“Send that man away!”

Thea Maxwell stared at her father without understanding. “Who…you mean Rafe?”

Her dad nodded. “He’s the law.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“He’ll be investigating Bobby’s accident.” Robert Maxwell closed his eyes for a moment. “If one of those boys dies, it’s going to be all we can do to keep your brother from being tried for murder. This deputy you’re so set on getting friendly with will be the one making the arrest, gathering the evidence. And he’ll be the one pushing to convict.”

He looked straight at Thea, his face haggard, his eyes as cold as stone.

“Are you willing to let your boyfriend send your brother to prison?”

Dear Reader,

In the midst of writing Married in Montana, I made a major change in my life: I bought a horse. After taking riding lessons for a few months, my daughter fell in love with a spotted saddle horse named T-Bone, a sweet guy with whom she could learn the ropes of riding and showing horses. I was horse crazy when I was a teenager, so I’ve enjoyed encouraging her equine adventures.

I suppose my early romance with horses explains, in part, why I love to write about the people who make ranching their life. The vacation I would choose is a couple of weeks spent on a working cattle ranch—in Montana, of course—riding out with the crew every morning, coming in tired and dirty and hungry in the evening…and then getting up the next morning to do it all over again!

I get to live a bit of that cowboy life when we go to the barn to ride—and when I write books like this one. My heroine, Thea Maxwell, is living my idea of the perfect life. All she needs is the perfect man with whom to share it. Deputy Sheriff Rafe Rafferty fits the bill…except for the fact that he’s on one side of the law and she, thanks to family complications, is on the other. Working out Thea’s and Rafe’s problems, against the magnificent backdrop of the Montana Rockies, gave me a great deal of pleasure. I hope their story does the same for you.

All the best,

Lynnette Kent

P.S. I should mention that once I finished Married in Montana, I took the horse experience a step further…I bought one for me!

Married in Montana

Lynnette Kent

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Roxanne and Ellen, who mined the Maxwells and their story with me. Thanks for all the hard work. We make a great team!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

SETTING HIS JAW, Rafe Rafferty stepped out of his truck into the driving rain. He turned immediately to open the rear passenger door. “Okay, son, you’re home. Get out.”

Sprawled across the back seat, a nineteen-year-old troublemaker rolled his handsome head from side to side. “Don’ wanna be home.” Each word puffed out a rich aroma of beer.

“Doesn’t matter what you do or don’t want.” Rafe reached in and caught the boy by one wrist. “You’re not spending the night in there.” He gave the connected arm a jerk. His passenger flowed into a sitting position, held it for a second, then slid to the floorboard like a rag doll.

Rafe glanced at the water running an inch deep around the soles of his boots. “This is gonna hurt you a hell of a lot more than it hurts me.” He braced a foot on the running board of the truck, grabbed the boy’s ankles, one in each hand, and thrust backward with all the force his legs would generate.

A second later, Bobby Maxwell, heir apparent to the Walking Stones Ranch near Paradise Corners, Montana, landed on his butt on the driveway in the rain.

Rafe ignored the boy’s cussing. “I’ll wake them up inside,” he told Bobby. “And then I’m leaving. You want to sleep out in this weather, that’s your business. Getting you home before you killed yourself or somebody else was mine.”

His heels struck loudly on the floorboards of the wide porch as he crossed to the ranch house’s front door. The brass knocker had been fashioned as a bull’s head—an Angus, no doubt, the specialty of Walking Stones Ranch—with a twelve-inch horn spread and a ring through its nose. Rafe grabbed that ring and slammed brass against brass five times, good and loud. Then he backed up a step, propped his thumbs in the pockets of his uniform slacks and waited.

Soon enough, the porch lamps flashed on, the dead bolt turned and the big double doors swung backward. Just over the threshold, a woman stood silhouetted against the glow of interior lights. According to what he’d heard, there was no Mrs. Maxwell. So this would be Bobby’s older sister, Thea Maxwell, the one who, so rumor had it, could give most cowboys in the area a run for their money when it came to ranch work.

“Hello?” Her voice was deep, husky, questioning. And totally feminine. Hearing it, everything inside Rafe—his pulse, his breath, his thoughts—stopped for a second in surprise.

“Is something wrong?” Worry edged the words as she stared at him, waiting.

He pulled himself together, freed a thumb and tipped his hat. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Deputy Sheriff Rafferty. I brought Mr. Bobby Maxwell home.”

She raked a hand through her short hair. “Let me guess—you caught him tipping Fred Byron’s cows again.” Now her voice held a smile, inviting him to smile, too.

This was business, though, so he didn’t. “No, ma’am. I broke up a fight at the Lone Wolf Bar up in Paradise Corners and found him in the middle.”

She stiffened. “Is he hurt?”

“He’s beat up a little. But mostly he’s too drunk to run around loose.”

“Dammit, Bobby!”

“Don’ yell at me, Tee.”

The Maxwell boy stumbled up the three steps onto the porch, swayed and wrapped an arm around a stacked stone column to keep from falling over. His clothes were soaking wet, plastered to his skin. “Don’ yell, okay? No harm done.”

“This time.” Brushing past Rafe, Thea Maxwell crossed the porch to pry her brother from his prop. The drape of her blue pajamas hinted at some very nice curves underneath. Rafe liked women with curves. And voices like hers.

At the moment, though, this woman wasn’t thinking about impressing him one way or another. She was fussing over her brother. “You’d better get into some dry clothes before you get sick. How’d you get so wet?” She pulled his arm over her shoulder, turning him toward the front door.

As they passed Rafe, Bobby gave him a wink and a good-natured grin. “Can’t ’member.”

“Do you remember promising you’d stay out of trouble?” Still holding him up with an arm around his waist, she propelled Bobby down the length of the palatial great room. Rafe could hear her scolding as they disappeared through an arched doorway. “When are you going to grow up?”

Bobby laughed, but his mumbled reply was lost in the distance. Duty discharged, Rafe turned away from the warmth of the house to start the long drive back to town.

“What the devil is going on here?”

He pivoted back to face the growling question. Now a man confronted him from the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, still dressed in the working clothes of a hands-on rancher. This would be Boss Maxwell himself. Robert Maxwell Senior.

Another respectful tip of the hat. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Maxwell. I brought your son back from town—he was too drunk to drive. He can pick up his truck in the parking lot where he left it.”

Maxwell’s temper vibrated in the air. “Who asked you to butt in?”

Rafe refused to be baited. He didn’t want to tell Maxwell that his son had started a bar fight—why cause the boy any more grief? Especially with an old man as hard as Maxwell was reputed to be. “I thought Bobby could use some help getting home, that’s all. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“You’ll leave when I say so, and not before.” Maxwell stepped into the porch light. His lined face testified to years in the harsh Montana weather, his red hair showed streaks of white at the temples. “My boy doesn’t need a baby-sitter, especially not some wet-behind-the-ears deputy still breaking in his boots.” The rancher didn’t have to raise his voice to make a point—his sharp tone did all the work.

“I may be new to Paradise Corners, but I’ve been wearing these same boots for six years now.” The grin he tried got no response, so Rafe abandoned the effort. “I was just doing my job, sir.” This last “sir” came out through gritted teeth.

“Your job is to stay out of decent people’s business. The folks of this county will let you know when they want your help. As for the Maxwells…” The older man sliced the air with the side of his hand. “We don’t need your help. Just stay clear. I’ve got connections all over this state. I can get you run out of town so fast—”

Thea arrived in time to hear the threat. “Calm down, Dad.”

Both men jerked their heads to stare in her direction. They’d been so involved in their argument, they obviously hadn’t noticed her return to the doorway. Arms crossed, she surveyed them in turn, reminded of mature bulls staking a claim on the same herd of cows. Both big, both strong, both stubborn.

