“Tell me who you’re running from.”

“I don’t know…I mean, I’m not…” They were so close, Josie was almost in Bart’s arms. “You’re trying to confuse me again.”

More touching was involved as she peeled the shirt down off his shoulders, first to free his good right arm, then to slip it off his injured left. Though she tried not to stare, she couldn’t help admiring his magnificent musculature. Nor could she ignore his flat stomach and the light dusting of hair that trailed down below the waist of his jeans.

Bart cupped her cheek, turned her face to his. “Someone hurt you,” he said. “A man. Tell me.”

“I’ll get some ice packs for your arm.”

“What’s your name?”

“Josie Wales.” She turned away.

He slowly pulled her head toward him. Then he brushed her mouth with his. Just a momentary touch. Even so, she shuddered at the sensation that was strangely erotic.

“I meant your real name….”

If only she knew….

Dear Reader,

I’ve always thought that if I were to move from Chicago, it would be to northern New Mexico. I love the look and the feel of the place—the brilliant sunny skies with a clear light that inspires me; the rugged landscapes that remind me of a past that I still romanticize as I did when I was a kid.

And so it was an exceptional pleasure for me to bring a bit of that romanticized past to my latest Harlequin Intrigue books. SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS—half brothers Bart, Chance and Reed—return to save the Curly-Q Ranch despite bitter memories of each other and their relationship with their father who is dying. In doing so, they not only find danger and the loves of their lives, but a new respect for family and tradition.

If you enjoy their ride, please let me know—P.O. Box 578297, Chicago, IL 60657-8297. Send an SASE for information on upcoming books.

Regards,

Heart of a Lawman

Patricia Rosemoor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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An exclusive interview with Harlequin Intrigue author Patricia Rosemoor!

Q: What was the first romance you ever read?

PR: It was called Double Date and I was in the third grade. I finished my schoolwork and pulled out my book, only to have Sister Ursula confiscate it disapprovingly because it was a “Senior” library book, and being only seven, I was supposed to have a “Juvenile” card. When she returned it the next day, she suggested I should start reading books about history instead.

Q: Where do you get your inspiration?

PR: Often from learning about real struggles of real people. Other times from subjects that concern me, especially when it comes to animal welfare.

Q: What do you feel is special about this particular series, SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS?

PR: In spending time in New Mexico to do the research, I met a family that has recently opened their ranch to vacationers in an effort to preserve their way of life. I felt honored that they allowed my husband and I to stay in their home and be part of their family for a few days. And in doing so, I learned a new respect for those who pursue traditional ways of life (hard work and simple pleasures) in lieu of big-city careers and amenities. I hope that my true appreciation is apparent in the SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS series.

To read the complete interview with Patricia Rosemoor, log on to our web site at www.romance.net.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Barton Quarrels—The last thing the lawman wanted was to get involved with a woman who brought trouble with her.

Josie Wales—With no memory, how could she figure out who was after her?

Emmett Quarrels—Owner of the Curly-Q, Bart’s father has secrets of his own.

Hugh Ruskin—The bartender was hostile to Josie when he didn’t get what he wanted.

William “Billy Boy” Spencer—The new cowboy at the Curly-Q seemed to know more about Josie than she did about herself.

Tim Harrigan—The boarder at the Springs Bed and Breakfast was willing to do anything for Josie.

To research SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS, my husband and I went straight to the source—a ranch in New Mexico called Rancho Cañón Ancho, a jewel set in canyon splendor along the Mora River. We got more than we’d bargained for, both in the background information I was seeking and in hospitality. So I would like to thank Bryan and Kathy Turner, a couple who really ride for the brand and are keeping alive traditional ranch life for their son, Ethan. Also thanks to Kathy’s mom, Betty Snow, who helped Kathy feed and entertain us in true Southwestern fashion.

Contents

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Prologue

He was still behind her!

Heedless of the dark, moonless night, of the winding, downhill road and rain-slicked pavement, of the clumsy vehicle at her command, she jammed the accelerator all the way to the floor.

As if bitten, the truck she had stolen leaped forward crazily and threatened to shoot straight off the road.

Palms sweaty, she white-knuckled the steering wheel…successfully wrestled the cumbersome old rattletrap around a hairpin curve and away from the sheer drop…darted her nervous gaze to the rearview mirror….

Nothing for a moment. Then she saw the twin beams make the turn, as well. The headlights seemed a bit more distant, but still they kept pace with her.

She held her breath, the only sounds filling her ears the rumble of the engine punctuated by worn wipers clack-clacking as they streaked across the windshield.

It came to her then that she would never be free of him. She’d tried everything in her power, and still he was there, a dark phantom, a portent of her future. What little she had left of one, for the distance between his headlights and the truck was closing.

He would never let her go. Never let her get away.

Never let her live.

And she had no one to blame but herself.

Sickness welled in her as she acknowledged the fate that she had brought down on herself. Her chest tightened and the bitter taste of acid filled her mouth. Her eyelids stung as self-anger grew.

“No!”

She slapped the steering wheel so hard her palm stung. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not after everything she’d endured.

But the tears flooded her eyes, and even as she swept around another downward curve, she dashed them away with a shaky hand. Only a second’s inattention—that fast!—and the truck veered over, halfway into the oncoming lane. Before she could pull it back in line, her eyes filled again, this time with bright, blinding lights. The windshield wipers swept the image into focus: another vehicle heading straight for her.

An eighteen-wheeler, horn blaring!

Jerking the wheel was her second mistake. The old truck took on a life of its own, skated sideways over the slick pavement. Fear and adrenaline flooding her, she tried to keep her head. Steer into the skid. Brake gently.

Too late.

A tire grabbed the shoulder and spat gravel, while the rear end spun around and off solid ground into nothingness. Her heart skipped a beat as the rest of the truck followed. Flew without wings. For a second, she felt suspended….

Suddenly, a roller-coaster drop whipped her head into the side window and churned her stomach into her throat. Then turned her as the upended truck careened downward.

Free fall…

Touchdown.

The crash sent an explosion along her nerves, straight to her mind. She was straining against the seat belt, her voice catching as she tried to remember a prayer.

To escape the pain, she gladly entered the darkness….

Chapter One

Three miles out of the crumbling town of Silver Springs, Barton Quarrels pulled his four-by-four onto the washboard-dirt ranch road that would throw him back half a lifetime. Everything looked the same, he thought. Worn cedar and barbed wire fences. Yellowing grasses. A handful of mostly white-faced livestock grazing the high desert pasture.

What he feared was that everything would be the same.

His kids had been quiet all the way up from Albuquerque. Sullen, really. They’d get over it. Had to. He was doing this for them.

Well mostly, anyhow.

“Almost there,” he told them. In an effort to engage them, to rustle some little enthusiasm where he knew there to be none, he asked, “So, after you get your stuff settled in your rooms, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing to do out here but count cows,” Daniel mumbled.

“As I remember, you used to like that, ’cause it meant you were on a horse.”

“That’s when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, right. I keep forgetting.”

As far as Bart was concerned, sixteen was far from adulthood, but he needn’t alienate Daniel more. The air between them already bristled with teenage hostility.

Bart stopped the vehicle at the pasture’s barrier, and his son jumped out to open the metal pipe and wire gate. Daniel waited until his father had pulled through the opening before swinging the gate closed and clambering back into the passenger seat. The ritual was one repeated all over the ranch, whose nearly sixty thousand acres were broken down into manageable pastures.

Bart waited until they were once more on the prowl, past the scale house where cattle on the way to market were weighed before being shipped.

Then he tried making conversation again, this time with his daughter. “Hey, Lainey, honey, want to take some photographs around the place this afternoon?” Photography being her hobby.

He glanced in the rearview mirror to check out the twelve-year-old, whose attention was seemingly glued to those boring cows.

“Mom would hate this,” she suddenly said, head churning forward, green eyes exactly like Sara’s boring into the back of his neck. “She’d hate you, putting our home up for sale, making us move.”

Bart tore his gaze from the mirror and put it back where it belonged—on the road. “Your mother didn’t have a hateful bone in her body.”

