UNDER THE RANCHER’S PROTECTION

Someone is dead set on stopping Shelby Arroyo from doing her job: assessing mineral rights in a mine in gold country. But after rancher Barrett Thorn rescues her from an attack, the handsome widowed cowboy seems to feel responsible for her. That is, until he discovers she’s from the family that he’ll never forgive for his wife’s death. As the threats against Shelby escalate, cowboy honor and an unexpected attraction keep Barrett by her side, even at his own risk. And since Shelby won’t back down, Barrett must protect the brave, loyal woman he has no business falling for...a woman someone wants to kill by Christmas.

“What just happened?” Shelby demanded.

“Dynamite.”

She gave Barrett an incredulous look. “Dynamite? As in TNT?”

He nodded. “Plenty left around here from the mining days.”

“Why would someone light up a stick and toss it at me? It has to be the guy who threatened me.”

“Maybe, unless you’ve angered somebody else.”

She folded her arms and skewered him with such a look of disdain it almost made him smile.

Whatever she had or hadn’t done, it wasn’t his business. Yet once again, he found himself trying to extricate her from a pile of trouble.

“What makes you think it’s not the man who threatened me?” she said.

“Doesn’t seem like a rational thing for him to do.”

“He threatened to kill me recently, if you remember.”

“Words don’t mean much. My father believes him to be an honorable man, deep down.”

She met his eyes, her own glimmering with unreadable emotion. “I admire that kind of familial respect.”

Something was under those words, something deep and painful and raw.

Dear Reader,

What is it about cowboy heroes? There’s a mystique about the hardworking cowboy, the tough, honorable, God-fearing man who isn’t afraid to speak the truth or fight for his family honor. I am thrilled to bring you this new series featuring the Thorn family—four brothers who will face any danger to protect their beloved Gold Bar Ranch and the women whom they will come to love along the way.

In this first installment in the series, Barrett Thorn must come face-to-face with his inability to forgive those who were responsible for the death of his wife. It’s a struggle for a man with a deep faith, who knows what God wants from him. In the course of the novel, he’ll meet a woman who challenges his beliefs and his feelings, as they both seek to solve a mystery and stay alive.

Thank you for coming on this new journey into cowboy country! I hope you will enjoy riding along with me. As always, I am blessed to hear from my readers. You can contact me via my website at www.danamentink.com and there is also a physical address there if you’d like to write. God bless you, my friends, and welcome to Gold Country!

Sincerely,

Dana Mentink

DANA MENTINK is an award-winning author of Christian fiction. Her novel Betrayal in the Badlands won a 2010 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award, and she was pleased to win the 2013 Carol Award for Lost Legacy. She has authored more than a dozen Love Inspired Suspense novels. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her via her website at danamentink.com.

Cowboy Christmas Guardian

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

—Romans 8:28

This book is dedicated to Phil and Nancy Fay, horse lovers, baseball fans and faithful servants.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Barrett Thorn shouted to his younger brother between the clashes of thunder that ripped through the winter darkness. “Gonna go after her. See to the paddock.” Swanny, the runaway pregnant mare, was prone to panicking during lightning storms and, true to form, she’d broken through the paddock and bolted.

A flash of lightning illuminated Jack, sitting astride his mare, shoulders hunched against the storm. Barrett was relieved that it was not Jack’s twin, Owen, out in the treacherous night. Owen was not physically healed yet, in spite of his bravado. The war had damaged him inside and out. It would be his first Christmas back home since his return from Afghanistan.

In his typical quiet way, Jack didn’t answer, pulling his horse into a fluid turn and trotting away through the pouring rain. Their father, Tom, was back at the house where Keegan and Owen were helping him check on the other sixty horses in their care. The Gold Bar Ranch, was the finest setup in the town of Gold Bar and maybe in the entire region, in his humble opinion, but it took all of them to keep it that way. Most of their herd would be fine, Barrett figured, but the more recent arrivals they were boarding for clients over the Christmas holidays might not feel as comfortable in their newer surroundings. Horses could be almost as unpredictable as people. Almost.

From his vantage point on the bluff astride his rock-solid horse, Titan, Barrett had seen only the streak of Swanny’s white flanks moving through the undulating branches of the wind-whipped pines. He held Titan still, listening, rain collecting on his close-cut beard and funneling off his hat.

With a section of fencing failing yet again on the western perimeter of the Gold Bar’s thousand-acre ranch, the horse would have had easy access to the abutting land, a swath of ravine and hills cut through by a river swollen by yet another storm.

“Why couldn’t you stay in the stable like all the other horses?” He was suddenly struck by a memory so strong it hitched up his breath.

“Swanny doesn’t care about all your cowboy orders,” Sabrina used to say. He could picture his wife, whom he’d nicknamed Bree, so clearly in his mind. Her fringe of blond bangs fell over eyes that saw through his macho facade and right into the most tender places in his soul. Bree was the woman God meant to be his partner, his love, his best friend, riding beside him through this life.

Except that she was gone in a moment of carelessness, lost in a crushing tangle of metal.

His stomach tensed with white-hot rage at the person who had taken her away and stripped him of any kind of a future.

Titan’s uneasy shifting pulled him from the memory. He had to get to Swanny soon, before she broke a leg or got tangled up in barbed wire. He urged Titan through the gap in the busted fence and onto Joe Hatcher’s property with only a small flicker of unease.

He wondered if the surly saddler had followed through on his threat to set booby traps to keep local kids from fooling around, searching for gold. If he had the time, he’d knock on Hatcher’s door and ask permission, but Swanny was in danger. He wasn’t about to let pleasantries get in the way of rescuing the poor beast.

“Hope we don’t get shot,” he muttered to Titan. They picked their way carefully over the flattest stretch of ground that sloped down to a densely wooded area. Not the greatest place to hang out during a lightning storm, but Swanny was scared, no doubt, and might have headed for the comfort of the overhanging branches.

Barrett rode closer, the noise of the rain mingling with the sound of the swollen river at the bottom of a crevasse just beyond the trees. Fingers to his lips, he let out a piercing whistle which usually alerted his horses that there would be a sugar cube or an apple for them if they presented themselves. It worked on some horses and not on others. Swanny never failed to come for her bit of dessert.

“A hopeless sweet tooth,” Bree used to say.

Ducking as the wet branches slapped the back of his neck, he pushed on into the trees. Titan stopped short, as surprised as Barrett at what they saw.

A cream-colored compact car, foreign made, was parked under the bushes. It looked to be fairly new and sported out-of-state Nevada plates. Definitely not a vehicle he’d ever be caught dead in. He could not picture Joe Hatcher driving such a thing either, but who would trespass on his property and go so far as to park their car in such an isolated corner? And for what purpose?

A crackle of branches drew his attention.

“It’s Barrett Thorn. I’m looking for my horse,” he called out, figuring it was the best way not to get shot if Joe Hatcher was out patrolling his property. “Who’s there?”

No answer, but neither did he hear the sound of a shotgun being cocked, so that was a plus.

The rain pounded harder. Titan shifted his weight to indicate that he did not understand his master’s crazy choice to remain in the elements when there was a perfectly good barn back on the Gold Bar Ranch.

At the moment, Barrett was beginning to question his own actions, too. Swanny would wind up back at the barn sooner or later, and it would be a lot easier trying to find her after sunup. He might be risking his own safety and that of Titan by continuing the search mission. Was he going the extra mile to find the horse because she was his duty? Or because she had been Bree’s favorite?

“You’d do it for any of the horses,” he mumbled to himself. He patted Titan’s neck, the storm howling around them.

No one emerged from the undergrowth. It must have been an animal or a storm-related noise he’d heard. Of course. What else would it have been? Swanny would have responded to his whistle long ago.

Still, he waited a minute longer. His cowboy hat was not enough to keep the driving rain from snaking down his neck, wetting his shirt under his jacket. His jeans were soaked from his belt to the top of his boots.

If Swanny was in the woods somewhere, she’d have shown herself by now, he felt certain. It was time to search elsewhere. The car would remain a mystery for someone else to solve.

“We’ll go check the east end again, in case your daffy girl changed her mind and started back home,” he said. Titan twitched an ear, eager to be heading out of the storm, and began his about-face.

Thump.

Barrett pulled Titan to a stop. What he’d heard this time wasn’t a twig snapping.

Thump, thump.

Cold prickles erupted on the back of his neck at the sound. Hopping from the saddle, he approached the car.

Another thump and a woman’s cry.

Coming from inside the trunk.

* * *

Shelby Arroyo slammed her sneakers against the metal lid of the trunk and kicked for all she was worth. The effort sent pain shooting up her neck to her skull where her attacker had struck her from behind while she’d been fumbling in her trunk. She was scared, terrified even and angry at herself.