She put her hand on her dad’s arm. “Deputy Rafferty did us a favor. There’s no telling what would have happened if Bobby had tried to drive home. Why don’t you just say thanks and get to bed? It’s 1:00 a.m., and you wanted an early start in the morning.”

Robert Maxwell didn’t give in, but she hadn’t expected him to. With a sound somewhere between a snarl and a grunt, he turned on his boot heel and stomped back into his wing of the house.

Shaking her head, Thea looked at the deputy. “We haven’t treated you very well, considering how helpful you’ve been. I’m Althea Maxwell—Thea to most people.” She held out her hand to shake his. “Would you like some coffee before you head back?”

His warm palm closed against hers, comforting, safe. “That would be great. I’m Rafe, by the way. Well…” He shrugged. “Actually it’s Owen, but I got tired of the teasing by about the second grade.” He grinned and took off his hat.

Thea blinked twice. Hard. With Bobby in such a state, she hadn’t had time or opportunity to notice the deputy’s looks, but she sure was noticing now. Deep brown eyes under thick lashes, a proud nose that might have been broken a time or two, dark brown hair that kept its wave even with a regulation short haircut. And then there were his shoulders…

A cold draft through the open door brought Thea to her senses. “Oh…good. The kitchen’s this way.” Only as she led him through the dining room did she remember she was in her pajamas. Flannel pajamas, true, in a conservative dark blue. She might as well be wearing jeans and a shirt.

But standing across the kitchen from the gorgeous deputy as she made a pot of hot, sweet coffee, she couldn’t help feeling…exposed. She should have put on a robe, at least.

“Thanks for leaving out the part about the fight,” she said, filling a mug for each of them. “Especially since Bobby probably started the whole thing.” She glanced at the deputy, who nodded. “He’s not in any shape to deal with Dad’s temper tonight.”

“I’d imagine that requires a clear head.”

She waved him to the kitchen table. “Nerves of steel help. As well as not having done anything wrong to begin with.” She sighed. “With Bobby, we hardly ever get all three at the same time.”

Considerately, Rafe Rafferty left that comment alone. “These are good,” he said after a minute, gesturing with one of the oatmeal cookies she’d set out. Thea looked up from her coffee and saw that, like a little boy, he had a crumb at the corner of his mouth. Such a nicely shaped mouth…

“Did you make them?”

Startled yet again, she laughed, hoping he hadn’t noticed her staring. “Coffee is my only kitchen skill. Our housekeeper, Beth, is the genius.”

He nodded. “Genius covers it. I hear you work the ranch with your dad.”

“That’s right.” She said it with the warm surge of pride she always got when she thought about her job. “I wouldn’t do anything else.”

“It’s beautiful country, that’s for sure.” A fifth cookie left the plate. “But hard work for a woman, I’d imagine. I’ve done some climbing since I got here a few weeks ago—this terrain can be tough.”

Eyebrows lifted, Thea sat up straight. “You think it’s easier for a man?”

He stared at her a second, his jaw hanging slightly loose, then laughed. “So you do that, too.”

“Do what?”

“Your dad doesn’t have to yell—he can cut like a bullwhip with just a whisper. And your voice just did the same thing.”

Her cheeks got hot. “I didn’t intend to go after you with a bullwhip. Still, if you assume that because I’m female I can’t—”

He finished the cookie and dusted the crumbs from his big hands, shaking his head the whole time. “Sorry, my mistake. It’s just hard to imagine a woman as pretty as you out there castrating calves all day.” His smile was a clear invitation to flirt back.

But Thea had seen that smile—heard the line that went with it—too many times. She wasn’t about to fall for another slick maneuver, wasn’t about to be used to curry favor with her father.

Especially not when she felt so…so vulnerable to this man. After just ten minutes of his company, no less.

“I can castrate with the best of them, thank you very much, Deputy. I’ve delivered breech calves by myself and spent three days alone on horseback rounding up cows lost in a blizzard. There’s nothing on Walking Stones I can’t or won’t do.” She stood up. “Now, if you’ve finished your coffee, it’s late and I’m going to be at work before sunrise.”

He got to his feet and picked up his hat. Under the bright kitchen light, his cheeks were a dull red. “I apologize yet again, Ms. Maxwell. I seem to be stepping in it whichever direction I turn.” Without waiting for her guidance, he made his way to the front of the house, fast enough that Thea had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. Before she quite reached the door, he’d crossed the porch and started down the steps.

The cold rain had gotten worse, whipping across the driveway like bullets. Rafe Rafferty drew up his shoulders as he jogged out to his truck. The engine roared to life, the lights blazed, and for a second she could see him through the water-glazed windshield as he wiped a hand over his bare head. He glanced her way, and his mouth tightened.

Then the tires squealed against the stones of the driveway and the truck disappeared into the night. Heedless of the damp chill, Thea stood there for a while, knocking her forehead against the edge of a door.

I can castrate calves, she mocked herself in a prissy voice, and deliver breech births and round up cows in a blizzard.

But she didn’t know jack when it came to men.

ROBERT MAXWELL WAITED to check on his son until the upstart deputy had left and Althea had gone back to her bed. Standing in the doorway of Bobby’s room, he shook his head at the sight of his boy, spread-eagled on top of the blanket. In the dim light, he looked so much like his mother…the same thick, wavy black hair, the same dark sloe eyes, the fair skin and curved lips. Helen had given beauty to all of their children, but especially to their son. If only she had lived to give them her good sense.

Instead, his three daughters seemed determined to flout his authority at every turn. Jolie, the eldest, now a doctor in California, had gone as far away from home as she could just as soon as she graduated high school. Cassie, their middle girl, had married the first wastrel she’d set eyes on and was now raising her seven-year-old son on her own. Althea, on the other hand, had turned down every man who looked her way—including the governor’s boy, a fiasco that had nearly quashed an important land deal requiring his dad’s approval. Damn, the girl was stubborn. Wouldn’t even agree to get the sale papers signed first, before she booted him out.

As for his son, his hope, his pride…the next generation of Maxwells and the future of Walking Stones Ranch depended on a boy who did everything he could think of to shirk the work, escape the responsibilities. Robert knew that time and trends were against the individual rancher these days—without constant and diligent work, without cunning and education and insight, a man’s property could be taken from him by one bad season, by an unexpected epidemic, by a few unlucky investments.

But Bobby didn’t give a tinker’s damn. One hundred fifty years of Maxwell sweat and blood stood in serious jeopardy, unless something changed the boy’s attitude and bound him to the land.

Only once in his life had Robert Maxwell failed to get what he wanted. He had not been able to save his wife’s life 15 years ago, not with prayers, or money, or even with the force of his will. He’d accepted that defeat as a circumstance beyond his control.

But as long as he lived, he would not tolerate the loss of even a square foot of Walking Stones land. The ranch would remain intact, no matter what it took in terms of time, cash and determination. This was the legacy Maxwell men labored under from birth until death, a legacy Bobby would come to understand. To embrace.

He simply had no other choice.

WHEN RAFE FINALLY reached the questionable shelter he’d been calling home for the past few weeks, Jed waited by the door. “Not even a dog should have to go out in this,” Rafe told him. But Jed just heaved a heavy bloodhound sigh and headed into the dark. By the time he got back, Rafe had changed his clothes down to the skin and started a fire. After he toweled the dog off, they both settled down near the blaze.

“You’d think I wouldn’t be so surprised,” Rafe commented after a swallow of beer. “I’ve seen folks like this before. The Maxwells own more of Montana than God. Which, at least in their opinion, puts them above the law.”

Jed thumped his tail twice. “Yeah, I know it’s bull, too. But they don’t. And it’s gonna get worse. Bobby’s a nice kid, I’m thinking, who’s got a serious problem with alcohol. If his family has a clue, they’re not doing anything about it.”