Unable to help gripping the steering wheel, he couldn’t imagine ever completely erasing the pain of loss that burdened him.

“It’s not too late, Dad,” Lainey continued darkly. “The house didn’t sell yet, so we can still go home….”

“The Curly-Q’s gonna be our home now.”

Ignoring the interruption, the girl insisted, “You can get your deputy’s badge back and everything!”

Not that he’d really lost it in the first place.

Though he hadn’t told his kids—he didn’t want to raise their hopes—Bart had been smart enough to leave himself a safety net, just in case. He’d taken a long-term leave of absence and could go back to his old job as long as it remained vacant. The sheriff hadn’t wanted to lose him and so had promised to stall things, to keep his spot open for several weeks, at least.

Just in case.

But even a city as small as Albuquerque had growing problems that made Bart’s gut quake, not for himself, but for those he loved. He’d lost a wife to violence less than a year ago. He wasn’t going to give up his kids, as well.

After his mother’s death, Daniel had secretly joined a gang and had gotten into trouble defacing the high school with cans of spray paint. Bart wondered what he hadn’t gotten caught at. While he’d made his son swear to quit the gang, he knew the promise he’d wrung out of the boy was illusory. Peer pressure would get him in the end and he’d be sneaking out with his friends again. It was only a matter of time unless Daniel was removed from the path of temptation.

And Bart was willing to do anything to protect his kids…even sell his soul.

He stared out at the devil’s playground.

Rich, volcanic-based grasslands stretched around them as far as the eye could see. An optical illusion that plains gradually gave way to mountains. Though they were in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo range, the foothills here were nearly seven thousand feet up.

Clear air. Piercing blue sky. A slice of heaven.

At least the land itself was….

They’d reached the pinñon-and-ponderosa-pine-limned rimrock, their future spread out before them in all its splendor. The road here was dotted with dark green cedar, rusting scrub oak and the occasional grayish juniper bush.

The skin along Bart’s spine prickled as he started the descent into the canyon cut by Silverado Creek, a fat ribbon of water that twisted and turned and rushed across the Curly-Q. Now its function was merely to appease thirsty cattle and to provide a water table for the surrounding grasslands, but at one time, the creek had serviced the mine, which lay farther up the canyon and connected to town by a road that was now all but impassable.

The first hairpin curve thrilled Bart as always, and, also as always, his stomach was ready for the second. What he wasn’t prepared for was the state of the road, rutted by washout rains. The vehicle dipped and bounced its way down and red dust swirled around them. One spot was so bad that he found himself clenching his jaw so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue.

What had his father been thinking—not taking care of the only road out before it became near-impossible to fix?

“I want you two to give this a chance,” he said as the house drew in sight. The sprawling adobe backed by a handful of outbuildings looked the same, too, he noted. “If you can’t do it for me, then do it for your grandpa.Remember, we don’t know how long he has.”

Again, he glanced in the rearview mirror and caught the stricken expression Lainey was quick to hide.

“But Grandpa’s got Uncle Reed and Uncle Chance,” Daniel mumbled.

“If they decide to return.”

Certainly neither Reed nor Chance were anywhere in sight. No one was. The handful of dusty old pickups—the newest of which had to be twenty years old—were ranch vehicles. Though he hadn’t counted on his half-brothers agreeing to the deal, Bart experienced a moment’s disappointment. Unsure that anything would drag Reed and Chance back into a situation they’d all hated, he’d still wondered what it would be like—the three of them riding herd together again. Maybe this time they were old enough to make peace with each other. Maybe they were wise enough to make it work.

But Reed and Chance didn’t have families to think of. They had no reason to accept the devil’s bargain the way he had.

Bart almost expected the old devil himself to be waiting for them as he pulled into the front yard and two yapping dogs rushed the truck. But Emmett Quarrels was nowhere in sight.

Instead, Felice Cuma, his father’s housekeeper of nearly thirty years, flew out the front door, called the dogs and ordered them back to the barn. A smile of welcome flared fine lines around her dark eyes and full mouth. She had passed sixty, but Bart thought Felice was still a fine figure of a woman and couldn’t imagine why she wasted her life keeping someone else’s home when he was certain she could make one with a man of her own.

Lighting on Daniel as he unfolded all six feet of himself from the front passenger seat, Felice’s eyes went wide. “Chico, you’re a man now!”

Daniel grinned at Felice and rushed forward so they could give each other a big hug.

Arms folded across her chest, Lainey straggled behind. No smile loosened the tight grip that held her mouth in a flat line. Felice stepped out of Daniel’s bear hug and stared at the girl, her hand going to her throat as if she’d just been struck speechless. And her dark eyes suddenly went luminous, Bart noted, as if she were holding back tears.

“Ah, chica,” Felice finally said, her voice trembling, “you’ve grown so beautiful. You look exactly like your sainted mama.”

Lainey softened a little and allowed a hug, if not with her brother’s open enthusiasm. Expression concerned, Felice sought Bart’s gaze over his daughter’s head. He shrugged and spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

“Hey, Felice,” he said with affection.

“Mr. Bart. It’s good to see you. You’ve stayed away far too long.”

He knew Felice meant more than the last year and a half. That’s how long it had been since he’d stepped foot on Curly-Q land—since well before Sara died. They’d driven their kids to the ranch for a visit every summer. Bart had sometimes stayed the night, but he’d always gone off on his own—usually back to Albuquerque where he buried himself in work—and then had to come back weeks later for the three of them.

Sara really had been a saint, Bart thought, considering she’d been able to deal with the old tyrant for weeks at a time, while Bart had trouble tolerating his own father for a day. Amazingly enough, the old man had treated his grandkids with far more respect than he ever had his own sons when they were growing up—maybe he’d learned something from his past mistakes, Bart hoped—and so both Daniel and Lainey had always looked forward to their visits to the Curly-Q.

Good thing, or Bart never would have agreed to the deal.

“Daniel, Lainey—how about getting your bags.”

“Right,” his son groused, shuffling back toward the vehicle, his daughter silently following.

Most of their things were already there—Bart had sent a truckload ahead and Felice had made certain the kids’ rooms were set up with familiar treasures in hopes that they would adapt to the move more easily. For a moment, he watched them, intent on unloading the vehicle, shoving at each other in their best, normal brother-sister fashion.

Suddenly, Lainey screeched as Daniel pulled back and raised his arm, her camera in his hand.

“Hey, maybe it’s time I learned to use this thing,” he taunted.

“Give that back, Daniel!” she yelled as the automatic camera whined and clicked several times. “Stop that! You’re wasting my film!”

“Maybe I’m creating art.” Her brother’s taunt was followed by more whines and clicks.

“Da-a-ad!”

“Give your sister her camera, Daniel,” Bart said quietly. “Now.”

Daniel lowered his arm and a livid Lainey grabbed it from him. She gave the instrument a quick once-over, as if to make certain it was all right. Her hands trembled as they ran over the camera that had belonged to her mother. Bart wanted to cuff his son, who knew exactly how important that camera was to his little sister.

“That was my last roll, you moron!” Lainey yelled. “Now I can’t take pictures of anything! I hate you! I hate this place!”

Bart’s insides wrenching, knowing it was the camera she was really freaked out about even if she wouldn’t say so, he promised, “I’ll get you more film later, honey.”

But Lainey wasn’t talking to him or her brother. She grabbed what bags she could handle and stomped toward the house. Apparently unconcerned, Daniel buried his upper body in the back of the vehicle.

Sighing, Bart finally turned his full attention to Felice.

“Where is everyone?” He avoided asking about his brothers. “Curt…Laredo…Enrique?”

“All gone. The only one left from the old days is Moon-Eye and he’s picking up supplies.”

All gone.

All driven away.

No wonder his father had been so anxious to turn the ranch into a family corporation, Bart thought. Undoubtedly, he figured that way his sons couldn’t walk out on him again.

“We’ve had a couple of hands come and go since spring,” Felice was saying. “Only one stuck—Frank Ewing.”