“How stupid you are,” Shelby hissed. “Staying out until nightfall without even letting Uncle Ken know your route.” Absorbed in the area geology as she usually was, completely oblivious, she’d not got even a glimpse of the person who had hit her over the head and pushed her in. And where was her cell phone? She stopped kicking long enough to grope again around the pitch-black space, encountering nothing but the bag of extra shoes she’d left there. The little pack she carried with her assaying tools, driver’s license, phone, keys and wallet had fallen from her hand, probably taken by her attacker along with her soil samples.

Why? The samples were worthless, just a way for her to collect information about the area geology, and she had less than twenty dollars in her wallet.

Whoever had done it must have been watching her, biding their time. The thought froze her. Strange hands had lifted her up, dumped her in and left her there. She was fortunate the guy hadn’t decided to kill her, unless he figured she’d die in the trunk before anyone found her. It would be a slow, unkind death, of hunger and thirst. A flood of panic stampeded inside. Stop it, Shelby.

She kicked again in frustration. “Let...me...out,” she hollered to no one. Try as she might, she could find no internal trunk release. There had to be one somewhere, but her shaking fingers simply could not locate it and of course she’d never taken the time to read the owner’s manual. Who imagines they’re going to get locked in their own trunk? she thought bitterly.

The car jolted.

She almost screamed.

Someone was attempting to open the trunk from the outside. Her heart jumped to her throat. Was it help? But who would know where to find her except the man who had locked her there in the first place? No innocent bystander would be out strolling along in a downpour at ten o’clock at night.

He’d come back.

Her mind scrambled, trying to figure out some means of defense. She had nothing, no weapon, no phone. “God...” she started, but that wouldn’t do any good. Prayers were fine and all, but she knew she had to rely on herself, as she’d told her mother so many times before the woman no longer knew who Shelby was.

Resolve hardened inside Shelby like hot lava hitting cold ocean water. She intended to use every shred of muscle she possessed to save herself. No divine intervention required. Tensing her legs, she poised to kick out, straining to hear over the whoosh of rain.

Was that footsteps now, heading away?

No. The car was lurching under a heavy onslaught at the front end, the metal shuddering around her. There was a sound of breaking glass. After a moment, the trunk release triggered and the lid slid open a couple of inches. She paused to give him just enough time to return to the back of the vehicle. Timing would be crucial.

One chance is all you get, Shelby, she thought.

She was blinded by the glare from a flashlight whoever it was must have been holding. Another half second. With an explosive effort, she bucked her feet out as hard as she could. The trunk lid made contact.

She heard a man’s grunt of surprise and pain, but she did not stop long enough to assess the damage. Instead she was out and running as fast as she could over the open ground.

“Stop,” a man’s deep voice called.

No way, her mind shot back but her feet did not slow. Pain pounded through her neck and shoulders but the adrenaline kept it at bay. She had to get to a house or find a place to hole up until morning to buy herself time.

“Stop,” the voice came again louder, closer. “There’s a...”

She did not hear the last word. Running faster than she’d known she could, Shelby flew, feet slipping on wet rocks and tripping over the uneven patches of ground.

He was drawing nearer, moving surprisingly fast for a big man. A glance told her he was as wet as she was, a cowboy hat hiding his face.

She pressed harder and he yelled again, but she gave his words no heed.

A smell of sodden vegetation and the faraway sound of running water triggered an alarm bell in her mind. Cold air wafted up from somewhere far below. The ground suddenly gave way underneath her as she plunged into nothingness.

TWO

Barrett skidded to a stop at the edge of the ravine, flopping down on his belly. Rain slashed at him and the almost-perfect darkness obliterated her from view. He shined his flashlight down into the ravine.

It took him several minutes to spot her, the gleam of one pale arm showing against the slick rock. She lay perfectly still on her back on a narrow ledge of rock, one leg dangling down into the abyss.

Dead? His blood went cold. No, not dead, unconscious, he told himself firmly.

It wasn’t going to be easy logistically to get to her. Plus, if she awakened, she’d probably try to claw his eyes out or something and send them both to the bottom of the ravine. Rubbing his chin where the trunk lid had caught him, he tasted blood in his mouth.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, dialed Jack and explained the situation in twenty words or less. Jack would alert their father and brothers. There was no sense contacting the volunteer fire department since it might take upward of thirty minutes to an hour to assemble any kind of rescue group out here, especially on such a night.

Titan eased close at Barrett’s whistle. Barrett retrieved a rope from the saddlebag, shoving his hat inside. He tied the rope to a sturdy trunk that overhung the ravine. If he’d stopped to think a minute, he might have considered the recklessness of his actions. Slippery slope, inadequate light, storm raging and a volatile woman at the bottom of it all.

Best to call in rescue and wait, or delay until his brothers showed up. But something in the way she lay there, body twisted, slender and vulnerable in the storm, would not let him delay a moment more.

Looping the other end of the rope around himself, he eased outward into the gap back first, beginning his rappel over the edge.

Titan shook his mane and stamped a hoof on the ground.

“I know, buddy,” Barrett muttered. “This is just all kinds of crazy.” His horse’s brown eyes were the last thing he saw as he plunged into the darkness.

The series of storms had saturated the ground, washing away ribbons of soil and leaving behind a lattice of twisted roots. Bits of rock pattered down from above, striking his neck and shoulders. The rope scratched against his palms, reminding him that he should have had the good sense to retrieve his leather gloves from the saddlebag along with the rope. His boots scraped even more material away from the cliff wall as he navigated down to the ledge.

As far as he could tell, the woman had not moved. The fall hadn’t covered a great distance, no more than fifteen feet, he figured, but who knew what kind of injuries she might have sustained if nothing had broken her fall? Again the cold, sick sensation gathered in his belly.

When he was about a yard from the ledge, he stopped, feet braced against the mud. “Ma’am?” he called. “My name is Barrett Thorn and I’m coming to help you.”

She didn’t answer. He hadn’t figured she would, but it was worth a shot.

He settled gingerly onto the ledge, crouching next to her. A mass of wet hair covered her face and he reached out a finger to pull it away. Her profile was visible, nose small, chin narrow, face heart shaped. The delicacy of it struck him.

Without warning, he was plunged back in time some four years earlier, when he’d pulled Bree from the wrecked car. Her eyes had been shut, too, but they’d fluttered open for one precious moment before they’d closed for the last time. There was nothing in this world that could hurt worse than that, except being reminded every day in a million ways that he was alone. Strange the things he missed about Bree.

The pillow next to his with a satin case to “keep away the wrinkles” of which he’d never seen a hint on her face.

Her ready laughter.

The smell of the candles she always insisted on lighting for every evening meal.

Her horrendous cooking. He even missed that. What he wouldn’t give for a chance to eat another plateful of tuna casserole, crunchy with half-cooked noodles. He swatted at a trail of water running down his cheek. Business at hand, Barrett.

Swallowing hard, he found the junction of the unconscious woman’s chin and neck, and pressed his fingers there, seeking a pulse.

“Lord God,” he prayed, but he could not finish. The last time he had prayed for the life of a young woman, his woman, his love, God’s answer had been no. Gritted teeth, pounding heart, his soul quaked with fear that he would find no spark of life. Gone, like Bree, with him crouched there helpless. Rubbing his hands as dry as he could, he tried one more time. This time, the proof was dramatic.

She jerked to a sitting position with a scream and shot out a hand that nearly shoved him over the edge.

“Easy,” he said, holding open palms up to show her he was not a threat. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her eyes were wide as silver dollars, whole body trembling. Her breath came in short bursts as she scrabbled away as far as she could get from him. He attempted to reassure her that he wasn’t some random killer who’d appeared on a ledge in a storm, but she moved backward and he lunged forward to catch her.

The rock ledge gave way beneath her feet. Her eyes were bright with fear as she disappeared before his eyes for the second time.

* * *

Shelby’s senses cartwheeled through a dizzying cascade as her legs slithered over the side. Pitch-black night, cold rain, the sick sensation of no ground under her feet. The jagged edge of rocks cut into her belly as she clutched at anything that might keep her from falling the rest of the way.

“Help,” she wanted to scream, but she could not manage a single syllable as she continued to slip down the slope.

Rocks ground against her hips and roots broke away under her fingers. She felt a jerk and a painful pressure on her wrist. Looking up against the sheeting rain, she saw the man with the beard hanging on to her wrist with both hands. His full mouth was contorted with the effort.

No, no, her mind screamed. He’d come to finish what he’d started when he’d struck her and stuffed her in the trunk of her car. She braced her legs against the canyon wall to push away.

