly stopped, as if hearing the tone she’d been taking, and when she spoke again, she was once more the picture of überefficiency. Miranda, unfortunately, trained her help well. “Her car is here,” Ashley said, “but she’s not in the house. Sometimes she goes riding with the guests.”

“Call her cell.”

“The trails are no-cell zones,” the girl said primly.

“Is there a manager? Someone I can talk to?”

“The housekeeper. Everyone else is out working.”

Shae glanced at her watch. She’d be there in half an hour. She figured Jordan was at least fifteen minutes ahead of her.

“Look. There’s a guy who might show up. Her stepson. And he’s not in a good mood. If I were you, I’d tell him that Miranda isn’t there. You got that? Miranda isn’t there.”

“But if he’s her stepson—”

“They don’t get along,” Shae said from between gritted teeth. “If you see Miranda before I get there, have her call me. Shae. And you might tell the manager or any other burly guys hanging around that there could be trouble. Understand?”

“Y-yes.”

Finally she’d gotten through. “Thank you.” Shae punched the end button and dropped the phone onto the console, pressing down on the accelerator, hoping she’d done the right thing. If Jordan showed up and was the picture of politeness, she was going to look stupid, but somehow she didn’t see that happening. Not if he was in the same temper he’d been in when he’d abruptly left the ranch house.

So what was she going to do once she arrived at the ranch?

As if she had a clear idea. It wasn’t that she particularly liked Miranda, but she didn’t want to see her ambushed.

And you don’t want the chance to get back your job screwed up.

Yeah. That, too.

So whatever was going down, she wanted to do what she could to salvage the situation. She just hoped she somehow got there before Jordan and didn’t walk in on a battle royal.

* * *

THE WEATHERED SHINGLE identifying Emery Anderson as an attorney-at-law still hung beneath the beat-up mailbox on Pole Line Road, five miles from the Cedar Creek Ranch. Jordan parked next to a late-model pickup truck and cracked the windows open so that Clyde could get some air while he talked with his father’s lawyer and friend.

Or at least he’d been a friend until Miranda entered the scene.

Miranda hadn’t liked Hank to spend too much time with people other than herself. Jordan’s mouth thinned as he opened the rear door and pulled out the small lockbox. He slammed the door shut and was heading toward the walk when the door opened and an older man stepped out onto the porch. Emery wasn’t dead, but his deeply lined face indicated that he’d lived every one of his seventy-nine years. His hair had thinned to practically nothing and he’d lost at least fifteen pounds since the last time Jordan had seen him, but his white handlebar mustache was as gloriously full and carefully groomed as always.

For a moment the two men simply stared at one another, and then Emery, his face screwed up into an expression of concern, said in his raspy voice, “You look like hell, Jordan.”

“Time has not been kind to you, either.”

A slow smile spread over the man’s face, almost but not quite masking the deep concern in his eyes. “Well, why are you standing there? Come on the hell into the house. I have cold beer.”

“I don’t drink anymore,” Jordan said as he tucked the lockbox under his arm and started for the gate. “Alcohol interacts with pain drugs, so I just quit.”

“Tea, then.”

Five minutes later Jordan had a jar of iced tea in front of him and was stirring sugar into the bitter brew. “Iced tea’s not supposed to be this strong,” he muttered as Emery read over the inheritance documents Jordan had given him, letting out an occasional snort.

“Don’t be a sissy,” Emery replied absently. He hadn’t asked about the accident, had barely acknowledged Jordan’s injuries other than telling him he looked like hell. And Jordan was thankful. He was tired of having the accident define him, tired of living the aftermath.

Emery gave one final snort and when he raised his eyes, Jordan instantly knew he’d been hosed. “How’d she do it and how bad is it?”

“It’s just a guess,” Emery said, scooting closer to Jordan so that he could point to a clause in the document. “But you see here where it says that while you’ve inherited Hank’s share of the common tenancy, all the leases will be honored?”

“That’s what it says?” He wasn’t stupid, but legalese was damned hard to follow, using twenty-five words to say what five could.