“That makes three of us, then, to run this place,” Bart said, realizing how impossible that would be. “I’ll have to hire a couple of cowboys right away. Unless Reed and Chance show. What are the odds there?”

“Your father seems convinced they will come home.”

Home? Would his two half-brothers think of the Curly-Q that way when Bart himself had had such a difficult time doing so? Finally, he got to it. “So, how’s Pa?”

The housekeeper avoided his eyes. “The same,” she said stiffly.

That bad. Despite the fact that he and his father had never been close—at least not since he’d been a kid—Bart’s gut constricted.

“I guess I’d better go tell him we’re here.”

“Mr. Emmett knows. He’s resting and said he would see you later.”

Bart swallowed hard and nodded. And only hoped he hadn’t brought his kids to more grief.

THE TERRITORIAL-STYLE building stood a welcome relief—a thing of gracious beauty amidst the ruins of Silver Springs. And the clack of the brass knocker against the door brought a beautiful woman to open it.

Wiping her hands on her lace-edged apron, the woman asked, “Can I help you?”

She quickly smoothed loose strands of thick blond hair from her face and checked the twist at her nape as if to make sure all was secure. The rest of her was equally elegant, Josie noted, from her pearl earrings to her Italian leather pumps.

“Are you Alcina Dale?” Josie asked in a hesitant, soft voice.

“In person.”

“I understand you rent rooms.”

Entrenched on the porch, face half-hidden by the shadow of a Stetson from which spilled her tangled light brown, shoulder-length hair, Josie felt anything but elegant herself.

“This is the Springs Bed-and-Breakfast,” Alcina agreed, eyeing the single, aging leather bag Josie had dropped on the porch.

Josie knew what she must be thinking. A typical guest of a place like this wouldn’t wear jeans ripped at the knees and dusty, down-at-the-heel cowboy boots, or a stained denim jacket slipped over a white T-shirt. But the town didn’t have a regular boarding house, which is what she’d been hoping to find. This was the best suggestion the guy at the gas station could come up with.

Suddenly she realized Alcina was staring at her waist, where an inscribed silver buckle proclaimed her initials to be J-W. Self-conscious under the close scrutiny, Josie brought a hand to her belt and quickly covered the engraving.

“The problem is…um, well…I’m looking for work.”

Alcina sighed. “The seasonal tourist rush is over, and I really can’t afford to pay for help.”

“I—I thought maybe if you had a really small room, you might let me help you around here for my keep…. All I need is a place to sleep and some food until I get a job. Then I’ll pay you with real money.”

The note of desperation in her own voice grated on Josie. Sighing, she glanced down the twisted road that made up Main Street. Nothing for her there. Only a handful of occupied storefronts waged war against abandoned buildings and rubble left behind fallen structures.

“You’re thinking you’ll find work in Silver Springs?” Alcina murmured ruefully.

“It doesn’t seem likely, does it? I’ve never seen a town still alive and so dead at the same time.”

“Decades ago, Silver Springs was thriving. That’s when my daddy and his two partners discovered a new lode of silver in the abandoned mine…but then the lode ran out. The town hung on for a while as if it could breathe life back into itself. But over time, everything changed. Businesses got tired. People got tired. Silver Springs just up and died. So, honey, unless one of the ranches around here needs a day worker, I’m afraid there’s nothing here for you.”

Having been nearly ready to plead for help, Josie firmly tightened her lips and nodded. Her eyes misted over as she stooped to lift her bag…and she winced because the movement hurt.

She noticed that Alcina had quickly glanced to the street behind her, no doubt looking for a vehicle. But she had no car and no money…no way of getting anywhere else but her thumb.

Sweeping a tangle of hair out of her face, Josie turned to go. Alcina stared, eyes wide. Josie knew she’d caught a look at the nasty bruise along the left side of her temple and cheek. She tried to hurry away then, before explanations were necessary, but the other woman put out a staying hand.

“Wait.”

Shoulders pressed down by the burden of having nowhere to go, Josie hesitated without looking directly at Alcina. She hated needing help. Hated being pitied as if she were a kicked dog or something as equally pitiful.

“What’s your name?” Alcina asked.

She softly replied, “Josie,” as she put her free hand to her middle, fingers tracing those initials on the belt buckle. She thought quickly. “Josie…Wales….”

“Josie Wales—now where have I heard that name before?” Alcina mused, pulling her mouth as if thinking about it. “Are you originally from these parts?”

“No.”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, does it?” As if unable to help herself, Alcina said all in a rush, “I do have a small room off the kitchen that I don’t rent to tourists. Actually, it’s my ironing room, but there is a single bed and a dresser—nothing fancy.”

Josie snapped up her head. “I don’t need fancy.”

Relief poured through her, lightening her load. She blinked rapidly, stopping herself from outright crying.

Alcina rushed on. “And I guess the whole house could use a spring cleaning.”

“Spring?” Josie started. “But it’s fall…isn’t it?”

Confusion. Again.

Alcina said, “That it is, but it’s hard to get good help in a ghost town at any time of the year.”

“I’m willing to do anything you need.”

“C’mon inside, then. I’ll show you to your room, and after my guests finish their breakfast, I’ll feed you and give you the grand tour. You look like you could use a little rest. Then maybe later you can walk over to the grocery store and pick up a few things for me.”

“Anything! Thank you.”

Alcina stepped back to let her in. And yet she appeared troubled, as if she worried that she might have reason to regret her simple human kindness.

The flesh at the back of Josie’s neck prickled at the thought.

One last look out to the empty street reassuring her, she stepped inside and took a look around at the elegant Victorian decor, as, behind her, Alcina Dale firmly closed the door against the unknown.

FEELING A WHOLE LOT better on a full stomach and from a lie-down, and with the knowledge that she would have a roof over her head that night, Josie Wales set off for the small grocery store at the other end of Main Street.

Other end.

Three whole blocks, with only a handful of establishments lining the winding street cut through low hills open for business—café, law office, bar, whatnot, doctor’s office, home-and-feed, church, grocery, gas station.

And in between sat skeletal buildings in various stages of decay—reminders of a more prosperous era, as were those railroad tracks that went nowhere but along the boarded-up stagecoach stop. The single-story building of volcanic rock had wooden porches traversing the entire length of each side. Other rutted dirt roads on either side of Main Street led to a few dozen homes whose size, condition and state of occupancy varied, as well.

Just outside of Silver Springs, what was left of a row of miners’ shacks stood testament to the town’s origin—the old silver mine. Some were little more than stone foundations. As she’d hiked in from the highway, she couldn’t help but notice a strange-looking couple—squatters?—scurrying about the area, setting out displays that appeared to be made of animal bones. Odd, but nothing to unsettle her.

Not much to Silver Springs, Josie thought, but something about the town drew her, made her think she might be safe here.

Safe. Was she?

Despite the warmth of the late October afternoon, a chill swept through her, suddenly making her feel as if hostile eyes followed her every movement. She glanced around. Two women were chatting outside the doctor’s office across the street. A cowboy was hunkered on a bench outside the bar just ahead, his wide-brimmed hat bowed as if he were asleep. Behind her, an old junker of a car headed out of town. And at the end of the street, a fancy black SUV covered with red dust turned out of the gas station.

Nothing out of place…just like before, when the trucker had stopped his rig to let her out of the cab and she’d sworn someone was watching, though she hadn’t caught anyone at it…and yet…

What was wrong with her? No one could be following her. No one even knew where she was.

It was just that she hadn’t really felt safe since awakening in that hospital bed.

And now she was an outlaw on the run!

She glanced at the black SUV that crept along the street in her direction. The dark-haired driver seemed to be searching for something…or someone.

Her?

Muscles bunched, she was ready to bolt when he looked directly at her…through her…beyond her….

Realizing that she was of no interest to him, after all, Josie trembled with relief. Not that she could help being a bit paranoid. Undoubtedly that’s what was making her feel those invisible eyes on her.

Bringing her forefinger to her belt buckle, she traced the initials again and again.

J.W….J.W….J.W….

Josie Wales was as good a handle as any.

She had to calm down. Get herself straight. Make plans.