“Listen,” he said between clenched teeth. “I am not the guy who hurt you. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that because you’re wiggling and I don’t wanna drop you.”

Trust him? She had no intention of doing any such thing, but the canyon below her did not give her much choice. Die on the rocks, or live long enough to get away from the bearded guy? Her forearms ached and her ribs burned with pain.

“Give me your other hand,” he ordered.

Fighting her instincts, she heaved her other arm up and he clasped it tight. They both breathed hard for a few seconds before he began to haul her back up. She helped with her legs as much as she could. Inch by painful inch, she was pulled upward until she landed on her knees on the ledge. The man bent over at the waist, panting.

Their eyes locked, like two wild animals sizing each other up.

“Barrett,” came a shout from above, making her jump.

“I got her,” he hollered back. “Gonna need to pull us up.”

There was some response that she could not decipher.

He puffed out a breath and straightened, rising to something over six feet she guessed, plenty strong enough to have clobbered her and shoved her into the trunk. Then again, if his goal was to hurt her, why would he have kept her from falling into the ravine? Doubt clouded her thinking along with the cold that seemed to be freezing her one layer at a time.

“All right,” he said. “My brothers are going to pull us up on the rope, so you have to hang on to me for a minute, okay?”

Not okay. The furthest thing from okay. To deliver herself into the hands of this stranger and now his brothers? Needing more time to think, she shook her head.

His expression went a little softer, or so she imagined. “I know you’ve been through a fright and you’re scared, but I’m a good guy, mostly.” He offered a wry smile. “At least, some folks might say so. I’m not here to hurt you, but there’s really no way I can prove that to you under the present circumstances.”

He could be telling the truth but her fear still ran rampant. She pressed herself to the cliff wall, staying far out of reach.

He tucked his hands onto his hips. “All right. If that’s your choice, we’ll honor it. I’ve never in my life forced a woman to do anything she didn’t want to, but I for one am tired of being out here in the rain, and I’ve got a horse to find, so if you really want to stay down here by yourself, it’s a long wait until sunrise.”

She saw now there was a rope knotted around his waist. He looped an extra length around himself, grabbed hold above his head and shouted to his brothers to start pulling.

Below, the river water rushed wildly on past the rocky ground. The wind teased her wet skin, her body shivering uncontrollably. She recalled her mother’s admonition, always gentle, too gentle. So stubborn, Shell. It’s not always you against the world.

“Wait,” she said.

Water ran down his crew-cut hair and wide chin. Slowly he held out a hand to her.

Just get out of the ravine, she told herself. Then you can figure if this guy is the genial cowboy or the man who locked you up. She reached out shaking fingers. His palms were rough and calloused, the hands of a working man, and he scooped her to his side in one strong movement.

His shoulders were solid, wide under the sodden jacket, his waist tapered and trim as she clung to him, gripping his leather belt.

“Keep holding on tight,” he advised.

She did as the rope was pulled up from above. The journey threatened to spin them in circles, but the man she’d heard called Barrett kept them relatively steady by bracing his long legs against the canyon walls.

Foot by slippery foot, they gradually reached the top where she found herself surrounded by three more men and their horses. Their physical similarities marked them as brothers, except for the one who was more slender and lanky than the other three.

“I’ll call for an ambulance when I can get a signal,” said the brother who was still astride his horse. He peered down at her curiously.

Another handed her a blanket. Barrett helped wrap it around her shoulders.

“Mama’s waiting at the house,” one of the brothers said.

Barrett nodded, taking the reins to a big horse from one and retrieving his wet hat from the saddlebag. “You can ride with me—” he hesitated “—unless you’d rather not.”

She was miserable and shivering badly as she surveyed the men who stared at her. Something in their appearance took the edge off her suspicion, or maybe it was the reference to Mama. She’d always called her mother that, a sweet endearment that bridged the gap between angry daughter and desperate mother. Mama. Two syllables packed to the brim with feelings, and she would give anything to say it one more time and see understanding in her mother’s eyes.

We’re oil and water sometimes, Shelby, but I’ll always be your Mama.

Oil and water. More like fire and ice.

Mama, I miss you.

Expelling a breath and straightening her shoulders, she nodded. Barrett got onto his horse in one fluid motion and offered her an arm.

After a moment of paralyzing doubt, she took it and he swung her up behind him.

“Where are we going?” she said into his ear.

“Home,” he said, urging the horse through the pounding rain.

THREE

Barrett was not too cold to feel uncomfortable at having a woman’s arms wrapped around his waist. It had been four long years since any woman had touched him except his mother and assorted relatives. The lady was strong and soft at the same time, holding on to him tentatively, it seemed to him. Fortunately, Titan was eager to get back to the barn so his pace was brisk as they returned to the house.

The string of Christmas lights twined around the porch railing twinkled in the gloom. His father met them, taking the reins from Barrett as he helped the woman off the horse. Barrett tied the horses under the wide porch as a temporary measure until he could unsaddle them, dry them down and see to their feed.

His father tipped his wet hat to her and introduced himself. “Tom Thorn. Very sorry for your trouble, miss. Come inside and my wife, Evie, will help you feel comfortable.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Got Swanny,” he said to Barrett. “She’s in the barn, looking plenty sorry.”

“I’m sure.” Barrett chuckled. More likely, she was pleased as could be now that she was back in a warm stable with a bucket of oats. It eased his mind to know that his wife’s dotty horse was unhurt after her mad escape.

Barrett’s mother stood in the doorway, gesturing. “Enough chatting, Barrett. Bring that poor girl in the house.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He followed her in where Evie looked the woman up and down. His mother was all of four feet eleven inches, hair graying but green eyes sparkling as brightly as they ever had.

“What’s your name, honey?” she asked.

“Shelby,” the woman replied, teeth chattering.

“Well, Miss Shelby, I am eager to hear how in the world you got halfway down a ravine on Joe Hatcher’s property, but first things first. Everybody needs some dry clothes. I’ve got a pot of coffee on, so go change, boys, and we’ll have a talk.”

She put an arm around Shelby’s shoulders. “Come with me. We’ll get you a change of clothes and check out your bruises.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I was an RN before I traded it in for ranch life, so I’m not just a nosy mom to those four gorillas.”

Barrett marched to his room, stripped off his wet clothes and pulled on a dry pair of jeans and a T-shirt, along with his less favored pair of boots. He tried not to rush, but he was dying to hear Shelby’s story. It was an odd sensation. Since Bree died, he had been interested in nothing and no one, only his family and the workings of the Gold Bar Ranch where his life was 100 percent about the horses.

Forcing a slow pace, he ambled into the kitchen to find twins, Jack and Owen, sitting at the table sipping coffee while their youngest brother, Keegan, leaned against the refrigerator, munching a cheese sandwich.

Keegan had a bottomless appetite and a head for mischief. He shook his dark hair from his face and grinned. “So, Barrett. For once it’s not me that broke the rules. What’s it feel like to be a trespasser?”

Owen laughed as their father joined them. “Good thing you didn’t run across any of Joe Hatcher’s booby traps.”

“Those are rumors,” their father said with a frown. He scrubbed a hand over a scalp of stubbly gray hair that had not thinned in spite of his seventy-three years. “Joe is a good man, or used to be. Top-notch saddler until his life took a turn.”

“If you say so,” Owen said.

“I do say so, son,” he said quietly. “Everyone’s life takes a turn now and then, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” Owen looked at the table, probably feeling again the enemy bullets that had carved a trail into his leg and left him scarred and limping. Keegan understood, too. He was adopted into the Thorn family at age sixteen when there was no one to care for him but Evie and Tom Thorn. In Barrett’s case, one careless turn of a drunk driver’s wheel had brought his life to a full stop.

Yes, he agreed. Life could take a sudden turn.

Owen and Jack stood as their mother ushered Shelby in and seated her in one of their vacated chairs.

At last he could get a good look at her. Trying not to stare, he drank in the details. She was slender and fine boned, probably somewhere close to five feet seven inches. Now he could see that her eyes were the green of forest moss, her hair brown. She’d pulled it into a wet ponytail that swept the flannel shirt his mom had loaned her. A navy blue pair of sweatpants, which his mother must have dug up from somewhere, engulfed her legs.

“I think she’s going to be okay,” Evie said. “But I would lobby for a hospital visit to be sure there isn’t a concussion from where she was struck on the head.”

Struck on the head? What kind of person would hit a woman? That notion made his stomach flip. And the fact that she thought he’d done it? He cleared his throat and introduced everyone properly.

Shelby nodded solemnly at each brother and his parents.