“Yeah. And my guess is that Miranda must have inherited Hank’s farm lease on the place.”

“Great,” Jordan said flatly. The lease had been made to protect Hank’s farming operations on the land they shared, and it’d only been made in case something happened to Jordan and Becky inherited.

“That makes no sense,” Jordan said, looking up from his drink. “What does she want with a farm lease? She encouraged Dad to stop farming our place when the guest ranch took off. I think they only raise enough hay to feed the livestock now.”

Emery shrugged. “Probably to keep you away from the place. It isn’t like you two got along.”

“No. She hates me.” And he returned the sentiment with enthusiasm.

“So you come back from the service—” Emery’s gaze lingered on Jordan’s injured hand for a moment “—plan to take up residency and, surprise, even if Hank were still alive, Miranda controls the operations on the land. Just another way to stick it to you.”

“Dad wouldn’t have let her do anything to me.”

“Not while he was alive.” Emery’s voice softened. “But he was sick off and on, you know.”

“I know. But why have her inherit the lease? Why screw me over?”

“He may not have known. It could have been one small clause in a new will he signed. Or it may not have happened at all.”

“No. Miranda wouldn’t do something without covering her butt legally—especially if I’m involved.” Jordan pushed the tea aside and pulled the box toward him. Pulling out another paper, he handed it to Emery. “The tenancy agreement.”

“I know this conveyance,” Emery said, unfolding the document. “I wrote it.” He skimmed it anyway before saying, “Standard tenancy in common. You and your dad owned the property equally. You both have—or, rather, had—the right to lease, rent or sell your half. Upon sale of the entire property, the proceeds are to be split evenly, which no longer matters since you inherited Hank’s part of the land.” Emery twisted one corner of his thick white mustache. “Do have a copy of the lease in that magic box of yours?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t write this agreement,” Emery said as he took the folded paper from Jordan. “Lucy was sick then.”

“I remember,” Jordan said. Emery’s wife had died not too long afterward, sending Emery into a tailspin. “That paralegal that hooked up with Lucy’s nurse wrote it.”

“Wonderful fellow, young Jasper.”

“Lucy’s nurse seemed to think so.”

“But her husband didn’t.” Emery scanned the paper. “Fairly straightforward. Hank leased the meadows and fields for operations. He had rights to the barn, the tool and equipment sheds, the equipment itself...everything south of the east-west fence line.” Emery waved his hand and read on silently. “He had rights to seasonal recreational use.” The old man cracked a smile and met Jordan’s eyes. “Damn, but I loved those hunting trips. Remember how fast Dr. Hartley could butcher a deer? And how Milton Dexter wore those damned electric socks that kept shorting out?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jordan said, even though he’d probably only been ten or eleven at the time. “Anything else in there?”

“You had to maintain fences to keep livestock out of the fields. Money would exchange hands yearly.” He looked up. “Have you gotten money?”

“A check went into the bank January first. I never got around to returning it.”

“That check may well be yours.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You may not have a choice.”

Jordan’s gut twisted. “I don’t get this. If Miranda has the farm lease, then why was Shae McArthur there? It isn’t like she’s going to jump on a tractor or anything.”

“I do remember Shae as being a bit too prim for farm work. Her sister, on the other hand...”

“Yeah. Liv was okay,” Jordan agreed absently. “Am I jumping the gun, Em? Any chance that she didn’t inherit and we’re reading a whole lot into this?”

“There’s a chance.” Emery’s frown deepened as he again studied Jordan’s face. Jordan knew he honestly did look like hell and it wasn’t because of the scars. The quick look he’d taken in the rearview mirror had startled him. Heavy stubble covered the unscarred part of his face and the lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper than before, his cheeks gaunter. He looked skeletal. He felt skeletal—as if everything that mattered had been stripped away, leaving him nothing but a shell of what had been and would probably never be again.

Jordan took a sip of the overly sweetened tea. “I’m going to have to talk to her.”

“Let me do it. As your lawyer.”

Whom he couldn’t pay. “No. I can handle this.”

“You don’t have to,” Emery repeated.