Stop imagining dangers where there were none.

Lost in thought, Josie at first ignored the faint sound coming from the abandoned building preceding the bar. But as she drew closer, she realized it was a cry of distress. Heart thumping, she slowed her step in the deep afternoon shadow cast by the structure and strained to hear.

A scrabble was followed by a sharp “Meow!”

A cat.

Relief shot through her. Just a stray animal.

But as she moved on, the cry grew pitiful, the scrabbling more frantic, and she stopped again as she drew even with the entrance.

“Mee-ooww!”

Josie closed her eyes and sighed. Undoubtedly she would be on a fool’s errand, but she couldn’t go on until she was certain the cat was all right.

The door hung crooked on its hinges and she had to throw her shoulder into the wood to budge it. The panel inched inward, then twisted so that the top hinge gave. Levering the unexpected weight, she took a quick look around, but nothing had changed—women still talking, cowboy still sleeping, SUV still inching along.

“Great. Add destruction of property to my crimes,” she muttered. “Not to mention breaking and entering.”

Another cat cry set her in motion.

Break and enter she did, stopping for a moment to let her eyes adjust, the interior being lit only by the smidgen of gray allowed through the grimy front windows, and that extending only a few yards before fading to pitch black.

How thrilling! she thought wryly. She’d never been able to see well in the dark….

Where had that thought come from?

Josie shook away another chill and concentrated.

Rubble decorated the interior of the abandoned shop as far as she could see—what was left of counters and shelves littered with plaster and rotting chunks of wood. As she moved with care, the floor squeaked and bounced beneath her boots. Her stomach tightened.

The place was dangerous, rotting, collapsing in on itself!

Stopping, she took a deep breath.

If any place could inspire paranoid delusions, this was it. Danger could lurk in every dark corner…in every inch of the area that she couldn’t see.

But of course it didn’t.

The only danger here was what she could inflict on herself.

Even so, reluctant to continue without reconnoitering, Josie softly called, “Kitty, where are you?”

A creak to her right startled her into stepping that way.

Until a loud “Mee-oow!” pulled her in the opposite direction.

For a second, she went rigid. Sounds from two directions? Then giddiness bubbled through her. The rotting wood was protesting, it being disturbed, was all. She veered left, feeling all but swallowed by the dark.

“Kitty, you owe me big time.”

She inched along until her foot hit something solid, the clank punctuated by a growl and a hiss.

Puzzled, she hunkered down. “Hey, I would never hurt you.” And reached out blindly, expecting to ruffle some fur. Instead, her fingers met an unexpected resistance, cold and hard. “What the heck…?”

Leaning forward, she ran her hand along the solid object and murmured reassurances. The cat continued to growl with increasing urgency. The angry-frightened protest raised the hair on the back of her neck even as Josie realized the poor animal was trapped in a cat carrier.

Who would leave a caged cat in an abandoned building?

Instinct snapped her upward, but upon rising, she whacked her shoulder into something ungiving. She took a misstep and twisted her ankle.

“Aah!”

Arms flailing, Josie tried to catch herself. She imagined hands on her even as she took another blind step. Rough hands. Hands that pushed her so that her boot heel came down hard and shoved right through some rotted boards.

For a second she felt suspended…her world turned upside down…a roller-coaster ride…only this time with no safety net….

Chapter Two

Josie fought the panic attack that threatened to engulf her. Shaking…lack of breath…heart threatening to pound right out of her chest.

She hadn’t fallen far, she told herself as rationally as she could—only to the rotting floor—but her boot had gone through the boards, ankle-deep. She tried to free herself. But no matter how she turned or twisted her foot, she couldn’t seem to manage it.

She was stuck!

Gasping for air, ribs and chest hurting where the seat belt had constrained her, she told herself to calm down. She was all right. She could get through this.

Unless…

Ghost memories of hands on her, touching her, pushing her, jumped back at her in a flash.

But had it really even happened?

She couldn’t say for certain. She only knew that same sensation of personal violation had invaded the deep unconscious from which she’d thought she would never awaken while in the hospital. That same sense of physical unease had pressed down on her then, too.

The same paranoia.

Josie willed herself to focus on any lurking danger, but she could no more see a threat in the dark than she could her own fingernails, which were digging painful little ditches in her palms.

Through fear-stiff lips she whispered, “Is someone there?”

Every muscle in her body tightened into knots as she waited for a response.

“Meow.”

She jumped. The cat! She’d almost forgotten….

“Yes, kitty, I’m still here.”

But was she the only one?

No noise alerted her to another presence. No sudden intake of breath. No stirring of foot against rubble. And the cat’s call had once more sounded pitiful rather than angry.

If any threat had been present a moment ago, surely now it was gone.

Not wanting to think too deeply on it, she muttered, “Give me a minute, kitty, and I’ll get us both out of here.” And willed her hands to unclench.

Panic receding, Josie carefully slid her bottom forward over creaking boards and hunched up as close to her foot as her aching middle would allow. Blindly, she felt for the problem. Ragged wood had gashed and caught the worn leather of her boot and held it fast in several places.

Concentrating on working herself free, Josie almost missed the import of several quiet footfalls coming at her.

Then her hands stiffened again and sweat popped down her spine. A wave of intense heat poured through her as she literally ripped at the wooden slivers trapping her boot. Carefully, she wiggled her foot and pulled…even as a bright light suddenly blinded her more effectively than had the dark.

“What are you up to?” came an arrogant male demand.

Freed at last, avoiding looking directly into the beam, Josie put out a hand to shade her eyes. All she could fathom was a dark silhouette against the bright light. Her impression was of a tall man, one broader than most. She cautiously rose, careful not to step back into trouble.

“Maybe you should be the one answering that,” she said more bravely than she was feeling.

“I’m not the one sneaking around here in the dark.”

“I wasn’t sneaking! I heard the cat—”

“What cat?” The disembodied voice sounded rife with suspicion.

Helpfully, the animal she’d been trying to rescue chose that moment to agree in the tiniest of voices—one Josie hadn’t before heard—almost as if the feline were satisfied that her rescue was imminent.

The bright beam moved away from her toward the sound. She followed its course and finally was able to see the object she’d been fumbling over—a cat carrier with a glowing-eyed occupant peering out hopefully at them.

“Meow.”

Josie reconnoitered, decided to get going and fast. But she wasn’t about to leave the animal she’d determined to rescue. Thinking she could use the carrier as a weapon if she needed to—only if forced, of course, lest she further scared the poor creature inside—Josie swooped down on the cage. Ignoring the pain that twinged through her middle, she grabbed hold of the handle and proceeded to bluff her way out of the place, a distant gray haze identifying the general area that would lead to the street.

“Wait a minute!”

She quickened her step toward the film of light ahead, muttering, “Forget it. I’m outta here!”

The beam turned and swept before her. “Have some light before you really hurt yourself.”

Josie didn’t so much as falter. She kept right on going, straight out the door. Just in case she needed some, she looked around for help. The street was deserted—no chatty women, no sleepy cowpoke. But the black SUV had been abandoned at the curb opposite.

Had the driver been looking for her, after all?

Knowing she was alone but for her furry companion, Josie flipped around and bravely faced him.

He was tall. He was broad. And he was definitely unhappy. A scowl marred an otherwise attractive face—rather, as much as she could see of it beneath his broad-brimmed black hat. His hard gaze met hers, trapping her as effectively as had the broken boards.

Any thanks for the rescue she might have uttered died on her lips.

“So what was this cat doing inside what should be a boarded-up building?”

His demand for an explanation immediately made her bristle. “Like I should know?”

“You obviously knew the cat was there.”

He moved closer to her, and his aura of power threatened to smother her. Normally she didn’t put credence to that sort of thing, but when her pulse lurched, Josie took a step back. Then she winced when the cat carrier smacked into a sore spot. A sudden acid taste in her mouth soured her mood further. If anyone had meant her harm in there, this man couldn’t have been the one, she assured herself, or he wouldn’t be asking so many questions.