“Thank you,” she said, her gaze finally landing on him. “Especially you, Barrett. I...I thought...” She twisted a finger in the hem of her borrowed shirt. “Well, anyway, thank you.”

He nodded. “What were you doing on Hatcher’s property?”

His mother shot him a scolding look. “Can you offer her a cup of coffee before you start the interrogation? Even cowboys should have good manners.”

Ignoring the smiles from his brothers, he poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Shelby.

“Thank you,” she said, the slight quirk of her lips indicating she was enjoying seeing him chastised. “I thought I was still on my uncle’s property. I got caught up in my work and I didn’t realize I’d strayed. Lost track of the time, too.” She looked thoroughly embarrassed.

Her uncle? Which of their neighbors was her relation? He was about to ask when a loud pounding on the front door made her jump, spilling some of the coffee.

“Don’t think that’s the cops yet,” Owen said. “I called them, but they’re working an overturned lumber truck on the main road that has traffic stopped in and out of town.” He opened the door.

Joe Hatcher stepped in, white hair plastered over his skull. His angry gaze swept the kitchen until it fastened on Shelby. “I was out checking my property. Saw Barrett pulling you out of the ravine. You got no business on my land, like I told you last week. You trespass again and you’re gonna get hurt,” he snarled.

All the brothers stepped a pace forward.

“You’ll be civil,” their father said, “or you’ll leave.”

“Civil?” Hatcher’s eyes narrowed. “I gotta be civil when she can trespass on my land? Go poking around in my mine?”

“I wasn’t anywhere near your mine and I didn’t mean to stray onto your property. That was my mistake. I was taking some samples along the road and I got disoriented.”

Samples? For what purpose? Barrett wondered.

“Fool thing to do. You deserve what you got,” Hatcher said.

Shelby stood and lifted her chin. “So was it you who hit me from behind and locked me in the trunk of my car?”

“’Course not,” he said. “If I’d known you were on my land, I’d have shot you.”

Evie gasped and Barrett started to speak, but Shelby faced Hatcher, a glint of fire in her expression. “There is no need for threats. I apologize for trespassing. I was taking some surface samples and I didn’t realize I was no longer on my uncle’s property.”

“But let’s be clear,” she continued. “That isn’t your mine. I have every right to enter and collect samples and I will do that in the near future.”

“You gonna tell me I don’t own the property that’s been in my family for a hundred years?” he snapped.

“Of course you own the land. That’s why I came to see you last week, but you wouldn’t talk to me. As I would have explained if you’d answered your phone or read your mail, you don’t own the mineral rights. My uncle does, and he wants an assay of the ore. That’s my job and you don’t have the legal right to interfere.”

Hatcher’s mouth worked, brows drawn into a ferocious scowl. “I don’t care what the law says. If you step on my property again, I’ll kill you.”

Barrett’s pulse hammered as he grabbed Hatcher by the arm. “That’s enough. You’re leaving.”

Hatcher shook away Barrett’s grip but stalked to the front door with Barrett following. “Get your car off my property,” he called to Shelby. Before he stepped outside, he poked Barrett in the chest. “You won’t be so eager to help when you know who her kin is,” he hissed.

Barrett stared him down. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to come into this home and threaten a woman’s life.”

Muttering, Hatcher stomped down the porch steps.

Barrett shut the door, Hatcher’s words replaying in his mind. As he returned to the kitchen, a trickle of suspicion slithered through his belly. It couldn’t be. “Shelby, who is your uncle?”

“Ken Arroyo,” she said. “Do you know him?”

Barrett could feel the weight of his family staring at him. Time seemed to slow as if the hands of the old carriage clock were being held by some invisible force, his breaths ticking along in rhythm.

“Yes,” he said finally. “I know him.”

“You’re neighbors,” she said uncertainly, “even though he’s not here for part of the year. You must be friends, then?”

“No, not friends.” The furthest thing from friends.

She cocked her head slightly, long tendrils that had escaped the ponytail curling around her face, her glance taking in the stricken looks around the table. “I can see that my uncle has no fans here. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

No, he thought. No, I don’t.

* * *

She watched Barrett exhale long and slow. He couldn’t be older than his early thirties but there was a deep storehouse of grief and fatigue in his electric-blue eyes that made her wonder. He rubbed a hand over his chin as if to smooth away some painful thought.

“Not the time. If you’re feeling better, I’ll drive you to the hospital, or you’re welcome to wait here for the police.”

“I don’t need a hospital. I need to get back. The police can talk to me at Uncle Ken’s house.” She stood. “I’m okay and I can find my own way to my car.”

“Begging your pardon, but I’ll escort you.”

“Not necessary.”

Barrett didn’t answer.

Evie appeared to have recovered her composure. “We will bring you your clothes when they’re dry.”

“Thank you very much, but I can pick them up. You have all been extremely kind. I can’t thank you enough.”

Evie took her by the hand. There was something forced in her smile and it made Shelby sad. For a few minutes, it had been nice to feel like someone’s daughter again. It pained her that somehow things had changed, though she didn’t know why.

“That’s what neighbors do,” Evie said. “Barrett will see you back.”

Barrett stood stiffly by the door.

“Hey,” Owen said, moving close to his brother. Shelby noted he had a pronounced limp. “I can take her,” he said quietly, but Shelby heard him anyway.

Barrett shook his head. “I got this.”

What was it about her relationship with Uncle Ken that had instantaneously set up a wall between her and the Thorn family?

It’s not your problem. You’re here for Uncle Ken. The Thorns could put up walls for whatever reason and it was of no consequence to her. At the moment, her entire life goal was to get back to her uncle’s place and enjoy the hottest shower she could stand.

Barrett led her outside. As she passed the foyer, she caught the scent of pine from a Christmas tree. It was standing in the corner of the room, festooned with ornaments. On the fireplace mantel, green branches were trimmed with tiny red glass balls. A framed photo graced the mantel, a grinning Barrett without the cowboy hat, his arm around a young woman, radiant in a wedding dress, her long hair pinned back with white roses. She was lovely. Barrett flicked her a glance, catching Shelby looking at the picture. She looked away and followed him outside.

The rain had slackened off to a weak sprinkle. The events of the day overwhelmed her as her mind spooled through the memories. A sudden blow to the head, the sensation of being hauled into her trunk, the awful sound of the lid slamming shut.

The attack had been from Joe Hatcher, she was sure of it, but why? Just to keep her away from the mine? Out of greed? Anger at her perceived trespassing? Or perhaps he had some deep-seated resentment about her uncle, too?

“You ride?” Barrett said, pulling her back to the present.

“Since I was a kid,” she said. That was probably overstating. She’d slacked off on her riding since her youth when she would visit her uncle in the summertime, but she found herself wanting to prove her worth to Barrett Thorn. Bad enough that he’d had to rescue her from a locked trunk and lug her out of a ravine. She couldn’t leave him thinking she was some flimsy damsel-in-distress type.

He untied the horse that Jack had been riding. “Lady is a gentle ride.”

She was right. He did think she was clueless. Ignoring his offered hand, she put her foot in the stirrup and climbed onto the saddle.

Barrett mounted his horse and clicked his tongue at the big animal.

Shelby was grateful that the rain had tapered off. Moonlight cast a weak glow over the landscape as they trailed back to where she’d parked her car. Her own stupid mistake made her groan inwardly. Some assayer. Hadn’t even realized she’d strayed onto Hatcher’s property.

Determined not to incur any more embarrassment for one evening, she slipped off Lady and handed the reins to Barrett. He was a giant astride the big horse, and as immovable as a cliff.

“Thank you again,” she said. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Don’t owe me anything. I’ll help you find your keys or maybe I can hot-wire it.”

“No need for you to stay. I’ll find them.”

He ignored her, dismounting and beginning a search of the wet ground.

She hesitated, curiosity burning inside. “Barrett, what do you have against my uncle?”

He looked away. “Don’t need to talk about that now.”

“It’s not likely we’re going to do much chatting in the future.” That got no reaction. “So tell me. If you have a beef against Uncle Ken, then I have a right to know. He’s my only family.”

Barrett’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “No disrespect intended, ma’am, but you don’t have a right to know.”

She folded her arms, her pulse kicking up. “If Uncle Ken has an enemy right next door, then it is my business.”

Barrett looked down at her, considering, shoulders a broad, tense wall against the night sky. He blew out a breath. “All right. You want to know so bad, I’ll tell you.”

She waited quietly.

“Ken’s son killed my wife.”

The words dropped like stones. Killed my wife. She found herself unable to speak. An endless moment passed between them but she could not think of a single response.

“Let’s find those keys,” he finally said.

Her thoughts ran rampant as they searched. Glass littered the ground from where Barrett had broken the window.