Jordan shot him a speaking look. “I know I look like I just stepped out of the asylum, but that’s what a cross-country trip and three breakdowns will do to a guy. I’m fine.” He somehow got the lie out while staring Emery down. It even sounded convincing. “All I want is the truth so that I know how to proceed.”

“Proceed with what?”

“Making Miranda miserable.”

“And yourself?”

Jordan scowled at the lawyer, not comprehending.

“Making Miranda miserable is going to come at a cost,” Emery explained.

“Believe it or not, I’m quite familiar with misery.”

“Yeah, boy, I bet you are,” the old man said softly, folding the documents and sliding them across the table. “Sorry I wasn’t in contact after the accident.”

Jordan dropped his gaze, studying the pit marks in the ancient mahogany table. “I...didn’t want contact.” He’d sent his cousin Cole away when he’d come to visit.

“And now?”

Jordan just shook his head, still focused on the tabletop. “I don’t know what I want other than some solitude. That’s why I came here.” He placed both palms on the table and looked up at the ceiling. Looked anywhere but at Emery, who he was afraid was going to suggest the obvious. “I hadn’t expected this.”

Emery then did exactly what Jordan had dreaded, yet expected. “There are some resources here, you know. The VA—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” Jordan’s voice held an edge of steel that he hoped hid the anxiety he felt at the mention of help. He’d been helped the conventional way and it hadn’t taken. He wasn’t beyond trying again, just not yet. Not...yet.

Emery was staring at him now, his lips pressed tightly together beneath his white mustache as if he was trying very hard to keep from speaking.

“Sorry,” Jordan muttered.

“Nothing to be sorry for. I imagine you’ve been to hell and back.”

“A couple times.”

“Pain still bad?”

“Getting better.”

“What’re you going to do now?”

Jordan started putting his papers back in the metal box. “I guess I’m going to start moving onto my ranch.”

“I mean for a living. You were never good with free time.”

Jordan almost said that he’d changed, but after the VA discussion he decided against it, saying instead, “Maybe I’ll drive by Claiborne’s place and see if he has any rank colts.” Which was how Jordan had made spending money during high school and college—starting those ornery animals.

Emery gave a short laugh. “When doesn’t he have rank colts?” he asked, seeming relieved to have a safe subject to talk about after delving into matters that edged into personal territory. “I’ve never seen a guy with so many wild two-, three-and four-year-olds. And every year he produces more foals. The guy’s got more money than brains.”

“He promised he was going to stop breeding when I left.”

“He lied.” Emery got to his feet and, once Jordan had the box locked, walked with him to the car, stopping in his tracks when he saw Clyde’s nose pressed up against the driver’s-side window. “You’re a poodle man now?”

“Stray,” Jordan said. “He’s been good company—seen me through a few rough spots on the trip. Subaru broke down a couple times.”

“I’m not surprised,” Emery said, cocking a thick white eyebrow as he studied the rusty little car. Then he looked back up at Jordan. “Speaking of rough spots...if you should get into any kind of trouble and you don’t call me, I’ll kick your ass to Missoula and back.”

“How would I get into trouble?” Jordan asked, straight-faced.

“I’m serious.”

“I’m just going to take care of what’s mine.” He got in the car and Clyde instantly jumped onto his lap, balancing his front paws on the door while his hind feet dug into Jordan’s thighs. Jordan rolled down the window a few more inches. “I appreciate the help and I won’t get myself into trouble.”

Much. He hoped.

Emery dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He removed a worn card and handed it to Jordan. “That’s my number. Call.”

Jordan took the card and put it in his own wallet, then Emery stepped back, looking, if anything, even more concerned than when Jordan had first stepped out of the car. Jordan wanted to tell him not to worry, but it wouldn’t have done a hell of a lot of good. So instead he nodded at the old man and put the car in reverse.

After driving a few miles, out of sight of the house, he pulled to the side of the gravel road and counted the bills left in his wallet. The Subaru repairs had made a deep dent and his disability check wouldn’t go into the bank for another seven days, but if he was careful and not too concerned about the quality of his purchases, he had enough to make do.