Realizing that she probably had been alone, that she had spooked herself, and that her imagination had conjured some other “presence,” that, sensing her fear, the cat had appropriately responded to, Josie couldn’t figure out why this stranger had such a suffocating effect on her.

What in the world was wrong with her?

“I told you I heard the cat,” she finally said to break his invisible grip.

“And so you just went inside…”

“Right.”

“…and wandered around a decaying building blindly.”

“Why should I explain myself to you, anyhow?”

She tried pushing by him, but he caught her upper arm and held her fast. And though he didn’t hurt her, his fingers seemed to burn into her flesh right through the denim jacket. Her heart at first fluttered, then began to pound.

“We’re not done here.”

She went still and cold inside, and with difficulty, choked out, “What are you? A cop or something?”

The thought made her fight panic once more, if for a very different reason. What if there was a warrant for her arrest? What if he really had been searching for her?

His “Not exactly” didn’t exactly relieve her building anxiety.

“Then you won’t mind if I get going.” Pointedly, she stared at his hand on her arm until he let go. Her tense stomach relaxed and she trembled with relief.

“Where to?”

“Home.”

“You live in Silver Springs?”

Of course he would know everyone who lived in a town this small. “Well, I do for the moment…over at the Springs Bed-and-Breakfast.”

He seemed to digest that before musing, “The bed-and-breakfast, huh? Then what about the cat?”

Josie stared at him stupidly for a moment before it dawned on her. “Oh, right.”

She couldn’t just surprise the woman who’d been good enough to give her shelter with another mouth to feed…possibly an unappreciated mouth. Besides, the cat probably had an owner somewhere looking for her.

She raised the carrier and stared at the little white face edged by soft gray ears and a gray chin. Almond-shaped blue eyes stared back at her trustingly.

Josie asked, “You don’t happen to recognize her, do you?”

“Her?”

“The cat. Just a guess about the ‘her’ part,” she added hurriedly.

“Afraid not.”

“Maybe she knows how to get herself home.”

Not knowing what else to do, Josie set down the carrier and opened the door, all the while praying the owner would be glad to see the animal. Heaven forbid some irresponsible person had been trying to get rid of a pet…exactly what she feared, considering the circumstances.

But when the cat stepped out of her cage, she didn’t run off as Josie had expected. Instead, the animal pranced, showing off her beautiful white-and-gray coat, then arched her back and rubbed herself against Josie’s legs.

“She likes you.”

Caught by the man’s obvious amusement, Josie whipped up her head and frowned. “She just likes being out of the dark.” And she liked it better when he was being hostile.

“More than that,” he murmured, as the cat suddenly made a demanding sound and leaped straight up.

Instinctively, Josie caught the cat, who immediately settled in her arms, purring as though she was where she belonged.

“Oh, great, what do I do now?” she murmured.

When she glanced up, the man was watching her intently, his expression strange. For a moment, she was caught. Mesmerized by a pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. High cheekbones and a well-defined jawline gave his face an edge that only the slight cleft in his chin softened. Mouth dry, she stared back, vaguely aware that she was holding her breath.

“Meow!” the attention-deprived cat protested, jolting Josie into sucking in some much-needed air.

“So what are you going to do?” the man asked. “With the cat?”

“It doesn’t look like I have a choice at the moment, does it? I’ll have to take her with me.” Josie scratched the creature’s head and ran her fingers over the silky ears. “Don’t worry, Miss Kitty, we’ll figure out something until I can find your owner.”

And figure out how to feed the poor creature. “How are you at catching mice?”

The cat purred in answer.

“Doesn’t look like any mouser to me,” the man said, again seeming amused. Then he echoed, “Miss Kitty?”

“As good a name as any.”

“You wouldn’t have one, would you? A name, that is?”

“Josie Wales,” she said, this time without hesitation.

No harm in giving him a name that wasn’t even hers. The initials were right. She’d grabbed at the first thing that came to her mind. Still, she looked away from him and busied herself shushing Miss Kitty back into her carrier.

“Josie Wales?” He seemed about ready to challenge her, then said, “I’m Bart Quarrels over from the Curly-Q.”

Figuring the Curly-Q must be a local ranch, she nodded, lifted the occupied carrier once more and said, “I’d better be on my way, then.”

“Guess you’d better. I could give you a ride.”

“Not necessary. I like walking.” But a niggling at her conscience kept her from starting right off. “Hey, uh, Bart…Miss Kitty and I thank you for the rescue even if we didn’t need one.”

“I live to serve,” Bart said dryly.

Grinning despite herself, Josie set off, wondering how she was going to explain the cat to Alcina—not to mention the lack of those groceries she’d set out for.

BART WATCHED JOSIE WALES rush down the street, cat carrier in hand. Something odd about the woman. He couldn’t quite pin it down, but something was definitely off.

Had she been afraid of him simply because he’d given her a scare? Instinct and more than a dozen years in law enforcement told him there was more.

Having filled his gas tank and bought half a dozen rolls of film for Lainey, he’d merely been taking a good look around before going back to the Curly-Q when he’d spotted Josie walking down the street.

She’d seemed…furtive. He couldn’t describe her demeanor any other way.

Cop instincts kicking in, he’d watched her. And when she’d disappeared into the abandoned building, he’d naturally followed to see exactly what she’d been up to. Not that it was any of his business in the first place, he reminded himself as he climbed into the four-by-four.

He had to shake away her vulnerable yet spunky image. He had no business prying into her life any more than she had business in his. He’d turned in his deputy’s badge—at least figuratively—to work the Curly-Q. And he’d better get back to the ranch and his kids—as far as Bart was concerned, his only responsibilities in the foreseeable future.

EMMETT QUARRELS grinned to himself as he listened to the house come alive around him. Thunking footsteps…raised voices…blasting music, if a body could call it that. Sweet, sweet sounds.

For too many years, it had been just him rattling around these rooms until he was nigh sick unto death of his own miserable company. If not for Felice,he would long ago have gone stark, raving mad. But Felice, as fond as he was of her, wasn’t family.

And if he hadn’t done something drastic, he might never have seen his grandkids again, now that their mother was gone. Sara, Bart’s late wife, had always done right by him—he’d say that for her.

His three boys had all abandoned him and the Curly-Q years ago like each of their mothers had before them, but he’d finally fixed that.

Not that he’d had a choice in the matter.

Now they would all come home like their mothers never had.

A soft knock at the door startled him out of his reclining chair, where he’d been reading his latest Modern Rancher Magazine.

“That you, Felice?”

“No, Pa, it’s me, Bart.”

Heart lurching, Emmett quickly dropped the magazine and slid onto the made four-poster bed, pulling the afghan Felice had crocheted for him last Christmas up to his waist.

“C’mon in, son.”

The door swung open and in stepped his oldest. With his thick dark hair, deep blue eyes, and a six-foot-plus, muscular physique that only hinted at his real strength, Barton was the spitting image of Emmett himself when he’d been young. And, though his oldest would never admit it, they were a lot more alike than mere looks conveyed.

“Pa.”

Those blue eyes were searching him far more closely than made Emmett comfortable. He pulled the afghan a little higher and mumbled, “You’re looking fit, son.”

“And you’re looking better’n I expected.”

“I have my good days as well as bad.” Emmett coughed, the sound more of a wheeze than anything of substance. “Doc says I’m almost ready to get back to work…uh, nothing strenuous, of course.”

As Barton stepped closer to the bed, his foot connected with the dropped magazine. It went scooting across the floor with a noisy flutter of pages. He bent over to retrieve it, and when he straightened, gaze connecting with the cover, his expression changed slightly.

He rolled the magazine and tapped it against his free hand as he moved even closer so he could stare directly down at his father. “I thought you were dying.”

“Thought…or wished?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sounds like,” Emmett grumbled. He couldn’t remember the last time soft words had passed between them.

“Your legal eagle Howard Stiles said your health was preventing you from running the ranch,” his son persisted. “And that you had a limited time left.”

Maybe Barton did want him dead, Emmett thought with growing sadness. Then he and his brothers could have the ranch like he had promised…without the old man who’d made it what it once was…and who had obviously made them so miserable they refused to be around him unless there was something financial in it for them.