Her cousin Devon had killed Barrett Thorn’s wife? She flashed back to the photo she’d seen, a radiant bride and her handsome groom. With a surge of guilt, she realized she hadn’t been back to her uncle’s ranch in so long that she had only known the barest hint about what was going on in the lives of Uncle Ken and Devon.

She’d known Devon had gone to prison for causing an accident that had killed a woman, but she did not know the particulars. The times she’d called, Uncle Ken had steadfastly refused to discuss it.

Still lost in thought, she found her pack under a nearby shrub. There was no sign of her samples, but everything else was there.

Barrett held the reins of the two horses in his hands. He looked somewhere over her head, anywhere but in her eyes.

“I’ll wait until you get your car started,” he said. “Good night, Miss Arroyo.”

In his tone, she heard the bitterness. Ken’s son killed my wife. She was anxious to get away, to sort it all out in her mind.

A noise behind her made her turn.

Barrett was staring at something in the distance. His attention was riveted to a spot under the trees, pitch-black except for a soft orange glow.

Her mind was slow to put it together. The orange glow was not an electric or battery light. It sparkled and fizzed like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.

No, not a firecracker.

A fuse.

“No,” Barrett shouted.

Shelby could not see who was standing there under the trees. With a blur of movement, the stranger launched the dynamite through the air. It arced a golden trail through the night, speeding straight toward her.

FOUR

Barrett dropped the reins, grabbed Shelby’s hand and yanked her after him. There wasn’t time to do anything but dive behind a pile of boulders and put his bulk between her and whatever shrapnel was about to come their way.

The explosion was deafening. Shards of glass flew through the air, smashing on the rocks and cutting into his back as he tried to block Shelby from the falling debris. His eardrums rang with the percussive burst. The ground shuddered under them. He looked up in time to see Lady and Titan bolt, fleeing to the safety of the trees.

Shelby stirred in his arms but he caged her there with his body.

“Stay still until we know there’s nothing else coming.”

She probably wasn’t thrilled about his command, but she acquiesced.

It was silent save for the wind in the branches and his own harsh breathing. Through the thin jacket his mother had insisted she wear, he felt her sides rising and falling in rapid rhythm. After a few moments, he poked his head up above the pile of rocks, watching for signs of movement. He saw nothing but a flicker of white as Titan led Lady away from the danger.

Barrett eased up and crawled from the hiding place, offering Shelby a hand. She took it, and together they surveyed the damage. He still kept a cautious eye on the trees.

The front of her car was blackened and twisted, smoke pouring out through the broken windshield. Her expression was hard to read in the scant moonlight. Fear? Outrage? Confusion? All of them would apply.

“What just happened?” she demanded, hands on hips.

“Dynamite.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “So somebody actually ignited a stick of dynamite and lobbed it at me?”

He nodded. “Plenty left around here from the mining days. Easy to lay hands on it.”

“I don’t care where it came from. The bigger point here is why would someone light up a stick and toss it at me? It has to be Joe Hatcher.”

“Maybe, unless you’ve angered somebody else.”

She folded her arms and skewered him with such a look of disdain it almost made him smile.

“I haven’t done anything to anyone in this town.”

He didn’t answer. Whatever she had or hadn’t done wasn’t his business. Yet once again, he found himself trying to extricate her from a pile of trouble.

“What makes you think it’s not Joe Hatcher?” she said.

“Doesn’t seem like a rational thing for him to do.”

“He threatened to kill me recently, if you remember.”

“And that was completely out of line, but he might have been shooting his mouth off. My father believes him to be an honorable man, deep down.”

“And you believe that, too?”

He cocked his head. “I don’t know, but I trust my father. So for now, I’ll reserve judgment.”

She met his eyes, her own glimmering with unreadable emotion. “I admire that kind of familial respect.”

Something was under those words, something deep and painful and raw.

Since he did not know what to say, he dialed his cell phone and told his family about the newest development.

“Road’s still blocked to our ranch,” Owen told him. “Cops said they’ll circle around and meet you at Arroyo’s place.”

Arroyo’s place. He’d rather crawl through a cactus field, but he could not think of any way out of it. “Okay,” he said.

“Need backup?”

“Nah, thanks, though.”

He pocketed the phone and joined Shelby, who was examining the remains of her car.

“As soon as I get the horses back, we’ll go to your uncle’s place. Cops will meet us there.”

She stared gloomily at the wrecked vehicle. “My first new car.”

He decided it was not the time to tell her a nice half-ton pickup might have held up better than her flimsy foreign-made tin can.

His mother’s voice rang through his memory. In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin: but he that refraineth his lips is wise. He’d had to copy that proverb out as punishment a number of times when he was a kid. All the Thorn brothers had, except Jack, who was so quiet no one ever knew what he was thinking.

And then there was the youngest Thorn. Their mother would probably still be having Keegan write out Bible verses if she could get him to do it. Barrett didn’t figure Keegan would ever master the art of restraint.

He heard no sign at all that the person who had tossed the dynamite was still around, so he figured it was okay to leave Shelby there while he went after the horses. Titan wouldn’t have gone too far and Lady would stay with him. Horses weren’t as smart as humans, but they knew the survival basics.

Retrieving his hat from the ground and shaking off a sprinkling of glass and dirt, he put it on and headed for the trees. He was surprised to find that Shelby was following him.

“I...I figured I’d help,” she said.

Help? That surprised him. Maybe she was scared to be left alone, but she seemed like the kind who wasn’t scared of much.

A memory came back to him so strong it cut his heart in two. His wife, Bree, was the bravest woman he’d known, but she’d been petrified of snakes. The day a little gopher snake wriggled into the kitchen, she’d leaped onto Barrett’s back piggyback-style, hollering for him to get rid of it. He’d been laughing so hard tears had run down his face.

A drop of rain splatted his cheek and he realized he was standing still. Shelby was looking at him inquiringly.

“Are you okay?” she said softly.

“Just thinking.” He turned away and she laid her hand very gently on his shoulder.

“Wait a minute. You’re bleeding. I think you got cut by some flying glass.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay.”

But she did not let go. Instead she lifted the bottom edge of his jacket. He felt her fingers graze over his back, the sting of the cool air against the cut at odds with the softness of her touch.

“It doesn’t look deep, but it needs bandaging.”

He was caught there, wanting to pull away, yet part of him wished to stay, to accept the comfort of her gentle fingers, a connection he had not experienced in a very long time. Blinking, he cleared his throat, moving just enough that she let go of his jacket.

“There,” he said, relief pouring through him. “There’s Titan.” He whistled and the horse approached, with Lady following a pace behind. He took the reins and patted the horse. “It’s all right, buddy. The dynamite scared all of us.”

Lady was composed enough to allow Shelby to mount. When Barrett was astride Titan, they headed along the muddy trail toward Ken Arroyo’s property.

He had not spoken to Ken since the trial when Devon was imprisoned for killing Bree. Ken had bought his son the fancy car and given him all the money he needed to enable his party-boy lifestyle. As far as Barrett was concerned, Ken might as well have bought his good-for-nothing son the liquor that he guzzled before getting behind the wheel.

Anger lit inside Barrett’s gut like a burning coal, just as hot as it had been since his wife was taken from him.

Would he be able to keep his mouth shut to prevent the ire from spilling out like acid?

Just keep quiet, he told himself as they picked their way toward the house of his enemy.

* * *

Shelby was lost in thought as they followed the trail to her uncle’s property. Who would want to throw her in the trunk of her car and then toss a stick of dynamite at her? It had to be Joe Hatcher. He had threatened to kill her, hadn’t he? But what would he gain except to keep her out of the mine and buy himself a whole lot of unwanted attention?

As they neared the ranch, she could see Barrett straighten. His back must be hurting. Her fingers tingled at the memory of his strong muscles. The man despised her uncle, yet he’d twice bailed her out of a terrible situation. It must be that cowboy-honor thing.

She felt a deep-down ache in her temple behind her left eye. Migraine or a residual pain from her attack? No time to ponder that as the big ranch house loomed before them.

Uncle Ken had built the home thirty years before, as a summer place for him and his wife, Opal, but Opal had died in childbirth.

Uncle Ken lived most of the year on the east coast with Devon, tending to his commercial real estate business and summering at the California ranch until Devon was fifteen. Summers there had been idyllic. The three of them—Shelby, her sister, Erin, and Devon—rode horses, drank lemonade and caught frogs in the creek.

She’d envied Devon for his situation. It was so different from her own, as a child of a single mother who quaked with fear when the monthly bills came due. She wondered how Devon was faring now. State prison was a world removed from his comfortable home with Uncle Ken.