Pocketing his wallet, he smiled grimly at the poodle. “We have work to do.”

* * *

SHAE PULLED THE Audi to a stop behind the main guest-ranch house at Cedar Creek, pulling the keys out of the ignition and pocketing them. It was impossible to tell if Jordan had gotten there ahead of her, but all seemed quiet when she walked into the reception area, brushing off the powdered road dust that had filtered onto her jeans when she’d opened the car door. A young woman dressed in dark jeans and a crisp white Western shirt with a bolo tie at the neck came around the reception desk to meet her.

“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Welcome to the Cedar Creek Ranch. I’m Ashley.”

“I’m Shae McArthur,” Shae replied, wondering whether she’d actually beaten Jordan to the ranch—and if so, how?—or if he was simply somewhere else, having it out with Miranda. “I’d like to see Miranda.”

Ashley’s instant change of expression was almost comical as she realized who was standing in front of her. “She’s not back yet, but the trail riders should be arriving any minute now.”

“Where?”

“The far barn.”

“Has anyone showed up looking for her?”

Something that looked very much like a smirk twisted Ashley’s lips. “No. No one at all.”

“Thank you.” Shae reversed course and headed for the far barn, relieved to see a group of people dismounting as she approached. Miranda was easy to spot in the small crowd, with her pale auburn hair and megawatt smile. The smile that faltered slightly when their eyes met. Miranda handed her reins off to the wrangler closest to her, murmuring something to him before heading to meet Shae.

“Shae. What are you doing here?” she said in the falsely bright tone she used in front of the guests.

“Jordan showed up at the High Camp today. He seems to think he owns the property.”

Miranda took hold of Shae’s upper arm, gripping tightly. “Jordan?” she asked. “Here?”

“He left and I thought he was coming to Cedar Creek. Apparently he hasn’t arrived yet.”

Miranda let go of Shae’s arm. “Well, this is a surprise,” she said sardonically, more to herself than Shae. A young couple dressed in obviously new Western clothing walked by and Miranda smiled at them. “Megan. John. I hope you enjoyed the ride.”

“Gorgeous,” the woman replied. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Can’t wait to wet my line tomorrow.” The man put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “We’re having a great time.”

“Glad to hear it.” Miranda beamed at the couple, then turned back to Shae. “Let’s go to my office,” she said in an undertone, starting to walk without waiting for a reply. Shae fell into step, smiling and nodding at the guests Miranda greeted by name on her way to main house. The woman was so damned good at making people feel special, both guests and employees. Quite the chameleon at times.

“Good afternoon, Ashley,” Miranda said as she passed by the desk. “Any messages?”

“Only the one from Ms. McArthur,” the girl replied with a tight-lipped smile.

“Thank you.” Miranda led the way up the stairs across the room from the reception area, unlatching the small chain that barred access, and then relatching it after Shae had passed through. Shae hadn’t spent much time at the guest ranch, except for company picnics and the Christmas parties, but she knew that the second floor was the family’s—and now Miranda’s—private sanctuary.

The stairs led to a large, comfortable room with a fireplace and several sofas upholstered in Indian prints. A large fur rug covered the hardwood floor in front of the fire and original oils of cowboys and Native American scenes hung on the walls. Miranda walked through the room, down a short hall, and opened the frosted glass door leading to her office.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Miranda said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the sleek oak desk, letting Shae know, even under these circumstances, exactly what their positions were—that of employer and temporary employee.

“I’d only been at the ranch for about half an hour. I had to walk in because there was a tree down across the road, so I was later getting there than planned. I was in the house and a man—Jordan—walked in. Scared the hell out of me.”

“No doubt. What does he look like?”

Shae gestured helplessly as she tried to come up with an adequate description—as if it mattered. “One side of his face is scarred and his left hand is...really damaged. Burned and missing some fingers.”

Miranda grimaced, but didn’t appear particularly sympathetic. “Was he agitated?”

“He thinks he owns the land. All of it.”

“I understand that,” she said coolly, making Shae wonder just who did own the land.

“Yes, he was agitated. And tired and edgy and he’d looked as if he’d been sleeping in his clothes.” And I’m worried as hell that he’s going to screw up this job for me.