Had he been such a terrible parent?

Not wanting to think too hard on it, he muttered, “Seventy is a step closer to God than you are.”

“You can’t ever know about that for certain.”

From the quick flash of pain crossing Barton’s features, Emmett figured his son was thinking about the way his wife had been taken…and her barely half his own advanced age. Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry about Sara, son,” Emmett said with a stiff sincerity he didn’t often share. “I would’ve been at the funeral if I could’ve.”

“You were sick that far back?” His son’s gaze narrowed on him. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Big troubles on the Curly-Q had kept Emmett from the funeral in Albuquerque, but again he hedged. “What? You think a heart gives out…” He snapped his fingers. “…just like that?” He’d kept the problems from his boys—figured they wouldn’t willingly walk into a viper’s pit—but they’d get the picture soon enough.

“No, of course not.” But Barton’s expression didn’t grow any less suspicious.

“A man starts realizing he can’t do what he used to, that he doesn’t have the physical stamina he once had, and he figures the years are catching up to him, is all. But one day, he realizes that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Emmett said ruefully. “That he’s in serious trouble…trouble that he can’t fix by himself…”

“Pa, exactly how long have you been failing?”

“Long enough I don’t want to talk about it…if you don’t mind.”

Though Emmett could tell the boy did mind, he had the grace to back off. At least for now. Emmett figured it was a temporary reprieve, that Barton was merely holding his questions for later.

BART UNROLLED Pa’s Modern Rancher Magazine and stared at the cover. Sick the old man might be, but he hadn’t lost his interest in the thing he loved best—his spread. Not wanting that to be an insurmountable problem between them, he figured he’d better nip any problems in the bud right away.

“Listen, Pa, before I get the kids all settled in here for good, we gotta get something straight between us.”

“What would that be?”

Locking his gaze with his father’s in a no-nonsense way, he said, “That, from now on, I’m in charge.”

In a too-obvious attempt to sidestep the issue, Emmett said, “Reed and Chance always looked up to you. They won’t give you any trouble.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about.”

Shifting under his son’s stare, Emmett coughed again, this time with more intensity. Bart tried not to let his father’s illness get to him. He had to be tough as nails or this wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t let Pa call the shots here. And it was in his nature to be suspicious of anything that seemed too good to be true.

Emmett said, “The fate of both the Curly-Q and Silver Springs rests on your shoulders, son.”

“Silver Springs? Whoa! Stiles didn’t say anything about that, Pa.” Barton threw the magazine onto the nightstand that his father had built with his own two hands. “It’s not part of the deal.”

“The deal is to get the Curly-Q back on its feet and keep it that way. A healthy Silver Springs will be good for the ranch and vice-versa, especially since half of the property there is tied up in the family corporation papers. A town needs law and order, and you’re the only one with any experience in that area.”

“We’re talking about a ghost town, Pa!”

“One that never should’ve gone the way it did,” Emmett muttered. “It was a stagecoach stop on the Santa Fe Trail, for pity’s sake! We can’t abandon a piece of living history! If not for poor planning—”

“Try a changed economy!” Bart cut in. “A mine that closed down when it played out! A railroad that stopped running through the damn place!”

“But Tucker and me were men of vision,” Emmett insisted, “even if Noah couldn’t hack it,” he said of a third partner who Bart had never met. “We should’ve found a way through the setbacks. Tucker might’ve given up and moved over to Taos, but not me. I’ve just been waiting for my chance…uh, a chance for us all, that is. I say it’s not too late if the Quarrels men all pull together.”

Bart realized he’d been right. Even serious illness hadn’t dampened his father’s will. Pa was making plans like there was no tomorrow.

“Pa, you’re stuck in some damn dream. When I was a kid, it was already too late! We’ll be lucky if we can hang onto the Curly-Q and a way of life that’s mostly gone now.”

But his father had never been able to accept defeat when he took a notion. “More’n one way to skin a cat,” Emmett grumbled. “It seems tourists like visiting Silver Springs. Tourists have money burning holes in their pockets. And some people actually have been moving in, trying to make a go of it. Population in the town proper is more’n seventy now…give or take a body.”

“Seventy? And you think I should—what?”

“You’re a lawman! Do what a lawman is supposed to do. Protect its citizens. Turn Silver Springs into a shiny town that’ll attract new families. Grow it back to what it once was, for God’s sake!”

Good Lord, the old man was deluded!

“I turned in my badge, Pa. I gave up work I loved to run this ranch, remember?”

Emmett slid his eyes away. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. But part of you will always be a lawman, badge or no badge. Can’t take that out of a man. Besides, I figure you’re gonna have lots of help around here, so you can whip Silver Springs back into shape in your spare time.”

As much as the idea appealed to him, Bart recognized a pipe dream when he heard one.

“This ranch will take every drop of sweat I’ve got. Reed’ll put his back into the place, but he’s not a leader. As for Chance, he’s not much of a worker, as I recall.” Suspicions rising once more, Bart narrowed his gaze and glared at his father. “Unless you mean something else.”

Emmett said, “All I meant is if you three boys all pull together, you can do anything.” He put his hand to his chest and sighed. “Arguing knocks the stuffing outta me these days. I need my rest now.”

Exasperated, Bart backed off. “All right. We can finish this later.”

“Since you have time on your hands,” Emmett suggested, “why don’t you check on Silver Springs this afternoon personally and see what you think.”

“Already did that. Wasn’t impressed.”

“Then look up Alcina Dale and hear what she has to say. Might change your mind.”

“Alcina?” Barton appeared surprised. “Haven’t seen her in nearly twenty years.”

“That girl restored the old family home on her own,” Emmett said, “turned that spook place into one of them fancy bed-and-breakfasts that tourists like so much.”

“Bed-and-breakfast?” Bart echoed. He’d seen the place, all prettied up, on his way through town. “Not the Springs Bed-and-Breakfast?”

“How many do you think a town like Silver Springs could handle? Of course that’s the one!”

Mulling over that information, Bart said, “Hmm, maybe she does know something I don’t. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything to talk to her.”

“Good. You could do worse than a beautiful, smart, ambitious woman—even if Alcina is that reprobate Tucker’s daughter.”

“Pa, whoa.”

Was Pa now trying to manage his love life? Bart wondered, not exactly ready for one, even though Sara had been dead long enough that he missed a woman’s company. But his family took up all the emotion he had in him.

His family…that included his father.

“Pa,” Bart said, a knot of worry making him ask, “you are okay, aren’t you?”

Emmett stared at a crack in the adobe wall that needed fixing. “As well as can be expected.”

Bart swallowed hard. “Can I tell the kids they’ll get to see you at the supper table?”

“If I’m up to it. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a family dinner in this house.”

“I’ll let you get your rest, then,” Bart said, opening the door. “And, Pa…”

“Yeah, son?”

Bart shifted his piercing gaze from his father’s face to the foot of the bed. “You might be more comfortable resting…without your boots.”

Chapter Three

Bart Quarrels was the last person Josie expected to find planted on the front porch of the bed-and-breakfast when she opened the door later that afternoon. But there he was, bigger than life, all but blocking out what was left of the waning sun.

“You!” she said.

“You!” he echoed. “Long time, huh?”

To be truthful, he didn’t seem at all surprised. And why should he, Josie thought—she’d told him where she was staying, so he’d known exactly where to find her.

“It’s been all of several hours,” she muttered.

Her mind raced as fast as her pulse. What was he doing there? What did he want? The way his gaze seemed to pierce right through her…Her stomach churned, leaving a faint taste of acid in her mouth. Somehow, she convinced herself to calm down as a simple reason for his seeking her out occurred to her.

Her knuckles white on the door where she clung to it, she said hopefully, “So you what…played detective and tracked down Miss Kitty’s owner?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m here on another matter altogether.” But before she could panic, he added, “Could you tell Alcina I’m here?”

“Oh.” Then this didn’t have anything to do with her, after all. Feeling foolish, Josie took a deep breath. “She’s not here at the moment. She headed over to the store.”