A police car was parked in front of the two-story house on the wide circular drive. Barrett looped the reins around a split rail fence. Uncle Ken was an equine fanatic and he kept three horses in the back pasture even though he rarely rode anymore, leaving their care to an employee, but she figured Barrett wasn’t about to make himself or his own horses at home on Uncle Ken’s ranch.

His son killed my wife.

She’d not seen Devon since his high school graduation, the happy kid with the wide smile. How differently Barrett must see him, the killer of his wife. She had no idea how the next few minutes would go as she reached the front door. Barrett followed her in, lingering a few paces behind.

The lamps in the front parlor illuminated a well-appointed front room with sleek leather furniture and richly hued area rugs, not a Christmas decoration to be seen anywhere. Uncle Ken was deep in conversation with a young police officer whose close-cropped hair and rain slicker were damp. Her uncle broke off and wrapped Shelby in a hug, his wide face flushed with emotion.

“I can’t believe what’s happened to you. Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” she said, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m okay, thanks to Mr. Thorn.”

Barrett grimaced.

Uncle Ken’s mouth twitched as he looked at Barrett. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “for taking care of my niece.”

Barrett shrugged, hands jammed into his pockets, avoiding eye contact. His jaw was tight, shoulders tense.

The police officer introduced himself to Shelby. “I’m Chris Larraby. I’ll be handling your case. I spoke to Joe Hatcher. He was upset about the trespassing, but he says he had nothing to do with locking you in your trunk.”

“Well, now we’ve got a stick of dynamite thrown into the mix,” Shelby said. “You can ask him about that.”

“Did either of you see who threw it?”

Barrett shook his head.

“I didn’t see a thing either,” Shelby added.

“It had to be Hatcher,” Uncle Ken said. “He made threats.”

“Doesn’t prove anything,” Barrett said.

“It’s common sense. Why would you defend him?” Ken’s eyes narrowed. “Is it because Shelby is my kin? You’d be happy to see her hurt to get back at me, is that it?”

Barrett’s eyes blazed. “No, that’s not it.”

Larraby raised a palm. “Let’s leave the past out of it.”

Barrett’s expression read, “How are we gonna do that?” But he kept quiet.

Shelby went over the details again while Larraby jotted notes on a small pad of paper. He tucked it into his front pocket. “We’ll photograph and give it a once over when the storm’s through. In the meantime, Miss Arroyo, I’d advise that you don’t go poking around Gold Bar by yourself until we figure out what’s going on here.”

He paused at the door. “And tell your family to keep their cool also, huh, Barrett?”

Barrett’s chin went up. “I’m not telling them anything. We have nothing to do with any of this.”

“Yeah?” Larraby’s voice went so quiet Shelby almost didn’t hear it. “If there’s trouble around, Keegan’s usually not far away.”

Barrett’s nostrils flared and the vein in his jaw jumped. “Do your job and solve the case, Larraby,” he said. “I don’t want anything to do with the Arroyos, and neither does my family.”

Shelby watched Barrett stalk through the door. Her emotions clashed loudly inside her. So Barrett and his family wanted nothing to do with her? That was just fine, but if Barrett thought she was going to get run out of town on a rail, he had another think coming. She owed everything to her uncle, the man who had financed her college education, tried to help her mother when the creditors came calling. He was practically a parent to her since her mother had denied Shelby and Erin access to their real father, or so she’d believed until recently.

I’m not going to tuck my tail and run, Barrett, she thought. She would do the job her uncle had hired her to do and nothing, not Joe Hatcher or the Thorn family or anyone else, would stand in her way.

FIVE

At his customary hour of 4:00 a.m., Barrett made it into the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee. The cuts on his back stung, but work would make him forget about the discomfort. Owen was already sitting at the table with a steaming mug. He immediately stopped massaging his upper thigh when Barrett arrived, but not quickly enough.

Barrett sat across from him. “Pain bad today?”

Owen shook off the question. “No.”

It was not the truth, of course. Barrett could see by the slight sheen of perspiration on his brother’s forehead that his leg was killing him. It also meant he was still steering clear of the pain meds that had been more destructive than the bullets. Stay strong, brother.

“Checking fences today with Jack. Can you and Keegan handle the feeding?”

“I can handle it myself,” Owen said defiantly, challenging his brother to disagree. He did not. Barrett knew the power of work could heal a man; it had helped heal him after Bree’s death. Ken Arroyo’s words from the night before galled him afresh.

Is it because Shelby is my kin? You’d be happy to see her hurt to get back at me, is that it?

Barrett’s bitterness was mixed with shame because, following the accident, he’d been in such anguish, steeped in rage unlike he’d ever experienced, that he’d wished every bad thing he could imagine on the Arroyo family. Years of prayer and penitence and God’s grace had helped restore him, at least mostly. He had not found the strength to completely forgive Devon Arroyo yet, but at least the rage no longer completely consumed him from the inside out. Devon was a kid who’d made a tragic mistake. Barrett’s feelings for Ken were another matter entirely.

Again the conversation circled through his mind.

I don’t want anything to do with the Arroyos, and neither does my family.

Well, that part was true anyway. Shelby Arroyo could solve her own problems.

“That’s it?” Owen said.

“That’s what?”

“You’re not going to talk about what happened last night with you and Shelby?”

“I already told you. It’s all over.”

Owen raised an eyebrow and chugged some coffee. “You two almost got blown up, and you’re not worried about her?”

“She’s not my problem, and she can take care of herself.”

“Uh-huh. Locked in a trunk and almost blown up in the same day. Clearly she can take care of herself.”

Barrett grabbed his jacket, unwilling to talk anymore about Shelby. “Mama wants mistletoe.”

Owen laughed. “Of course she does. I’ll give that job to Keegan. He climbs trees like a monkey.”

Barrett and Jack met up in the stable. Jack had already saddled both Lady and Titan, who seemed to be suffering no ill effects from their frightening episode the evening before.

For a second, Barrett wondered if Shelby had any nightmares about what happened. Bree had periodic nightmares that would leave her trembling and crying. He would roll over and embrace her, kiss her hair and rub circles on her back until she fell asleep again. Funny, she could never recall the bad dreams upon waking.

“You make them go away,” she would say, “so I can’t remember.”

Oh, how he’d loved her. Sometimes he wished he could forget the pain just as easily as she forgot the nightmares. But the pain was a part of the blessing God had given him in Bree, and he would not reject a single moment of it, anguish and all. Bree was with God and she knew no pain, that was his comfort.

He pulled himself back to the present. Jack was already leading Lady out, so he scrambled to catch up, wondering why his thoughts of Shelby and Bree were getting tangled together.

The fences were in better shape than he anticipated and by lunchtime they were heading back after a few minor fixes. The clouds promised more rain, but for now the sky was holding. He admired the wet gold of the grass which would not regain its brilliant emerald until the spring. The glistening oaks dripped down on them as they picked their way back to the house at just after eleven. His stomach rumbled and the horses were hungry, too, judging by the way they picked up their pace as they neared the barn.

Barrett handed Titan over to Ella Cahill, who beamed a bright smile from under her tangle of red hair. Though she was in her late twenties, she barely came up to the horses’ withers. Ella was tiny but ferociously devoted to her disabled sister and to the Thorns, whom she treated as family. She and Owen had been inseparable as young children. She’d got into some trouble after Owen deployed, but Barrett didn’t know the particulars.

“Hey, Barrett. You’re late. Did you forget Titan is due for his pedicure?”

In spite of her young age, Ella was the best farrier that had ever worked at Gold Bar Ranch. She had a gift, a connection with the horses that defied description. “No way. Didn’t forget.”

“I’ll get Titan some breakfast. He likes to munch while I work on him,” she said.

Barrett caught sight of an older horse that gleamed almost white gold, narrow chested with a bright silky mane, delicate and powerful at the same time. He did a double take. “Isn’t that Arroyo’s Akhal Teke? Is Ken here?”

Ella shook her head, smile dimming. “No, his niece is, and I already got the third degree from Ms. Arroyo so it’s your turn. She’s in the house,” she said, turning away to lead Titan into the barn.

“The third degree about what?” Barrett called to her, but she didn’t answer.

He stared from the high-spirited horse, which was eyeing him suspiciously, to the house. What was Shelby Arroyo doing back at the Gold Bar? And what was she doing riding a hot-blooded horse like the Akhal Teke?

Jack fisted his hands on his hips. “You coming?”

Barrett suddenly felt unsure, reluctant to subject himself to Shelby’s soft green eyes. He felt like bolting as Titan had done to escape the dynamite. Why the sudden onslaught of ridiculous emotion? What was the matter with him?