Miranda tapped a short manicured nail on the desktop, her lips pressed together as she thought. “All right,” she finally said, meeting Shae’s eyes. “I appreciate you driving all the way over here to warn me.”

“Well, he did seem...agitated,” she said.

Miranda rose to her feet. “I’ll take care of matters,” she said reassuringly. “Would you mind giving me your cell number so I can get hold of you later?”

Shae’s stomach clenched. Was she going to get fired again? Twice in one month? “Sure,” she said, taking up a pen off the desk and writing her number on the small notepad in the gold holder.

“I’ll be in contact,” Miranda said. “Soon.” Shae forced a smile before she headed for the stairs. “Shae?”

Shae turned back.

“Don’t worry. Okay?”

“I won’t,” she lied, then disappeared down the stairs.

CHAPTER FOUR

JORDAN STOPPED AT a highway service station just before the ranch turnoff and quickly washed up and changed his clothes. There wasn’t much he could do about the dark circles under his eyes, but he would at least be semipresentable when he confronted Miranda.

And then what?

Miranda was probably banking on him losing his temper so that she could use the incident to her advantage. A restraining order, perhaps? Jordan wouldn’t be one bit surprised. She was so damned good at whatever role she chose to play and the brave victim was one of her favorites. How many times had she played it with his father and how many times had the old man fallen for it?

Jordan’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Hank had fallen for just about everything about his young wife. She was attractive, intelligent and devoted to him, but there was something about her that had kept Jordan from warming up to her. In the beginning he’d been candid about his feelings with his father, until he saw just how much the woman meant to Hank. After that he’d kept his opinions to himself. If Miranda made Hank happy, then he had nothing more to say...until his stepmother had slipped into his bed late one night half a year after the wedding.

Being turned down by a shocked eighteen-year-old had been an unpleasant surprise to Miranda and before she’d left his room, she’d made it very clear that Jordan had two choices—he could destroy his father’s happiness or he could keep his mouth shut. And regardless of what he said, she would deny it to the death.

In the end, Jordan had decided to keep his mouth shut and leave the ranch. He couldn’t stay and watch the woman manipulate his father, especially when Miranda was so damned good at subtly twisting things so that it appeared as if Jordan harbored an unfounded dislike of her. Even when he and Hank were alone, it was as if she were there, coloring their conversations and interactions. So much had gone unsaid between Jordan and his father during the Miranda years.

So much that would now never be said.

Given the circumstances, was it possible for him to go face-to-face with Miranda without losing it? He’d changed since the accident; his patience level didn’t rise far above the zero mark a lot of the time and his former stepmother knew exactly which buttons to punch.

He had to hold on to his anger. She wouldn’t lose control, so neither would he.

An hour after driving away from the truck plaza, he pulled into what used to be his home and parked next to the house. Then, for a moment, he sat, staring straight ahead. He could do this. If he started to lose it, he’d just leave, as he’d left the rodeo queen at the High Camp. No harm, no foul.

Clyde put a paw on Jordan’s thigh and he absently patted the dog’s head before he pushed open the door and headed for the front of the house, even though he’d always gone in through the back before. No longer his place. He rounded the corner to the front walk, then abruptly stopped as Shae McArthur came barreling around the same corner. They stopped just short of one another, Shae’s head jerking up as she met his eyes and he was struck by how guilty she looked. Because he’d caught her warning Miranda that he was back?

“Jordan,” she murmured in acknowledgment, her gaze stalling out on the scarred side of his face, making Jordan wonder if she was even aware she’d spoken.

He gave her a cool nod and walked around her. He was almost to the porch when he noticed a broad-shouldered cowboy heading his way, pocketing a cell phone as he walked. Jordan ignored him and headed up the porch steps.

Once inside the house, he stopped dead. Miranda had made changes to the place before he’d left home, but now the house was barely recognizable. She’d knocked down walls, put in a large stone fireplace and replaced the old floors with new hardwood. Large oil paintings and blankets hung on the walls and the room smelled of pine and flowers. Had he woken up in this place, he never would have recognized it as the house where he’d grown up.