Rafe finished the beer and settled into the lumpy couch he was using as a bed until the moving company found his furniture. “Princess Althea almost had me fooled into thinking she was different. That smile of hers could keep a man warm through the worst Montana blizzard.”

He pictured her as she’d looked across the kitchen table—her greenish-blue eyes wide and friendly, her mouth deep pink and richly curved, the crisp layers of her shiny black hair begging to be played with. He’d admired her stamina, her patience with her little brother, the fact that she didn’t get flustered about sharing cookies with him at one in the morning in her pajamas. She was far and away the best part of Montana he’d come across yet.

Then, in a split second, the mask had crumbled, leaving him with just another Maxwell, arrogant and totally out of reach.

“Doesn’t matter.” Rafe punched the couch pillow and pulled the mothball-scented blanket over his shoulder. “This town—and the family that appears to own it—may not want a deputy who does his job.” The guys in the county office had warned him about his likely reception in advance. So far, the locals had lived up to expectations. Strangers of any kind were greeted with suspicion by the citizens of Paradise Corners. A deputy of the county sheriff automatically represented an attempt by somebody in faraway Big Timber, the county seat, to assert control over local affairs. And if that deputy hailed fron somewhere foreign—say, Los Angeles, California, as Rafe did—then he was guaranteed a hostile reception at best. “Unfortunately for Paradise Corners, I’m here and I’m planning to stay. The Maxwells and everyone else might as well get used to having me….”

Jed lifted his head and gave him a soulful, understanding stare.

Grinning, Rafe reached out and rubbed the wrinkled head of his best friend and only real family in the world. “The Maxwells had better get used to having both of us around.”

TWO SILENT MEN sat the breakfast table when Thea came into the kitchen the next morning. Her father glanced up and nodded, then returned to his eggs. Herman Peace, manager of Walking Stones, gave her his usual lopsided smile. “Lazybones.”

Thea returned the smile and stepped to the coffeemaker on the counter. “Guilty as charged.”

Déjà vu—pouring a mug of coffee brought back last night’s interlude with Rafe Rafferty. She’d regretted everything about those minutes—what she had said and what she hadn’t—through the remainder of a mostly sleepless night.

“’Morning, Thea.” Beth Peace, Herman’s sister, bustled in from the hallway leading to the pantry and laundry room. “I’ll have your plate ready in a flash. Your dad needed some more juice.” Standing beside his chair, she filled his half-empty glass to the brim.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Robert Maxwell’s smile was sweet when he chose to use it. Which was seldom outside of Beth’s kitchen.

“Take your time.” Thea shuddered as she swallowed her black coffee. She preferred sugar and cream, but with the day ahead, she figured she needed a straight shot. “I won’t starve.”

But Beth was already cracking eggs into the big iron frying pan with one hand, punching slices of bread into the toaster with the other. Never hurried or flustered, but always busy, she’d been running the household as long as Thea could remember, even before their mom died. Bobby had been four at the time—Beth was the only mother he really remembered.

“Did you wake up your brother?” Her dad set his plate in the sink. “We’re already late getting started.”

“I knocked on his door, and he said he was coming.” Not a lie, exactly—her dad didn’t want to hear what Bobby had actually said, or the vocabulary he’d used to say it. “His shower was running as I came down the hall.”

“Get him outside by six, with or without breakfast. You coming, Peace?” Opening the door to the mudroom, he asked the question without looking back for an answer.

“Right behind you.” The manager gulped down the last of his coffee. As the door shut behind Boss Maxwell, Herman cocked a thick gray eyebrow and grinned at Thea. “Man’s just a bundle of sunshine in the morning, ain’t he? Have a good one,” he told his sister, planting a kiss on the woman’s cheek. “I’m hoping for stew tonight.”

Beth pretended to push him away. “You’ll take what you get and be satisfied.” But she smiled and lifted her hand as he backed through the door. Then she dished up Thea’s eggs and bacon and toast, set the plate on the table, and poured another glass of juice.

“Thanks, Beth.” Thea sat down to her meal, hoping the housekeeper had something important to do besides ask questions.

No such luck. “The deputy sheriff brought Bobby home last night?” Mug in hand, Beth sat in the chair her brother had vacated. “Drunk?”

Chewing, Thea just nodded.

“Fighting?”

“Uh-huh.” She gulped down the orange juice.

“What are we going to do with that boy?” A worried frown creased Beth’s smooth, plump face. “He’s getting wilder every day. Your father should have let him go to California to college. Jolie would have looked out for him.”

“But Bobby would never have come back.” Thea had given up trying to figure out why. All her brother had to do was show some interest and he’d have Walking Stones and everything it stood for handed to him on a platter. While she, who would give her right arm for the privilege of tending the land…

She shoved the thought out of her mind. There was no time for bitterness this morning. Bobby had less than five minutes for breakfast. She scooted her chair back from the table. “I’d better go see if he’s on his feet.”

Beth nodded. “I’ll make him a sandwich to eat as he rides.”

The door to Bobby’s room was still shut. Thea knocked, got no answer, and turned the knob, dreading to see her brother still in bed. All hell would break loose if Bobby had gone back to sleep.

But the situation wasn’t quite that desperate. He was awake and dressed, more or less, though his shirttail hung outside his jeans and the cuffs were unbuttoned. He sat on the bed wearing one boot, with the other lying on the floor between his feet. Head propped in his hands, elbows on his knees, he didn’t look up when she stepped into the room.

“Dad said to have you outside by six. We’re pushing the deadline.”

Bobby drew a deep breath. “Tell him I’m sick.”

“Hangovers don’t count, you know that.”

“Tell him I’m dead.”

“I’m not sure even death would be an excuse for you not showing up for work this morning.”

That got her a ghost of a chuckle. “Damn, my head hurts.”

“Maybe you could remember that feeling before you start drinking?”

“Maybe.” With a sigh, he pushed his hands through his thick, wavy hair and reached for the other boot. “I must’ve been totally plowed last night. I don’t remember driving home.”

“You didn’t.” Thea kept her mind blank. “The deputy brought you.”

Bobby looked up, his sleepy eyes a little wider. “Yeah?” He thought a second. “Oh, yeah. He pulled me out of the truck and dumped me in the rain.”

“He what?” Being furious with Rafe Rafferty felt really good—like Christmas and the Fourth of July rolled into one. “That’s why you were so wet? I thought you’d just climbed out of the truck cab.” If she ever saw that deputy again—which she would avoid if at all possible—he would get a sharp piece of her mind about trying to drown teenage boys who’d had a little too much to drink.

“I wasn’t climbing anywhere if I could help it.” He jerked on the right boot, eased to his feet and tucked his shirt into his jeans. Tall, like their dad, narrow of hip and wide of shoulder, Bobby had the looks of a movie star. Or a model.

Good thing he’d never expressed any interest in being either. Thea didn’t want to think about Robert Maxwell’s reaction to those ambitions. “Ready to ride?”

Her brother just looked at her. “Are you a sadist?”

From the back of the house came a bellow Thea recognized as their dad calling Bobby’s name. She grabbed her brother’s arm and pulled him after her into the hallway. “You tempt me, boy. You really tempt me.”

RAIN-WASHED, Paradise Corners looked fresh and clean when Rafe started for the office on the morning after his visit to the Maxwell ranch. The business district covered a square of about twelve small city blocks—mostly independent merchants, a lawyer or two and the post office, plus the courthouse and four churches, one on each corner of the main intersection, which gave the town and the street their names.