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he said angrily, cramming his hat more firmly on his head as he strode past his brother.

* * *

Shelby held her chin up as she heard the noise from outside. Barrett’s mother stood and went to the big simmering pot on the stove.

“Boys will want some soup on a cold day like this,” Evie said. “They’ve been up since before sunrise checking fences.”

Shelby had been hoping she’d somehow miss seeing one particular Thorn brother. All she’d needed was her pile of clothes and some information, which she’d been semisuccessful in prying out of the farrier. “I’ll get out of your way. Thank you for laundering my clothes, Mrs. Thorn.”

“Please call me Evie. Why don’t you stay for lunch? I’m baking gingerbread men later and I’d love some help. The boys are terrible at decorating cookies. My gingerbread men all turn out looking like zombies after the boys are done.”

The front door opened and Shelby heard the sound of jackets being hung up on the hall stand. Her stomach tightened. “No, thank you. That’s very kind but I think, since my cousin caused Bree’s accident, I shouldn’t be here longer than necessary.”

Evie’s mouth tightened for a moment. “What happened to Bree was a tragedy, for everyone, but God can make good out of it.”

Shelby sighed. “That’s what my mother would have said.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“She wanted to believe in the happy, God-will-provide kind of thing, but that didn’t play out in our lives when my sister and I were younger. It took me a long time to understand.” Even when they were eating canned beans for dinner. Even when their father left after the divorce and her mother had refused to let the girls go live with him, the woman had clung to her stubborn, rose-colored view of life.

Now that Shelby wasn’t a child anymore, she had grown to respect her mother for believing God’s promises. After all, Shelby and her sister grew up just fine. She wished desperately that she could tell her mother she’d been right, to ask forgiveness for dismissing her mother’s staunch, faith-grounded optimism. Pain licked at her insides.

“She’s, um, disabled now,” Shelby said flatly. “She had a stroke that affected her brain. My sister was caring for her until we had to move her into a place with full-time nursing.”

“Is your father still around?”

“He lives in Canada. I haven’t seen him in a long time. I recently discovered that, uh, he isn’t interested in being a father, never was.”

“I’m sorry.” Evie took her hand, the skin of her palms warm and calloused and comforting.

“Me, too, but my mother did her best trying to be Mom and Dad to us.” Yet another thing she should have said before it was too late.

Evie hesitated and then took a breath. “You know, we have a lot of holiday fun around here. We host a Christmas Eve dinner for the town. I want to invite you to hang out with the Thorn clan. I mean, if you don’t have plans with your uncle.”

Shelby understood. Uncle Ken was not welcome here, for all Evie Thorn’s assurances about God making it all turn out okay. Even the matriarch of the Thorn family blamed Uncle Ken for his son’s actions.

So much for grace and forgiveness. Fine, the Arroyos didn’t need grace, especially not from this family. She detached herself from Evie’s grasp. “Thank you again. I’d better go and let you get lunch served.”

She hustled to the front door, thinking she would escape before the brothers arrived in the kitchen for lunch. Barrett met her just as she stepped outside.

“Hello,” he said politely.

She could not help but marvel at the electric blue of his eyes, the most brilliant hue, like the sky on the first day of summer vacation. His gaze seemed to pierce right through her. There was something in his look, something accusatory? Suspicious?

Distrustful, she decided. Fine. She did not trust him either, even though he had crawled into a ravine to haul her out. Her face went hot at the memory.

She held up her bundle. “Just picking up my clothes.”

“You riding the Teke?”

“Yes. My uncle doesn’t ride much anymore and Diamond needs it.”

“Spirited horse, even if she is older.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying I can’t handle her?”

He shrugged. “Just observing. I remember hearing that your uncle bought her from Hatcher’s wife a while back. Sold off a bunch of horses then.”

“I didn’t know who Uncle Ken bought her from, but I wonder why Hatcher or anybody would want to sell off a gorgeous horse like that.”

“Wouldn’t recommend asking him. You two haven’t exactly hit it off.”

She tossed her hair back. “He’s going to be seeing more of me than he likes. I’m on my way to the police station later today. I’m going to ask Officer Larraby to come with me to force Hatcher to let me into that mine this afternoon.”

“Oh.”

“What?” She stared into the implacable blue gaze. “My uncle owns the mineral rights. Legally, Hatcher can’t refuse me, and it’s Larraby’s job to uphold the law in this town, isn’t it?”

No change of expression on his face. “Uh-huh.”

“Would you care to elaborate on your ‘uh-huh’?”

“Uh-uh.”

She groaned. “You don’t talk a whole lot, do you?”

“More than my brother Jack.”

Now there was the tiny quirk to his mouth that indicated the hint of a smile.

Her annoyance ebbed. “Well, anyway, I’m going to do my job with or without Hatcher’s consent.” She reached for the door but he opened it first, ushering her outside.

“Even if it causes trouble?”

She shot him a look. “Would you stop caring for your horses if it meant trouble?”

“Never.”

“Well, then, I guess we’re on the same page.” His face did not indicate as much. “Are you, I mean, is your back okay?”

“Only scratches.”

She had the feeling Barrett would say that even if he’d nearly been cut in half. She untied Diamond and climbed into the saddle.

Barrett looked at her. His eyes were contemplative, tense. “Be careful. It’s dangerous,” he said.

“What’s dangerous? Diamond or tangling with Hatcher?”

“Take your pick,” he said.

“I can take care of myself,” she said, wishing at once that she hadn’t. Still, she did not see disdain or ridicule in his expression, only a glimmer of some emotion she could not name, buried deep.

Guiding Diamond home, pain throbbed in her temple and she tried not to think about the burning dynamite arcing toward her. Hatcher? Someone else? Who might be in the dense cover of trees watching her?

Waiting?

SIX

Barrett loaded two English saddles into the truck next to a case of homemade pickles and drove them to Hatcher’s Saddlery to be oiled and tended before the next round of riding lessons started up after the holidays. The Gold Bar offered training in both Western-and English-style riding. With Christmas Eve just a week away, the chores were piling up. He’d promised to start working on putting up the tables for the holiday dinner. He’d not felt much holiday cheer at all since Bree died, but at least he was now able to enjoy his mother’s pleasure at the festivities hosted on the ranch.

Joe Hatcher operated his saddlery out of a small building set on his sprawling acreage. A thick cluster of oak trees and shrubs screened the workshop from the residence where Hatcher lived with his daughter, Emmaline.

Barrett did not know Hatcher’s ex-wife, Cora, well. Their families hadn’t socialized much and Hatcher’s divorce happened when Barrett was too steeped in Bree’s death to pay much attention to such things. He had to believe it was hard to raise a kid alone, especially a girl who would grow into a woman just as hard to figure out as any other of her kind. Women, Barrett mused. Who could possibly understand them?

Barrett was surprised to see another truck already parked in front, a familiar fully loaded model with shiny green paint.

Ken Arroyo’s vehicle.

Barrett debated whether or not to put his truck in Reverse and return another time. Instead he sucked in a breath as he heard loud voices coming from inside the saddlery. One was Joe Hatcher’s low rumble and the other a higher-pitched, feminine timbre, which made his breath catch. Shelby? She had not waited for the police to accompany her before she confronted Hatcher with her plan. Barrett groaned inwardly. Typical.

Chris Larraby pulled up in his police vehicle next to Barrett. He hastened from the car and entered the shop. Barrett hesitated only a moment longer before he followed Larraby in.

“You need to be reasonable,” Shelby was saying. She did a double take when she saw Barrett, but she did not move away from her position across the counter from Hatcher.

Hatcher looked anything but reasonable. His nostrils flared like an enraged bull’s. “Don’t care what your fancy papers say.”

“That’s why I asked Officer Larraby to come,” Shelby said, calmly.

“Sorry I was late,” Larraby said. “Something came up.”

“Gonna strong-arm me, Chris?” Hatcher said.

“Nothing like that, Joe, just calm down.”

Shelby shook her head. “I have a legal right to go in that mine and he’s here to see that you comply.”

“That right?” Hatcher said, staring at Larraby. “You gonna force me?”

“Let her do her thing,” Larraby said. “She’s within the law.”

“And if you interfere,” Shelby said, “you’re breaking it.” Her expression softened a bit. “Look, I don’t want to make this hard on you. I’m here to assess the mine. That’s all. That’s my job.”

Hatcher’s eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “And if you decide there’s gold worth mining down there, I have to let your uncle dig up my place?”

“That’s not my decision to make. I’m only a fact finder.”

“Well, find your facts somewhere else,” he snapped. “I’m not gonna let you snoop around my property.”