Alcina had decided to do the shopping herself, especially since getting supplies for the cat—including litter—meant taking the car.

“I can wait,” Bart said.

While Josie wished she could find some excuse to refuse him, Alcina undoubtedly wouldn’t like that.

“Well, c’mon in, then.”

She backed off and gave him extra room to enter. But Bart Quarrels didn’t have to touch her to make her aware of him. All he had to do was show up, Josie thought, not liking the uncomfortable fact one little bit. And when he removed his Stetson, she liked her reaction even less. Had to clench her jaw to keep from gaping.

The man was more ruggedly attractive than she’d realized, if that was possible. Thick, nearly black hair spilled over a high forehead. And while she’d noticed the blue of his eyes before—how could she not when they’d seemed determined to split her in two and reveal all her secrets—she’d missed just how thick and long his eyelashes were.

Realizing she was staring and that, if his raised eyebrows were any indication, he was reading her mind, Josie felt heat creep up her neck.

“Uh, you can have a seat here in the front parlor, if you like,” she said far too breathlessly. She wanted to kick herself. Really. Closing the door, she shouldered past him where he’d stopped as if to block her. “I need to get back to the kitchen.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll keep you company.”

She did mind. Wishing she could ditch him, a self-conscious Josie led the way. She wasn’t comfortable with Bart following her…sizing her up…drawing whatever conclusions that were whirling around in that hard head of his. She distrusted the too-easy connection she felt between them. Had to keep in mind why she was there.

Above all, had to protect herself.

Once in the kitchen, she took up where she’d left off applying lemon oil to the unstained pine cabinets that gave the already large room an airy feel she enjoyed, while Bart made himself comfortable on a nearby stool.

Alcina had merely asked her to tidy up and wipe down the tile counters and appliances—all of which had already been spotless. Josie wasn’t about to be a charity case. She meant to earn her keep as she’d promised until she could find a paying job. And Alcina really could use her help to make the house shine—doing more than the necessities around a place this big was too much for one person.

His back to the breakfast bar, Bart watched her work. “So the cat is still here?” He was looking around as if searching for her.

“Until Alcina comes back with a pan and litter, Miss Kitty is restricted to the outside. I put her in the former chicken coop to give her lots of room. And boundaries. I wouldn’t want her to wander off.”

“She seemed too smart for that. I’d bet she knows a good deal when she lands in one.”

“She did get some tuna for lunch,” Josie admitted. “Alcina has a real soft heart for strays.” Including herself, she thought thankfully.

“Actually, I was talking about you. That cat took to you as if you wore her brand.”

Josie chuckled. “Yeah, she is a friendly little thing. Real sweet, too. You can’t touch her without setting off her motor. And she makes these funny sounds as if she’s talking to me.”

“Odd that someone threw away such a nice cat.”

A fact that had been bothering her. Why would anyone ditch a sweetheart of a pet? About to apply more lemon oil, she paused as the threatening sounds the cat had made in the abandoned building echoed in her head.

“Especially without letting her out of the carrier,” Bart continued, distracting her from that line of thought. “Poor thing could have starved to death unless the owner meant to come back for her.”

That gave Josie pause. “Oh, no. What if the owner does come back for her and she’s not there? Maybe I ought to put up a sign….”

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Unless it wasn’t the owner, at all,” she added, her mind churning with the possibilities. “Maybe someone was playing a mean trick. There are some real nasty people in this world. They take pleasure in causing heartache and pain.”

Something she knew deep in her soul.

“And then there are people like you,” Bart said in a smooth, low voice that made the hair on the backs of her arms crackle. “So, Josie Wales, how long have you been lost?”

She whipped around to face him. “Lost?”

“Here. In Silver Springs.”

What a weird way to put it, though. “Not long,” she hedged, wondering if this was idle curiosity or if he had a deeper motive for wanting to know.

“And you hail from?”

“Not around here.”

“So…will someone be looking for you to bring you home?”

“No one owns another human being!” she snapped, heart pounding with the possible implications.

Bart fell silent at her overreaction, but Josie felt his unspoken questions all the same. They were there in the way he looked at her, as if she were a puzzle he was trying to put together.

Finally, he said, “I just meant your family might be missing you some.”

“I don’t have family.”

The words blurted out of her mouth before Josie even knew she would say them. They came to her quickly and naturally…a truth that inexplicably saddened her.

“You mean a young thing like you is all alone in this world?”

“Thirty-two is not all that young,” she informed him.

Again, speaking without thinking, Josie realized, a little startled by the way she automatically responded to Bart’s baiting. She was getting that feeling again—the one that put up her back at what on the surface were innocent questions, when they weren’t anything of the kind.

He was digging, but for what? Had he even come here to see Alcina, or had that been a convenient story?

Having finished applying the lemon oil, she took a clean, soft cloth and, starting with the end of the kitchen as far as she could get from him, began rubbing the film of lubricant into the wood.

And all the while, she was aware of Bart Quarrels watching her…wondering…making her want to run and hide from him.

“So how do you know Alcina?” he asked next.

“I don’t. I just have a room here.”

“That why you’re cleaning the kitchen?”

“Right.” She concentrated on the next cabinet. “For the time being, I’m working for her.” Then, tired of the cat-and-mouse game, she set down the rag and faced him directly. “How many more questions are you planning to ask me, anyway?”

They stared at each other and she could almost see the little wheels spinning in his head. His eyes narrowed and his features drew into a bemused expression. Before he could come up with an answer, however, the door off the mudroom swung open.

“I’m back!” Alcina called.

Reprieve!

Without a by-your-leave, a relieved Josie turned her back on Bart and hurried out of the kitchen. Instant relief the moment she left his presence!

“Here, Alcina, let me take those. You have a…uh, gentleman caller.”

“Really.” Alcina’s pale eyebrows shot upward. She turned over the sacks of groceries, saying, “Then I guess you’ll have to wait for the cat litter.”

“If it’s still in the trunk, I can get it.”

“It’s awfully heavy—”

“I can get it,” Josie firmly repeated.

“Well, if you’re sure.” Alcina handed over the keys, then stepped into the kitchen where she made a sound of pure pleasure. “Bart? Is that really you, Barton Quarrels?”

“In the flesh.”

Josie couldn’t help but follow. She stepped back inside just as Alcina rushed over and gave the man a warm hug. Inexplicably bothered by the way he responded, with a quick grin and arms snaking around the other woman’s waist, Josie whomped the sacks of groceries to the counter and swept back outside to get the litter.

The moment she stepped onto the back stoop, Miss Kitty rushed to her chicken-wire fence several yards away and protested the recent inattention.

“It won’t be long now,” Josie promised, stooping to stick her fingers through the wires and scratch a kitty ear. “Though you can’t have the run of the house. Just the mudroom and the ironing room. We’ll have to share that. But don’t worry, I’ll give you plenty of attention. You can even sleep with me if you want.”

She thought she’d like that—having the cat’s warm little body to cling to throughout the night. She took comfort in the thought that she wouldn’t have to be alone, at least not for now.

Unbidden came another image of her with a much larger, human companion, limbs tangled together…

Shivering she opened the trunk. The twenty-five-pound bag of litter inside would last one little cat a month.

“Alcina must expect you to be around for a while, Miss Kitty.”

Which made her feel a bit better about the situation, just in case she wasn’t able to find the cat’s real owner right away.

Still hurting, she carefully hefted the large bag of litter. A familiar weight, she thought, handling it easily once she straightened. It was mostly her side that bothered her when she lifted anything more than a few pounds. But she certainly wasn’t helpless. Closing the trunk, Josie thought about putting up some Found Cat signs around town. She could make a bunch that night, then tomorrow morning do double duty. Post signs and look for a job. If that suited Alcina, of course.

Josie stepped back into the mudroom, expecting to hear Alcina and Bart in the kitchen talking together like…what? Old friends? Lovers?

Why the second possibility should bother her, she couldn’t imagine.

Thinking she would remain in Silver Springs only long enough to get some folding money in her pocket and an idea of just how far it would take her, she muttered under her breath, “Makes no never mind to me.”