Most residents lived south of Main Street, in tidy houses under old pine and cedar and oak trees. The Methodists, late arrivals to this part of Montana, had built their church to the south, in the lower foothills, rather than downtown with the Baptists, Mormons, Catholics, and Lutherans. Bars and gas stations clustered at the western end of Main, around the road heading toward the mountains. East of town, the north-south state highway ran toward the two-lane road leading the unwary out to Walking Stones Ranch. Rafe didn’t plan to make that trip again any time soon.

On the north side of town, rough lanes wound high into the foothills of the Crazy Mountains and the Gallatin National Forest, with isolated houses tucked into corners here and there. Rafe’s rented house sat north of Main Street, too, but closer in—a brisk three-block walk brought him to the bustle of Saturday morning in a ranching town. To his right stood Grizzly’s Diner, the only decent place to eat if you didn’t want to cook. Leaving Jed posted just outside the door, Rafe stepped into a wave of friendly chatter that suddenly lulled as customers reacted to his arrival.

In a couple of seconds the talk resumed, quieter than before, as if people didn’t want to be overheard. Sitting at the counter, Rafe fought to ignore the fact he was being stared at and studied the menu.

“Coffee, Deputy.” Mona Rangel, the owner, set a mug down at his right hand, already mixed with sugar and milk, the way he liked it. “Something to eat?”

Rafe grinned his appreciation. “Let’s try something really wild today—scrambled eggs instead of fried. Think we can stand the shock?”

Her gray eyes flickered with humor, but she didn’t break a smile. “Three scrambled with bacon and toast, coming up.” She turned toward the kitchen, cutting off his only friendly contact in the place.

Halfway through his second mug of coffee, somebody actually joined Rafe at the counter, on the very next stool, no less. He glanced to the left and caught the eye of Judge LeVay, his ostensible boss and the main representative of the law in Paradise Corners, besides himself.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Deputy.” LeVay nodded. He looked the part of a wise old western judge, from his thick white hair and mustache to the black suit and vest and string tie. “Just coffee,” he told Mona when she appeared.

The judge said nothing until the coffee arrived and had been sampled. Rafe endured the silence without comment—he had no illusions that this was a chance encounter. Or an invitation to join the local shooting club.

“Got a call early this morning,” LeVay said finally. His voice barely carried over the noise of the crowd.

Rafe didn’t comment.

“Robert Maxwell seems to think you exceeded your authority in dealing with an incident last night.”

“Mr. Maxwell’s perceptions are a little…skewed.”

One white eyebrow lifted. “The man is a close friend of mine. I believe what he says.”

“The drinking age in Montana was twenty-one, last time I checked.” The judge glanced over his shoulder, a clear warning for Rafe to keep his voice down. “And DUI carries some stiff penalties…at least on paper.”

LeVay drained his mug and wiped his mouth with a napkin plucked from the stainless-steel cube between them. “I appreciate your concern. I’m sure Mr. Maxwell does, too. However, I believe he can handle this…situation…without outside interference.”

Rafe dropped the oblique approach, but kept his voice quiet. “That boy’s going to hurt himself. Or somebody else. He’s out of control.”

For a second, the judge’s pale blue eyes met his, and Rafe knew they were in agreement on that fact. But then LeVay slid off the stool.

“Leave it alone,” he advised. “You’ve got enough trouble on your hands in this town without getting the Maxwells riled up.” With a nod of greeting to a couple of men in a nearby booth, the older man made his way to the door. Through the glass, Rafe saw him stoop to talk to Jed. The bloodhound squirmed gratefully as the judge scratched the sensitive spot on the back of his neck. If Jed liked the man, Rafe decided, he couldn’t be all bad.

But if Maxwell owned him, he couldn’t be completely trusted, either. Better not look for help from that quarter.

Rafe turned back to finish his eggs, and found Mona standing opposite him.

“Take the judge at his word,” she suggested, swapping his cold plate of food for a steaming hot portion. “Maxwell owns this town and most of the people in it, one way or the other. You land on his bad side, you won’t get an ounce of cooperation from anybody.” She smiled. “Except me. Maxwell doesn’t like me, either.”

“Why not?”

“I taught in the county school system for close to two decades. Bobby was one of my sixth-graders. Bright kid, spoiled rotten. He didn’t do a lick of work in my class all year. I wouldn’t promote him, no matter how many fits his daddy threw. Maxwell got me fired, but Bobby still had to repeat the sixth grade, and he didn’t pull the same stunt again. Graduated in the spring with pretty good grades, I heard.”

“And you’re working in the diner?”

Mona shrugged. “My husband built the place and ran it until he died last year. I figured keeping Grizzly’s open would give me something to do and pay my respects at the same time.” Her smile was rueful. “Anyway, watch your step. The Maxwells are about as safe to be around as timber rattlers. A little more predictable, maybe—you threaten them or theirs, you can be sure they’ll do their best to take you down.”

She moved away, and Rafe thought for a second about calling her back for one more question.

What about Thea Maxwell?

Did she take after her old man? Did she follow his orders straight down the line? Was she just one more piece of property her father owned?

Did it matter? Boss Maxwell had practically threatened him with bodily harm for interfering. The lady herself had brushed him off like yesterday’s dust. And there was little doubt that her brother would keep to the straight and narrow exactly as long as it took him to pick up his truck. Any more trouble with Bobby would put Rafe on the side of the devil, as far as all the Maxwells were concerned.

Didn’t he have enough trouble in this town already? Was his sense of self-preservation so weak?

With a silent sigh, Rafe acknowledged that the same two words answered both of those questions—plus one more…

Could he really be crazy enough to consider going after this woman?

Remembering Thea’s voice, her smile, the light in her eyes and the strange peace he’d felt when he first saw her, Rafe nodded and took a sip of coffee. Three simple questions, one simple answer.

You bet.

CHAPTER TWO

ALL DAY SATURDAY—sunrise until sundown—Bobby worked on getting his big sister to drive him to town to pick up his truck. Successful, as usual, he now sat beside her in the front seat of her Land Rover, beating a tattoo on his knees in rhythm with the tune screaming from the CD player. They’d rolled the windows down, though the night air blew cold. Between the big starry sky and the miles adding up between him and the ranch, he was beginning to feel he could breathe again.

Thea pressed a control on the steering wheel and turned the volume down.

“Hey!” Bobby reached for the button on the console. “I like that song.”

This time she punched the music off. “We need to talk.”

Here we go again. “No, we don’t.”

She ignored his protest. “What are you trying to prove with the drinking and the fighting and the stupid stunts? I have to tell you, nobody is impressed with your maturity and sense of responsibility.”

“I’m only nineteen years old, for God’s sake. I don’t have to be mature or responsible.”

“It would be nice if you were still alive when your twentieth birthday came around.”

He rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. The most life-threatening thing I do is show up for work every day, give the old man another chance to run me into the ground.”

“It’s your ranch…your life…we’re talking about here. Dad wants you to be prepared to take over when he retires.”

The words were out before he could stop them. “If he’d listen to me—just once—and realize I don’t want the damn ranch, we’d all be better off.”

Thea took her gaze off the road to stare at him. “Why not?”

Bobby dropped his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. His head still ached from last night. “When did I ever say I did?”

“You loved the place when you were little. We couldn’t convince you to come in for dinner some nights, at least not until it got too dark to work.”

“Yeah, well, I grew up.” He didn’t have the words to explain how the ranch, the old man…Thea herself…smothered him. And even if he could find the words…no way could he hurt Thea like that. She’d taken care of him since he was four years old.

“I’m not so sure.” She braked at the intersection of the ranch road with the main highway, then turned left toward town. “Adults acknowledge their responsibilities.”

He ground his back teeth. “Damn, I’m tired of that word.”

“Don’t swear at me.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” Now he sounded like a four-year-old even to himself.