Shelby crossed her arms. “Why not, Mr. Hatcher? What are you so afraid that I will see?”

Time seemed to stop for a moment as the two locked eyes. Then Hatcher slammed a hand down on the counter. “I ain’t afraid. It’s the principle.”

But Barrett had seen the evidence and he knew Shelby had, too, the flash of emotion that darted across Joe Hatcher’s face. Fear. What was the source, Barrett wondered.

He felt a presence at his elbow and looked down at the petite Emmaline. The blond-haired woman was probably in her early twenties, yet she had the appearance of a teen. She chewed her lip, arms folded protectively around her, brown eyes wide.

Barrett nodded at her. “A little disagreement. Going to be okay.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “I hate yelling.”

Probably heard a lot of that with Joe Hatcher for a father, Barrett figured.

Larraby’s radio crackled and he listened to the dispatcher for a moment. “I have to go. Let the lady on your property.”

“Now?” Hatcher demanded.

“Now.”

“That an order?”

“I don’t want to make it into one. Just do it.”

Shelby and Barrett followed Larraby out to his car. Emmaline trailed behind.

“Thank you, Officer,” Shelby said.

Larraby scowled. “Don’t thank me. I don’t like strangers coming into town and upsetting the locals. Personally, I would react the same way Joe is. Do what you need to do. Get in and get out.”

Shelby’s cheeks pinked, but she did not reply.

“Aren’t you going to stay in case things go bad?” Barrett said.

“Joe’s not going to do anything.” Larraby yanked open his car door. “And I’m a cop, not a babysitter.”

“This isn’t safe, with everything that’s happened,” Barrett growled.

“If you’re so concerned, you go with her.” He slammed the door and drove away.

Hatcher stalked out of the saddlery. His face was splotched with anger.

“Are you taking me to the mine entrance now, Mr. Hatcher?” Shelby asked.

He didn’t answer but his expression was murderous. He started up the gravel path that cut around the shop and into the trees. Rocks ground under his booted feet. He did not look back to see if Shelby was following.

“That’s the way to the mine,” Emmaline said, chewing her lip. “It’s hard to find if you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

Shelby smiled and thanked the young woman. “You must be Emmaline. They told me in town you lived here with your dad. I’m sorry I’ve caused so much ruckus.”

“Daddy doesn’t like ruckus unless he’s the one causing it.” She sighed. “Better catch up with him if you want to find the mine. I would go with you to help but...” She shivered. “My mom used to explore all the time. She was kind of an amateur geologist, I think. I never liked it. It’s so lonely up there. There are strange sounds, and at night...” She shrugged.

“I’ll make sure I’m not here at night,” Shelby said with a gentle smile at Emmaline. “Thank you. I’ll go catch up with him.” She hurried after Hatcher.

Barrett tried to think of something to say to stop her, but he came up blank.

Emmaline eyed the saddles in Barrett’s truck. “Did you need those tended to, Mr. Thorn? If you bring them inside, I can write up your order.”

“Thanks.” Barrett hauled the saddles into the shop.

While Emmaline scrawled out the order on a notepad, he was thinking about Shelby.

It’s so lonely up there.

In light of what had happened the previous night, Barrett was angry at Larraby for driving off and leaving Hatcher to lead the stubborn Shelby.

If you’re so concerned, then you go with her.

He wasn’t concerned, not about Shelby. The woman would do whatever she dreamed up, regardless. No, he wasn’t worried about her.

Except that his stomach muscles were taut and the niggling in his nerves would not be ignored.

Barrett Thorn often thought he’d become another person since Bree died. An observer of life instead of a participator, a guy who let life roll past him like a river while he watched, rooted to the bank. But there was one thing that had not changed about him—that gut sense of right and wrong that his conscience would never let him ignore. Right now, his gut was hollering loud and clear that Shelby Arroyo should not be left in the hands of Joe Hatcher, no matter how much his father believed in Hatcher’s character.

Sighing heavily, he thanked Emmaline and left the shop, grabbed a flashlight and his hat from his truck and headed up the slope the two had taken.

“Mr. Thorn,” Emmaline called. “Are you going up there, too?”

“Yeah,” he said, yanking his jacket zipper. “Looks like I am.”

* * *

Shelby had to jog to catch up with Hatcher. She did not try to make small talk, just did her best not to slow his progress. As she trotted along, she could not help but wonder if the ground underneath her feet was laced with veins of quartz that might yield a rich gold strike, an assayer’s dream. A tremor of excitement rippled through her at the thought that she might literally be standing above the answer to Uncle Ken’s problems.

After several recent conversations, Uncle Ken had finally confided to her that his real estate business had been languishing. She knew the lawyers for Devon had been costly, too.

It stoked the feeling of guilt inside her. Uncle Ken had supplemented her meager earnings to pay for her college. He’d been more of a provider than her own folks, with her mother spending whatever money her father sent. She could never understand why her mother insisted that Shelby and Erin live with her instead of their father.

Why can’t we just go live with Dad? she remembered shouting at her mother in one of her teenage fits. He’s got a steady job and he knows how to keep money in the bank. He misses us and you never even let us visit him. It was bold talk since she’d only received a couple of letters and one phone call from her absent father.

Children belong with their mother, she would always reply. So when her mother frittered away yet another paycheck on new clothes for the girls or a trip to the zoo, Shelby would try to work even more hours at her part-time jobs.

It had not been enough to pay for school, so Uncle Ken stepped in. Erin had put off going to college because their mother’s medical needs had been too great. When Shelby started to bring in an income that provided for her mother, she’d insisted her sister should delay her schooling no longer. Now it was Shelby’s turn to funnel as much money as she could to both Erin and her mother. Shelby would help her make it through nursing school, after she got Uncle Ken’s situation straightened out. Hopefully a rich vein of gold in the mine would recoup everything he’d invested in her.

Her throat thickened at the memory of his shrunken appearance when she’d arrived the week before. The toll of Devon’s trial and imprisonment had cost Uncle Ken more than money. He was a shadow of the man he used to be.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she and Hatcher crested a steep hill. Down below them was a scrub-covered gorge and in front, a crumbling stone cliff. Hatcher seemed to consider a moment before he plunged through the knee-high shrubs. Grateful that she had worn her hiking boots and a windbreaker, she fell in behind him.

As they walked farther into the untamed growth, she suppressed a shiver. Was she walking into the wilderness with the man who had attacked her, thrown dynamite at her? But the police knew the situation, so surely Hatcher would not risk his own freedom by harming her. Unless the man was just plain crazy, she thought uneasily.

They stopped at a spot where the ground and the cliff intersected. All she could see was a tangle of branches and wild grasses that came up to her thighs. Hatcher pushed aside the foliage.

“Here.”

She peered beyond him. At the bottom of the cliff was a dark hole about six feet across and just about her height. Across the gap was an iron fence, screwed into the rock on each side, secured by a rusty padlock. Hatcher fished out a key ring from his pocket and selected a key. She thought his look turned calculating as he removed it from the ring and shouldered past her to unlock the padlock and wrench aside the fence.

“Well, now,” he said with a smile. “In you go.”

She hesitated, a blast of chilled air wafting out of the entrance. It was pitch-black inside. Her nerves screamed at her not to deliver herself into that gaping maw.

“I...”

“Whatsa matter?” He came closer. “You scared?”

“No. Are you coming, too?”

“Uh-uh. Wild animals in there,” he said with a cunning smile. “Some of the tunnels are flooded, too. Real slippery-like. Old guy like me can’t risk falling and breaking a hip, but you’re young and strong and sure of yourself, ain’t you?” He laughed a wet, crackling laugh. “Won’t be a problem for you at all, going into the mine all alone.”

“She’s not going in alone.”

Shelby whirled to see Barrett Thorn standing right behind Hatcher, his expression calm and implacable as always.

“You don’t have to...” Shelby started. “I mean, I can go in by myself.”

“Isn’t right.”

Barrett’s lips drew together in a determined line. Shelby understood that there was no way she was going to change this cowboy’s mind. She was not sure whether she should be flattered or infuriated. Somehow, the feeling that rose to the top was relief.

“Awww, ain’t that chivalrous?” Hatcher said. “If you two are both stupid enough to want to crawl around that mine, then go right ahead. I’ll be in the shop. If you need me, just whistle.” He moved back, the grin still wide, allowing Shelby to step inside.

The darkness engulfed her immediately, so she switched on her flashlight. Barrett crowded in behind, ducking to squeeze his head under the ceiling of stone.

Shelby beamed her flashlight above, the light sparking on the moisture seeping from the rock.

A loud clang shook the walls and made her cry out. They spun around to see Hatcher slam the gate and click the padlock closed.

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