Not that there was anyone to hear. The kitchen was empty.

Good. She didn’t need any complications. Had no use for them. Especially not when a certain complication seemed bent on knowing more about her than she did about herself.

Even so, she was a bit disappointed to find that Alcina had moved her “gentleman caller” to the parlor. She could hear their laughter ring out from the other room.

She couldn’t help herself. After fixing up the litter pan in the mudroom, she moved to the door that led to the dining room, which led to the parlor. Holding her breath, she leaned into the wooden panel ever so slightly—cracking it open just enough to get an earful.

“So what do you know about her?” Bart was asking.

“Just that she needed a roof over her head.”

Good Lord, they were discussing her. Maybe she had been the reason he’d invaded Alcina’s home.

“Are you always so blindly trusting?”

A beat of silence was followed by Alcina’s asking, “Do you know something I should, Deputy Quarrels?”

Pulse thundering, Josie backed off into the kitchen as he said, “It’s just that I’d keep my eyes wide open if I were you.”

Deputy!

So Bart Quarrels was the law…she’d been right, then. But he obviously didn’t know about her or he wouldn’t be sniffing around, asking all these questions. If he had facts, he would have arrested her by now. Obviously he had his suspicions. Instinct made her want to run again.

But run to where?

She had no one to run to…no place to go…no money to get her there.

And why should she leave this safe haven? Bart didn’t know anything for sure. What she needed to do was to find a way to defuse him.

Clenching her jaw, Josie started unloading the supplies. She was in the middle of trying to figure out how exactly to do that when the kitchen door swung open.

“Josie, would you mind making some tea? Earl Grey, I think. And you’d better brew it strong. I can’t imagine Bart drinking it any other way.”

“Sure, Alcina,” she said, thinking she couldn’t imagine Deputy Quarrels liking tea at all. She figured the lawman would consider it a sissy drink. Then, again, perhaps he’d take anything Alcina cared to offer.

“And afterward, could you check on the Raton Room—that’s one of those two smaller guest rooms in back that has the shared bath.”

“I remember.”

Josie had noted that Alcina named all her rooms—two suites, two rooms with private baths and two with shared bath—after New Mexican towns. The fancier the room, the fancier the town it was named after.

“Could you air out the room, maybe fluff up the pillows and lay out a set of fresh towels?”

“Yeah, sure. I didn’t realize you were expecting another guest.”

“I wasn’t. I met him at the gas station, actually. Tim Harrigan’s his name. A stroke of luck that he was looking for a place to stay for a few days and I just happened to have a room available.”

More than one, Josie knew. Only two couples were currently staying at the bed-and-breakfast, and one of them was checking out the next morning.

“I’ll take care of everything, Alcina.”

“Thanks.”

When Alcina went back to the parlor, Josie realized their conversation had given her adrenaline a rest. She felt far more relaxed than she had a few minutes before. Filling the kettle gave her additional breathing room. She needed time to think was all…on how to allay Bart’s suspicion of her before he stumbled onto the truth.

She could lie outright, of course. Tell him what he wanted to hear. Feed him false information. If she could get away with lying without revealing her hand. The only problem was that Josie suspected she was far better at evasion than lies, and she didn’t seem to be doing too well in that direction to begin with.

The only option left to her was to charm the boots off the man. Maybe if she could loosen up…act more naturally around him…stop acting like someone had stuck a prickly pear under her saddle.

Saddle…she was riding a flaxen-maned sorrel past scores of people….

Josie blinked and the moment was gone. Where had that come from? she wondered, hard-pressed to shake off the weird feeling it gave her.

While the kettle was on the boil, Josie found the cabinet that held an assortment of teapots. Her gaze landed on one that had charm potential. She pulled it out and set it on the counter, then found a tray. By the time the kettle whistled, the tray was loaded. She filled the pot, then carried the tea tray into the parlor.

Alcina was saying, “My daddy isn’t what he used to be, either—not that I would ever suggest as much to him. It’s hard on us, isn’t it? Our parents getting older.”

“Older, but not necessarily wiser. At least not in Pa’s case,” Bart said as Josie set down the tray on the low table between them. “He doesn’t know how to wave a white flag, I guess. And teaching him is gonna be an experience I’m sure I’ll never forget. At least I hope I get that chance. He’s as much as said he could go at any time.”

“What does his doctor say?”

“Haven’t talked to the doc yet.”

His gaze settled on Josie, no doubt because she stood there, staring at him, a wave of empathy washing through her.

Trying to act naturally, she asked, “Want me to pour the tea?”

“I can handle it from here,” Alcina said.

Josie nodded but moved off slowly enough to see if Bart had any reaction to her choice of teapots—a fat white porcelain cat that resembled Miss Kitty. She thought she saw his lips twitch just a little at her joke. Probably as good as she was going to get. When his gaze slid to find her, she gave him a tepid smile—this charm thing didn’t seem to come naturally to her—but his attention was quickly commandeered by Alcina.

“So when is it you expect your brothers to move back to the Curly-Q?” she asked as she poured.

“Who knows if they’ll show at all.”

“I can’t imagine Reed staying away, considering the circumstances.”

The little hairs on her arms prickling again, Josie froze in her tracks. The way Alcina had said Bart’s brother’s name struck a definite chord in her….

“Part of me thinks you’re right on that score. But the way Pa used to beat him down when he was working his butt off…I just don’t know if he’s got good enough reason to come back for more.”

“I would think partnership in a family corporation would be enough. Reed always loved that spread better than anyone—your daddy and you included! Unless he has long-term obligations elsewhere, of course,” Alcina said pointedly.

“Don’t know about any obligations. None to a wife or family if that’s what you mean.”

“Really.”

Really…?

Alcina Dale was obviously more interested in Bart’s brother than in Bart himself, Josie realized as she returned to the kitchen.

Now, why did that lighten her step as she took the back stairs up to the second floor?

Maybe after she finished checking on the room, she’d figure out a way to implement her plan to charm the boots off the lawman.

Josie only hoped she wasn’t tempting fate, somehow….

From the linen closet, she gathered a fresh set of towels, then opened the Raton Room. The room might be narrow with only a single bed, a dresser and a rocking chair, but it was mighty cheerful, what with three windows on two walls letting in so much light. As Alcina had requested, she made sure everything in the room was in order, including opening the windows to let in a cross breeze.

While she was rearranging one of the lace curtains, a fancy new red truck pulled around the building and parked. She gazed down at the tall, fair-haired young man who alighted from the driver’s seat and slapped a well-creased brimmed hat on his head. His jeans and denim jacket seemed equally worn.

Strange, but he didn’t look the type to stay in a bed-and-breakfast, Josie thought as he rounded the truck to grab a single bag from the back.

Then he hesitated and gave the building a long, serious stare.

Not wanting him to spot her, Josie instinctively jumped back from the window. It wouldn’t do to let him think she was spying on him.

Not that she could tell exactly where he was looking through those sunglasses he wore. Even as she thought it, he removed them. But she was too far away to tell anything anyhow.

Suddenly the man jerked around as if startled and moved straight to the old chicken coop.

Josie moved in closer to the window and barely got a glimpse of Miss Kitty all fluffed out before the animal disappeared into the rickety building itself. The man hesitated only a second before turning back to the house.

Wondering what had irritated the cat this time, Josie took a last look around, left the bedroom and checked the bath. Everything in order. She hurried downstairs, expecting the new guest would be waiting for her to show him up. But from the sound of Alcina’s voice and footsteps on the front staircase, she guessed he was being seen to.

Ready to try for charming, she swung open the door to the parlor. Empty. She was only marginally disappointed. Best-case scenario would be that Deputy Quarrels had already lost interest in her. Sighing at her reprieve, she bent over the table to remove the tea service.

A glance out the front window assured her that Bart was actually leaving. He was just opening the door to his SUV. She watched him hop inside in one fluid motion and imagined him mounting a horse with equal grace.

Shaking away the odd feeling that picture gave her, Josie immediately carted the tray into the kitchen and then headed outside to fetch the cat.

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