They rode the thirty miles to Paradise Corners without saying anything else. Thea took the shortcut, which brought them to the Lone Wolf Bar without going through the main part of town. His truck sat right where he’d left it last night, reflecting the neon lights of the bar in its bright red finish.

Bobby pulled in a deep breath. “Thanks, Tee.” He used his childhood name for her to apologize. “I appreciate the ride.” He opened the door and dropped to the ground, then turned to give her a grin and a wave through the open window. The night was young, and there was a girl he knew…

Thea evidently had other ideas. “You’re going to follow me home, right?”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Uh…no, I hadn’t planned on going home yet.”

His sister could swear with the best of the cowboys, and she did it now as she slammed the door and strode around the Land Rover to face him. She was only a couple of inches shorter and ten years older than he. That made her a strong woman, even when she wasn’t spitting mad.

Like this. “You are not going to spend tonight carousing and fighting, buddy.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “I’m not having you brought home by the deputy again. Or an ambulance. You get your butt in that truck. I’ll follow you.”

“Tee—” The problem was that he wanted to laugh. He never could get mad at his big sis. “It’s Saturday night. You don’t really want me sitting at home on Saturday night.”

“I believe we’ll all survive the experience.”

The urge to laugh faded. “Look, I promise I won’t get plowed again. I’ll stay sober as a judge.”

“You know as well as I do how much LeVay likes his scotch.” Her eyes had lost their fierceness. He was gonna win this one, too. “And you promised the same thing before you left home last night, as I recall.”

“Cross my heart.” He suited action to words. “Look, I told Megan we’d go over to Bozeman tonight. She’s supposed to get here about eight—” A beat-up Jeep rolled into the parking lot. “See, that’s her right there.”

Thea had all her antennae up now. “Does Mr. Wheeler know you’re taking Megan to Bozeman? Why didn’t you pick her up at her house?”

“Uh…sure, he knows.” He hated to lie, but he didn’t want to continue this fight in front of Megan. “I thought I’d be in town earlier than this, so she got her friend Racey to drop her off.”

The Jeep stopped right beside him, and Megan scooted out. “Thanks, Race. See ya’.” She straightened up and smiled at him. “Hey, Bobby.”

“Hey, honey.” Something about Megan’s smile, about the worship in her brown eyes and the pout of her full lower lip, glazed tonight with some kind of sparkly pink lipstick, simply took away his ability to think. “Ready for a night on the town? You look great.”

She blushed, and smoothed a hand over her short jean skirt. As if he hadn’t already noticed those long bare legs. “I’m ready.” She looked toward his sister and smiled. “Hey, Thea. How are you?”

“Just fine, thanks.” She shoved a hand through her hair and blew a breath off her lower lip. “Listen, can you get this rascal home at a reasonable hour tonight? He dragged in late and you can’t begin to imagine what kind of commotion that makes with Dad.”

Megan didn’t have it in her to lie. Bobby took her arm and stepped into the breach. “I promise, Ms. Watchdog. I’ll hit the door at midnight on my own two feet. Will that do?”

Thea drove her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I guess it’ll have to. I didn’t bring along a rope to tie you down.”

“Great. See you later, then.” He walked Megan to the truck, thanking God that he’d bought the biggest pickup on the market, because he couldn’t wait one single minute more to kiss that pink frosting right off her sweet mouth.

In the shadow of the cab, out of Thea’s line of sight, he backed Megan against the door, braced his elbows and leaned his body into hers. She was a slender little thing, yet she fit him just right. “We didn’t get a chance to say hello properly out there. Want to try again?”

For an answer, she smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers.

FROM THE DRIVER’S SEAT of the Land Rover, Thea watched until Bobby got into his truck and headed east toward the highway. She didn’t wonder why it had taken him a good ten minutes to get Megan in on the passenger side. His eyes had glazed over the minute the girl set foot on the ground. He’d have stepped on his tongue if he’d tried to walk.

She smiled slightly and sighed at the same time. Her dad had been tough on Bobby all day—not just his usual silent observation, but heavy disapproval coupled with a level of expectation his children could never meet. Robert Maxwell didn’t suffer mistakes or fools. Thea had learned over the years how to avoid both. Most of the time.

But Bobby enjoyed courting disaster. He didn’t look ahead and he didn’t look behind, and he never seemed to notice what havoc his behavior wreaked in other lives. Her own, for example. She’d been his shield, his defender, for half her life. Jolie and Cassie had taken off, leaving her to fill the role of mother/daughter/sister/ranch hand. Sure, she loved the job. She worked hard every day to earn her dad’s respect, because she loved him, too. And, of course, she loved Bobby to distraction.

“So why am I sitting here whining?” She watched folks she knew heading into the bar, but couldn’t hunt up any enthusiasm for joining them. The stores in town closed down by six on Saturdays, so she couldn’t go shopping, not that there was anything she needed to buy. A drive back out to the ranch, a check on a couple of the cows she and her dad were worried about, and then that romance novel she’d gotten in the mail but hadn’t had time to open…

“Is this your night for trouble?”

The one voice she hadn’t wanted to hear came from just outside her window. Thea turned slowly. “Well, hello, Deputy. Somebody already started a fight in there?” He had not, unfortunately, grown hairy warts or developed a squint since last night. The man was inhumanly attractive.

And his grin could melt granite. “I’ll give it a couple more hours. Most of them have to be really tanked to start hitting. Speaking of which, I notice your brother picked up his truck.”

Thea clenched her teeth. “How observant of you.”

Hands on his hips, he stared at her a second, then shook his head and tipped his hat back slightly. “My fault. That comment was uncalled for and unfair. I apologize.”

Again unfortunately, Thea could tell he meant what he said. Something cold inside of her started to thaw. “That…that’s okay. Bobby’s hard to handle. But he’s not mean.”

“I guessed that. Makes it hard to stay firm with him, I bet.”

Damn his insight. She tried to be flippant, to hide an inclination to melt even further. “Easy enough to see, since we’ve obviously spoiled him rotten.”

Rafe Rafferty didn’t move, but he withdrew as completely as if he’d stepped back three paces. “You said it, not me.” With two fingers, he resettled his Stetson. “Have a good evening, Ms. Maxwell.”

Thea refused to watch him return to his nice silver truck—she didn’t want to know how he looked from behind or how he walked, with those long legs and narrow hips. She made a big production out of getting the Land Rover started and into gear.

But she looked up just as he drove past. For a second she thought he had a woman in the passenger seat…and then realized that a dog sat straight and tall beside him, floppy ears blowing lightly in the breeze through the open window, sad and wrinkled face about as contented as a bloodhound ever could look.

Thea put her head back against the seat and groaned. Was anything ever more calculated to get and hold a woman’s attention than a gorgeous single man and his totally ugly, totally lovable dog?

That might, she decided on the quiet drive back to the ranch, be the point. A man as handsome, as polished, as Rafe Rafferty had no doubt sampled his share of girlfriends. Just last night, he’d shown how quickly he could turn to flirting. And if flirting didn’t work, a man that smart would no doubt determine the quickest, surest way to get what he wanted—including a girlfriend. A dog ranked up there with diamonds, as far as Thea was concerned. No…above diamonds. How could a cold stone compare to the unfailing love of your best friend?

But she didn’t intend to fall for the ploy. She’d learned from experience that men, especially flirtatious and handsome ones, made more trouble than they were worth. She had enough to do keeping Bobby in line—trying to keep Bobby in line—and doing her job to her dad’s satisfaction. So what if she was lonely sometimes, if her bed…her life…seemed cold?

Maybe she should just get herself a dog.

FOR FOUR GENERATIONS, the Maxwell family had occupied the same pew every Sunday in the First—and only—Methodist Church of Paradise Corners. This week was no exception.