“May I help you?” A brisk feminine voice sounded from behind him just as the cowboy entered the room, his heavy boots echoing on the hardwood floor.

Jordan turned and for a moment simply stared at the two of them—the slender girl with the white shirt and bolo tie and the oversize guy in classic dude-ranch cowboy wear—then he cleared his dry throat and said, “Would you please tell Miranda that Jordan is here? She’ll know who I am.”

“Uh, sure,” the girl said, stepping around the desk and picking up the phone. Miranda already knew he was there. Shae had warned her he was coming and she’d summoned a bodyguard. He wondered if King Cowboy Kong was going to be in the meeting with them.

His body thrummed with adrenaline as he waited for the girl to speak to his ex-stepmother, and if he unclenched his good fist, he was pretty sure his hands would be shaking from the effort of putting on a good face, but he was doing okay. The big cowboy wasn’t wrestling him to the ground or anything and the girl was politely trying not to stare at his burns while she waited for Miranda to pick up—unlike Shae, who’d once again given his injuries the full once-over.

“Jordan’s here,” the girl said into the phone. “All right.” She put the phone down, missing the cradle on the first attempt and then settling the receiver in place on her second. “She’ll be right down.”

“Thanks,” Jordan murmured, feigning interest in the painting closest to him. It screamed big money, with its thick slashes of oil that somehow formed a desert landscape if one stepped back far enough. Still the big cowboy lingered. Jordan ignored him.

The sound of heeled boots on the stairs drew everyone’s attention as Miranda descended the steps. “Jordan,” she said after unhooking a small chain across the entryway. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home.”

He felt every muscle in his body go tense as she said home. The woman who’d done and was doing everything she could to make sure this wasn’t his home. Well played, Miranda. And he realized then that he could fantasize as much as he liked, but he would never put his hands around her throat, because he couldn’t stand the thought of touching her and he cringed when he recalled how she’d touched him.

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.” The words came out huskily, but he did manage to get them out. He couldn’t smile, though—couldn’t fake it that much.

Miranda could. Her smile seemed to light her face and she gave no sign of even noticing he looked much, much different than the last time she’d seen him. She must have practiced. “Come upstairs and we’ll talk.”

Jordan nodded and as he started toward the stairs, he caught the quick look Miranda sent the big cowboy. “Stay here and listen for trouble,” it clearly said. He felt like saying there wouldn’t be trouble, but refrained, playing the game. If Miranda could do it, so could he. He hoped.

The upstairs was no more recognizable than the first floor. There was another stone fireplace, more hardwood and tile. Expensive furniture.

“Let’s talk here,” she said, taking a seat on one of the sofas.

“Fine.” He sat on the sofa opposite of hers, his eyes never leaving her face.

“I’m glad to see you’re recovering from your accident,” she said, tilting her head to better see his injured face. “I wish you would have accepted our offer to come home and recuperate.”

Made just before his father had passed away, when he’d still had months of hospital therapy ahead of him. He hadn’t heard one word from her after his father had passed.

“What’s going on with the High Camp, Miranda?” His voice was low, but steady, which was nothing short of a miracle considering the amount of adrenaline coursing through his body.

“You mean why is Shae McArthur there?” Miranda leaned back against her cushion, stretching an arm along the back of the sofa. “Because she’s working on a proposal for the property and I’m eager to see what she comes up with.”

At which point in the conversation, he was probably supposed to explode.

Surprise, Miranda...I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.

Flicking a piece of lint off his sleeve, he said, “I mean, why on my property without consulting me?”

A tiny smile began to play at the edges of Miranda’s mouth as she seemed to realize that her opponent was of a higher caliber than she’d anticipated. “I inherited the operations lease from your father.”

Jordan kept his expression as blank as possible, watching for Miranda’s reaction to his lack of reaction. Nothing. “Will you be farming?”

“No. I’m looking at creating a satellite guest ranch there.”

Jordan’s pulse spiked and he knew from Miranda’s expression that she’d observed and noted his reaction. One point for her.