Even though Bobby hadn’t come in until after three. Even though Thea had lain awake for the next hour, listening to her dad’s sharp reprimands and her brother’s sullen protests, cut off, in the end, by a slamming door.

They drove to town in the dark blue Cadillac Robert Maxwell had owned for almost twenty years now, with Thea in the front passenger seat and Bobby slumped in the back behind the driver. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t look as if he’d spent the night before drunk. His blue shirt, yellow tie and khaki slacks were practically an apology in themselves.

But no one said a word. Thea considered making conversation, but decided she didn’t have anything to say to either of the stubborn men she lived with. As far as she was concerned this morning, the entire male sex—including and especially Deputy Sheriff Rafferty—could kick itself into that deep gorge out behind the church’s cemetery and stay there. How much simpler her life would be then.

The fall morning was gorgeous, with the foliage nearing its peak of color. A small grove of aspens beside the white-sided church building quaked in the breeze, their gold leaves like little pieces of sunlight drifting to the ground. Thea stood for a minute, appreciating the view. As she resumed her progress to the door, a tall, broad-shouldered shadow fell onto the brick walk ahead of her. Her skin prickled and her breath shortened—she didn’t have to wonder whose shade she’d stepped into. Next thing she knew, Rafe Rafferty was walking beside her.

“Do you think,” he said without looking her way, “that if I kept to the weather and the scenery, we could possibly get through a whole conversation without some kind of insult?”

She barely held in her chuckle. “Depends on what you have to say about the scenery. I’m not making any guarantees ahead of time, if you’re planning on insulting Paradise Corners.”

He heaved a loud sigh. “I was just thinking how green Montana is. Even with the leaves turning, there’s some kind of green everywhere you look.”

“That’s the evergreens—white pine and lodgepole pine, the cedars and junipers and spruces. Even when the last leaves fall, there’s still color in the trees.” She watched him out of the sides of her eyes, noticed his nice-fitting chocolate-brown suede jacket and dark green corduroy slacks. She caught herself admiring him and administered a mental slap. Of course a Los Angeles playboy would have a sense of style. “I guess you don’t have as many trees in southern California.”

“Palms and eucalyptus, avocados and scrub junipers. They’re technically trees, technically green. But—” he gestured at the foothills “—not nearly this rich. The air here smells like Christmas every day.”

“Wait until summer. A lot of the time between last July and September all you could smell was smoke from the wildfires.”

They’d reached the church door, where a couple of deacons shook hands in welcome and passed out bulletins. The first, a short, spare man, reached up for his usual kiss. “Howdy, Miss Thea. You’re looking pretty this morning.”

“Thanks, Uncle G.” He wasn’t really her uncle, but she’d practically grown up with him, since he supplied Walking Stones with feed of every kind. “Have you met the new deputy? Deputy Rafferty, George Dillon, of Dillon’s Feed and Tack.”

The deputy held out his hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Dillon.”

Uncle G. took it with the enthusiasm of a man reaching under a rock and expecting a snakebite. “Deputy.”

Rafe saw Thea Maxwell’s straight black eyebrows draw together as she noticed George Dillon’s cool welcome. But after three weeks, Rafe was used to the town’s cold shoulder.

The next greeter Thea introduced him to was a woman. “Miss Barbara, this is the new deputy, Rafe Rafferty. Rafe, Miss Sentry owns the beauty salon.”

Distracted by hearing his first name in Thea’s husky, musical voice, Rafe almost missed the salon owner’s lifted eyebrow.

“Deputy.” Her tone could have shriveled lemons. She did not extend her hand.

He bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Sentry.”

At the door to the sanctuary, Thea glanced back toward the gauntlet they’d just run, her honest eyes troubled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rafe advised, setting a palm to her waist to draw her inside. “Can you sit with me?”

But that was a mistake. She stiffened under his hand and stepped away. “I…thanks, but no. I’m sitting with my dad and…and Bobby.” With a nod, she left him standing in the middle of the aisle and wove her way through the crowd until she reached the safety of the front pew, where she planted herself between Robert and Bobby Maxwell.

Good thinking, Rafe told her silently. If you weren’t protected, I might attack you right here, right now.

He recognized his own bitterness. And he recognized that meeting Thea Maxwell had done a number on his equanimity. He coped with the distrust, the dislike, of people like George and Barbara, understood that he would have to earn their acceptance. That was okay—he would rather prove himself than simply weasel his way into the job and then not be able to handle it.

But Thea appealed to him, and his pride demanded that she reciprocate the feeling. Every time he tried to approach her on a man-to-woman basis she spooked. Rafe had broken his share of horses, and he’d had more luck with kindness and patience than with force. This time, he couldn’t seem to make the right move. He only wanted to be friends, for God’s sake.

He thought about the inviting curve of her mouth, and amended his intention. Friends to begin with. What could be so threatening about that?

At the end of a service he didn’t pay much attention to, he shook the preacher’s hand at the front door, then stepped a few yards off the walk to examine the small, walled cemetery beside the church. Maxwell headstones stood and leaned everywhere he looked—most members of the family for the last hundred years must have been buried in this spot.

A glance back at the doorway showed him Robert Maxwell greeting the minister, with Bobby and Thea in her bright red jacket just behind. Rafe approved of the straight black skirt she wore, the strong but slender legs her blue flannel pj’s had hidden. Each glimpse he got of her added something positive to the overall picture. The smile she sent him now was downright friendly. Even encouraging, he decided, and went back to try again.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Maxwell, Bobby.”

The rancher turned a rock-hard stare on him. For a second, Rafe wondered if Robert would shoot first and ask questions later. That kind of threat hung in the air.

But the older man settled for a solemn nod. “Deputy.” Then he turned his back on Rafe and strode toward the parking lot, obviously expecting Thea and Bobby to follow.

The boy stared after his father, shaking his head. “You’d think an hour in church would have reminded him that he’s not God.”

“Bobby!” Thea’s cheeks flushed as bright as her jacket, but she laughed. “Maybe we just don’t realize that the Almighty delegated Montana to him.” She glanced at Rafe. “Sorry.”

“No problem. Do you have plans for lunch?”

“Lunch?”

“Both of you, I mean.” The wariness in her eyes had him backing up, slowing down. Make it a family affair first. “Grizzly’s serves pretty decent roast beef on Sunday. I can’t offer home cooking—I’ve only got one plate and one mug.”

Thea looked at Bobby, hoping for some help, but he was surveying the crowd, searching for Megan, no doubt. That left her to deal with the deputy on her own. “Um…why only one plate?”

Rafe Rafferty’s grin should have been a controlled substance. “The moving company has ‘temporarily misplaced my shipment.’ Meaning that they lost my boxes and furniture and haven’t figured out where they are yet.” He shrugged. “I’m trying not to replace any more than I have to.”

“Makes sense.” Which was more than she could say for the butterflies in her stomach. He was going to repeat his invitation. And she would have to turn him down. He would take it wrong, which was a good thing, because she really didn’t want him to think she was interested….

“So, are you free for lunch?”

Bobby had disappeared. Thea gathered her wits. “I—I’m afraid not.” As expected, his eyes cooled. He took a physical step back. “M-my sister Cassie and her little boy are coming over this afternoon. They’ll be there by the time we get home.” And in any normal world, she’d invite him to join them. As a neighbor. As a possible…friend.

But this was Robert Maxwell’s world, and she knew what kind of reaction such an invitation would receive. The situation with Cassie and Zak was strained enough. They didn’t need an outsider looking on. No matter how nice, no matter how gorgeous he might be. “But thanks for the offer.”

She tried a smile, and got a slight one back. “Sure.” Then the deputy took off, leaving her with the agonizing pleasure of watching him walk away, his shoulders straight, his head high.

You’re out! she thought. He’d given her three chances and she’d blown him off each time. There wasn’t much hope that he’d try again.

Swallowing down regret and disappointment, Thea joined her dad in the Cadillac.

His impatient stare informed her he’d been waiting. “Where’s your brother?”

“I saw him with Dan Aiken and Racey Taylor.” And Megan. But if she told him that, there would be hell to pay. Bobby wasn’t here, so that would leave the accounting to her. And she was in no mood for the hassle. “I didn’t catch him before he drove off with them.”

“He’s supposed to come home for lunch with your sister, dammit.” Despite the anger in his voice, he drove as calmly, as efficiently, as he did everything. As if his emotions didn’t affect his actions at all.

“We’ll ask them to stay for dinner. I bet Bobby will be home by then.”

Her dad cracked a laugh. “That’s a bet you’re likely to lose.”

Thea put her head back and closed her eyes. “I know.”

Boy, do I know.

CASSIE MAXWELL WARREN’S five-year-old Toyota was parked in the front driveway when they arrived home. Pulling around to the garage behind the house, they could see Cassie standing by a corral near the horse barn across the ranch road, her arm around little Zak as he balanced on a fence rail, staring at the horses.

“The boy likes it here,” Robert Maxwell commented.

Thea unhooked her seat belt. “I was looking at that yearling foal of Misty’s the other day, thinking he could make a good ride for Zak in a couple of years. He might even be able to help with the training, when the colt’s ready.”

Her dad nodded, his eyes still on his grandson. “Cassie would need to bring him over more than once a month.”

He never came much closer to admitting that he missed his middle daughter, or wanted to see more of her and her son. Thea smiled. “Maybe you could mention the colt while they’re here today. We can ride out after lunch and show him to Zak.”

“Maybe.” And that was as much enthusiasm as he’d ever given one of her suggestions. “Guess I’ll go over and say hello.”

“I’ll check in with Beth to see if she needs help.” The chances of their housekeeper needing help with Sunday dinner were about the same as getting a “Great job!” out of Robert Maxwell.

But Zak was still getting used to the family he hadn’t known he had. Cassie had crowned her adolescent rebellion with marriage to a man their dad had refused to allow on the property. And while he’d been proven right—Cassie’s ex-husband hadn’t had the strength or commitment to support a wife and baby—the rift between father and daughter had taken several years to bridge, years in which Zak didn’t meet his grandfather, or his aunts and uncle. The little boy tended to shy away from contact if too many of them approached him at the same time. Thea figured she could wait until they all sat down at the table for her own greeting.

But even then, Zak flinched away from her smile, hiding his face against his mother’s arm. Cassie laughed, but her cheeks reddened. “Thea won’t bite, silly,” she told him, ruffling his bright red hair. “Can’t you say hello?” Zak shook his head without looking up.

“Don’t worry about it,” Thea said, taking the bowl of mashed potatoes from her dad. “Zak and I can take a walk after lunch, see if we can spot some deer prints down on the creek bank. We had a doe and two half-grown fawns down there several mornings this week. The mountain snows are starting to push the wildlife to lower ground.”

“Deer season starts next weekend,” Herman commented. “Bobby and me were talking about heading out Saturday morning. You coming, Boss?”

“Too much work left to take off hunting.” Across the table, Zak sat up wide-eyed, staring at his granddad. He was young, but not too young to understand the conversation.

“The work’ll be here when we get back. The season only lasts a few weeks.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“How’s work, Cassie?” The two men raised their eyebrows at Thea’s abrupt diversion. She shook her head at them, with a pointed glance at Zak. They wouldn’t be the ones who had to explain deer hunting to a little boy who still liked to watch Bambi.

Her sister gave Thea a grateful smile. “I saw one of my cases settled just this week—the court gave full custody of three little girls to their mother, after the dad had refused, several times, to return them once his visitation period had ended.”

“Father ought to have some rights to be with his children,” their own commented.

“Then he shouldn’t have walked out in the first place and taken up with a girl nearly young enough to be his daughter!” Cassie’s sharp reply earned her a stern stare. But even as a teenager, she’d never backed down from a confrontation. “The fact that he shares genes with those little girls doesn’t make him their father. Time and attention and affection are the contributions of a real parent.”

Robert Maxwell’s fierce hazel gaze clashed with Cassie’s equally furious one across the table. The tense silence might have lasted all afternoon, but Beth cleared her throat, got to her feet and picked up the empty chicken platter. “I’ve got blackberry cobbler and ice cream for dessert. You girls help me clear the table and we’ll bring in coffee.”

In the kitchen, Cassie set the plates she carried by the sink, then went to stand at the window of the back door. Thea could read a desperate battle for control in the ramrod straightness of her sister’s spine.

“I don’t think he meant to argue with you,” she ventured after bringing in a second armload of dishes. “That’s just his way of asking a question. Like…‘Couldn’t they work out some compromise?”’

Cassie’s shoulders shook on a little laugh. “Thanks for the interpretation. Maybe what we all need is a dictionary of Maxwell-speak. ‘Drive safe’ means ‘It was good to see you, come back real soon.”’ She rubbed the back of her neck. “Where’s Bobby this afternoon?”

“That’s a very good question.” Beth placed saucers and coffee cups on a tray. “I make that boy his favorite lunch and he doesn’t show up to eat it. He’ll be hearing about that this week, especially when he comes around trying to sweet-talk me into fried chicken again.” She pushed the door into the dining room with an ample hip and carried the dessert tray through.

Thea opened the freezer and pulled out the ice cream. “Bobby went off with Jerry and Dan after church. And Megan Wheeler.”

“Is he crazy?” Cassie turned sharply to face her. “Dad hates Mr. Wheeler almost as much as Mr. Wheeler hates him back for buying that farm out from under him. Bobby doesn’t really think he’ll get away with dating Megan, does he?”

“I don’t know what he thinks. I haven’t talked to him about it. Maybe you can.” Cassie and Bobby were alike in temperament, if not in looks. Both of them possessed a streak of stubborn wildness that drove their dad crazy. Not to mention making life eventful for everybody else living in the house. Thea had moderated a thousand arguments over the years…mollified a thousand hurt feelings and short tempers. No wonder she’d grown into a prickly, suspicious woman. She’d taken on everybody else’s thorns.

“We’ve got a new deputy in town these days.” She bit her tongue. What had possessed her to share that information, from out of thin air, no less?

“Beth said he brought Bobby home the other night because our dear brother was too drunk to drive. Is he drinking a lot?”

“Yeah, he is.” Dread welled up in her chest. Putting the thought into words made it so much more real. “Two or three nights a week, he’s in town at one of the bars. He says it’s no big deal.”

“Denial.” Cassie took the ice-cream scoop out of the drawer. “You’d better talk some sense into him before it’s too late.”

The command didn’t sit well with Thea. “I talk to him all the time. I’m the only one who does. Why don’t you shoulder some of the responsibility for what’s going on? He’s your brother, too.”

Just like that, they launched into yet another echo of fights from days gone by. Cassie crossed her arms over her chest. “I have just about as much as I can handle these days, working full time at Child Protective Services and taking care of Zak. It seems to me that you have more opportunity—”

Thea chopped at the air with the side of her hand. “Only because nobody else will take the time or make the effort—”

“Excuse me.” Beth’s sharp voice jerked them out of their squabble. “If you ladies don’t mind, the rest of us would like ice cream with our cobbler. Not to mention a little peace and quiet.”

Without looking at her sister, Thea picked up the slightly soggy ice-cream box and the scoop, then stalked through the door the housekeeper held open. Aware of Herman’s amusement and her dad’s frown, she ladled sloppy vanilla cream over each bowl of cobbler and took the box back to the freezer before sitting down to her own portion. No one at the table said a word. They finished their desserts in record time.