“What makes you think you have a right to do anything but farm the place?”

Miranda gave an exaggerated shrug. “Because upon reading the lease, I noticed that it said, ‘operations.’ It didn’t say, ‘farm operations.’ Simply ‘operations.’”

“The lease was written for farming.”

“Then it was written poorly, because it is not exclusive to farming,” Miranda said. “And there’s also that recreational-use clause. I’ll have my lawyer send a copy if you don’t believe me. Should it go to you or...?”

“Emery Anderson.” Who would no doubt confirm what she’d just said, but maybe he could also find a loophole.

“As you wish. And, as you no doubt recall,” she said smoothly, “the lease is for twenty years. There are twelve years left on the contract.”

Jordan focused on the spotless glass coffee table in front of him, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he considered twelve years of battling Miranda. Which was exactly what she was counting on. That and his losing control. If he did, then Miranda would win the first battle—and the big cowboy waiting downstairs would probably feed him the floor. Slowly he raised a steely gaze back up to his former stepmother.

“You understand that you can’t interfere with my operations on the place,” she said.

“And you can’t interfere with my occupancy,” he replied. “You have right to some of the buildings—”

“All of the buildings.”

“Only those south of the east-west fence line. Not the house.”

Miranda’s pale red eyebrows drew together. “Have you been reading the lease contract?” she asked curiously.

“I’m not that out of it or damaged or whatever the hell you think I am. When I found Shae there, I decided to check into things.”

“You were fast.”

“I’ve learned from experience it doesn’t pay to be slow when you’re involved.”

“Would you be interested in selling?” she asked, as if he hadn’t spoken. Jordan had fully expected a buyout offer, but he hadn’t expected it today. He’d figured she’d attempt to drive him out first. “I’ll pay you market value, which might not be as high as you like, but would easily give you enough to buy elsewhere.” She cocked her head, her red hair sliding over her shoulder. “Away from the memories. I recall that you don’t much care for this ranch in its present incarnation and you probably won’t like the High Camp after I get done with it.”

“No.”

“You don’t like the ranch?”

“I’m not selling.”

“Don’t be hasty, Jordan. Think about your future. Don’t let stubbornness cause you to make the wrong decision. It won’t be easy to sell the place, encumbered as it is, if at some point in the future you find you don’t like living there. And if it comes to that—” she gave an elegant shrug “—my offer may not be so generous.”

Jordan got to his feet, glanced around the room, which had at one time held exactly one worn sofa, reloading and fly-tying equipment, and leather tools. There’d been a time he’d associated this room with his dad. No more. The woman had wiped all signs of Hank Bryan out of this house.

Miranda stood and calmly met his eyes. “Think about my offer, Jordan. It makes sense. Staying at the High Camp will only continue to remind you of everything you’ve been so open about despising. You know...the things that have made this ranch a viable operation.” She took a step forward, as if she were going to touch him, and Jordan automatically stepped back. “I can help you find another place. I have the resources.”

His anger began to rise, but he choked it back down. “Thanks,” he said flatly as he turned to go.

“If you change your mind, the offer stands.” He didn’t slow down, gave no indication of having heard her, taking the stairs two at a time and then walking past the bodyguard and receptionist without looking at either one of them.

Oh, yeah. He was certain the offer would stand. And just as certain that he wasn’t taking it. Miranda had won every throwdown between them. She wasn’t winning this one.

“Jordan!”

He stopped on the porch and turned to see Miranda behind him. She must have taken the steps two at a time herself. “What?”

“My lawyer and I will be in contact. Soon. Just so we understand one another. And in the meantime...cooperate with Shae.”

* * *

THE ONLY THING Jordan didn’t buy on his supply list was a chain saw to take care of the tree in the road. He recalled an ancient McCulloch at the ranch—if he could find it, he’d try to get it running. If not, he was fairly certain that Miranda would see to it that the log was removed. After all, she was the operator of this ranch...for now.

When he reached the log, he parked the Subaru a few feet away from it in the middle of the road and then started unloading his purchases, wondering if Shae was going to risk her Audi again tomorrow. She’d obviously reversed all the way back down the road earlier today. He’d seen where she had finally found a spot wide enough to turn around, and he’d also seen the numerous places where the car had slid into the deep ruts. Seeing the marks in the dirt had given him a sense of satisfaction. No one should drive an Audi on a road like this and if they did, they deserved what they got.

So what was he going to do when Shae showed up again?

He figured the first thing he should do was to take off his shirt. She’d been openly shocked when she’d seen the fingers that had been amputated by shrapnel and then burned by the flash of the explosion. The burns continued up his forearm, around his side and onto his back, where the worst scars lay, and the deep-tissue skin grafts were still healing. Remarkably, the majority of his shoulder had been spared, so he had mobility there, and the burns up his face were for the most part superficial. If you could count losing part of his ear as superficial. No grafts had been necessary there, but the damaged skin was red and shiny in places. Ugly.

Shae McArthur didn’t appear to do well with ugly, and he was going to use that to his advantage. He had to concede, though, that she’d made no attempt to hide the fact that she had been staring at his injuries. There were none of the darting glances that he’d come to expect as people attempted to wrap their minds around the extent of his injuries without appearing rude—and a part of Jordan kind of appreciated her openness. At least she was honest. The scars were there and she didn’t pretend they weren’t.

And she didn’t pretend they didn’t bother her, either.

Okay. One point for Shae for honesty.

But he was still taking his shirt off whenever he could.

Jordan unloaded his brand-new cheap tent, the sleeping bag he’d used on his cross-country trek, a box of groceries and his duffel bag of clothes, then proceeded to carry them around the windfall and load them onto the sturdy rubber-wheeled gardening wagon he’d bought. At almost two hundred dollars, it had all but wiped out his cash supply, but there was no way he’d be carrying much weight on his back and he figured the wagon would come in handy around the ranch.

Clyde instantly got the hang of what was going on and jumped up on top of the gear Jordan had piled into the wagon, his small body lurching and swaying when Jordan started pulling. Only a mile. No sweat.

Except that the wagon was heavy. He wasn’t used to the altitude and despite working out as much as his body would allow, he was gasping for air by the time the ranch came into view. The sun was starting to set and he still had a lot to do.

But at least he was alone.

It wasn’t until he’d unloaded everything into a pile that Jordan realized he’d left his pills in the car. He was not going back—it would be a pill-free night. If he didn’t sleep, tough. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to sleepless nights. And if he had a nightmare, the only one he’d disturb was Clyde—who was sticking to him like glue now that it was getting dark. Jordan didn’t know what kind of shape the house was in, and since he didn’t want to share with rodents, he started setting up his tent. If the fabric had been any thinner, it would have qualified as disposable, but it was all he’d been able to afford after the wagon purchase, and if the zipper worked, he could keep the rain off and the mosquitoes at bay.

He and Clyde had shared a couple of hamburgers prior to driving back to the camp, but now he was hungry again. Apparently Montana air was good for him, because food hadn’t been any kind of priority over the past year—just something he needed for survival. Until recently chewing had felt awkward and uncomfortable as the skin on his face healed, so he hadn’t taken much pleasure in food. Now he wished he had another burger. Instead he made do with a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich made by the light of a battery-operated lantern.

Feeling ridiculously exhausted after dragging the wagon to the ranch, he laid out his sleeping bag and settled on top of it, letting the sounds of the wilderness lull him. He didn’t expect to sleep that night—not easily, anyway—because sleep was never easy without the meds, but at least he could listen to the sounds of his childhood instead of the traffic on the thoroughfare near his Virginia apartment.

Clyde appeared to prefer the traffic noises. After nervously pacing the tent for at least ten minutes, snuffling the air and trying to see through the nylon at what was causing the fascinating noises outside, the poodle finally turned a few circles and collapsed in a curly heap against Jordan’s side. His eyes remained stubbornly open, though, fixed on the tent door. Jordan reached down to idly ruffle the hair on the poodle’s head, then a few seconds later his hand relaxed on the dog’s warm body.

That was the last thing Jordan remembered.

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