But only little Zak, happily smearing himself, his shirt and the tablecloth with purple berries and sticky cream, actually enjoyed the food.

CHAPTER THREE

BOBBY BOUNCED into the back seat of Dan Aiken’s truck, dragged off his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his sleeves. “Man! I thought that sermon would last till sundown. Preachers must get chosen by how long they can talk.”

“You’re telling me.” Dan fired the engine, backed through a mud puddle and left the church parking lot with a squeal of tires. “I was about to stand up on the pew and start crowing like a damn rooster, just to get him to stop.”

In the passenger seat, Racey laughed, coughing out a lungful of cigarette smoke.

“I thought the sermon was really good.” Beside Bobby, Megan had a holier-than-thou look on her face. But her eyes laughed.

“You little liar.” Grinning, Bobby caught her wrist to pull her over for a kiss.

At his touch, she winced and gave a hiss of pain.

“What? What’s wrong?” He opened his fingers and looked at her arm where it lay across his palm. A bracelet of dark red bruises circled her delicate wrist. “Damn. Did he do this to you?”

Megan had turned toward the window.

“Did your dad do this, honey?” Hand on her chin, he made her face him. Tears filled her big brown eyes and dripped onto his thumb as she nodded.

Bobby fell back against the seat, swearing under his breath. “Somebody ought to put that bastard in jail. Or maybe just take him out and shoot him like the rabid dog he is.”

Megan’s soft fingers touched the back of his hand. “It’s okay, Bobby. Really. He woke up when I came in last night, is all. He didn’t like that it was so late, and he…he took me to my room.”

“Dragged, you mean.” She didn’t have to draw him a picture. “Did he know you were with me?”

“He thought I was with Racey.”

“I guess that’s a good thing.” Megan’s dad would’ve killed her if he knew she was seeing a Maxwell. He would’ve killed her if he knew about the little motel in Bozeman where they’d spent the better part of the night. “How’d you get out this morning?”

“Mama told him I had to go to church. Then she said I was going to Aunt Sara’s to baby-sit.”

“Are you really?” What good was a long Sunday afternoon off without Megan?

She smiled when he looked at her. “Sara and Rick are taking the kids to see his mother down in Red Lodge. I don’t have to be home until six.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Dan reached out and pulled Racey closer. “And where are we gonna do it?”

They stopped at the Quik-Save in Mitchell for some sandwiches and chips, colas and beer. The girls stayed in the truck; when Bobby and Dan stepped outside again, they found a cowboy, elbows propped on the driver’s-side window frame, with his head and shoulders inside the cab. The black pickup with a double gun rack across the parking lot identified Hank Reeves—Megan’s ex-boyfriend, sometime wrangler for local spreads and full-time pain in the butt.

Bobby stepped up to the rear door of the truck and opened it into Reeves’s shoulder as if he hadn’t noticed anyone standing there.

“Hey!” Reeves staggered back a stride, called Bobby a foul name.

Putting the bag of food down beside Megan, Bobby turned to face the cowboy. “You talking to me?”

“Not if I can help it.” Reeves tried to lean in the window again, but Dan had him blocked. “You’re in my way, kid. Beat it.”

Dan had a very short fuse. “Get away from my truck before I kick you away.”

Reeves grabbed Dan’s Sunday-shirt collar. Fists tight, Bobby tensed up for some action, and then he heard Megan say his name.

“Don’t fight him, Bobby. Not here, not on Sunday.”

“Was he bothering you?” Megan had dated Reeves until Bobby asked her out last spring. The guy still hadn’t gotten over being replaced by a Maxwell.

She shook her head, and her shiny hair bounced. “No, he was just saying hello. Please…let him leave. Don’t cause any more trouble.”

Dan and Reeves were still scuffling for purchase, trying out holds to test each other’s strength. With a sigh, Bobby circled around and pulled his friend back from Hank Reeves’s grip. “Break it up. Come on, settle down.” His hard shove sent Dan stumbling up against the front fender of the truck. Bobby turned to Reeves. “Just hit the road. It’s Sunday, and the girls don’t want to watch a fight.”

Reeves started forward, hesitated, and glanced at Megan. Finally, he swore and picked his hat up out of the dirt. “I’ll see you about this later,” he promised Dan. Glancing into the truck, he actually smiled for a second at Megan. “I’ll see you later, too, sweet thing.”

Bobby gritted his teeth and kept his hands at his sides. Barely.

Once Reeves’s truck left the parking lot, Dan gave Bobby a shove as good as the one he’d received. “I shoulda just beat him up once and for all. Why’d you get in the way, man?”

Bobby climbed into the back of the truck cab, set the grocery bag on the floor and pulled Megan into his arms. “Because the lady said so.” He lifted her face to his for a kiss. “And as far as I’m concerned, what Megan says goes!”

RAFE FOUND the first carcass about a mile into the forest.

He’d taken Jed out for a hike Sunday afternoon, hoping to work off the extra helping of roast beef Mona had piled on his plate at lunch, trying to outwalk his irrational disappointment at being blown off—again—by Thea Maxwell. At least this time she’d had a good reason. But that didn’t make him feel any more optimistic about the future.

Walking at a good pace, Rafe left the last isolated houses behind and entered national forest land. Jed wandered ahead, in his usual dopey way, snuffling at the carpet of needles shadowed by tall pines and cedars, the bases of trees, the crevices of rocks. Though he frequently disappeared from sight, the noise he made carried. He sounded like a miniature steam engine chugging up the hill.

Suddenly, the huffing stopped. The forest went still, too quiet. And then it came—the long, baying call of a hound on the scent, and the snap of branches as Jed crashed through the underbrush on the slope high above. Breathing hard, Rafe followed.

He used his hands to climb a couple of the steepest ridges. As he levered his body over the rim of a nearly vertical ledge, he saw his dog about a hundred feet ahead, frozen in place, ears stiff. On his feet again, Rafe approached carefully, soundlessly. If the damn dog had cornered a grizzly, their day was about to turn crazy. The hunting knife Rafe carried wouldn’t be any good against a hungry bear.

But when he reached Jed’s quivering black-and-tan flank, he realized that the whitetail buck lying only six or so yards away wouldn’t be any kind of threat at all. He was already dead.

Not only dead, but decapitated.

Sickened, angry, Rafe crouched a few feet from the carcass, surveying the gory scene. This was a shameful waste, however he looked at it—good venison left to buzzards, wolves and coyotes, or a magnificent animal destroyed. Hunting for sustenance was one thing. Hunting solely to capture a set of antlers to decorate the family-room wall was something else altogether, at least in his book.

But this particular kill was also a crime. Deer season didn’t start for another week, and taking an animal before that date constituted poaching, as did taking an animal without a license and without tagging it to indicate the hunter had stayed within his quota. The Fish and Wildlife guys would want to know what had gone down, so Rafe mentally cataloged the details to include in his report. Whoever made the kill knew what they were doing—one round, straight through the buck’s chest to his heart, had dropped him like a stone.

As Rafe walked a circle around the dead deer, Jed stepped close enough to sniff at the body. If he’d been part of a pack, he might have taken his share of meat.

“But you’ve got good manners, right?” The dog came back to his side and Rafe rubbed his ears. Then he snapped on the leash. “Got any ideas what direction this guy took off in, Jed? We might as well see where he went.”

They circled again, with Jed’s nose close to the ground. At a point almost directly opposite the way they’d come up, the dog veered away, following a scent. Rafe let him lead, hoping this wasn’t a wild-goose chase. Jed didn’t always choose the right trail to follow.

The slope in this direction was easier, the tree cover thinner. Jed followed a trail back down into the foothills, onto the bank of a creek running through an aspen grove. He put one paw in the water then backed up, with a low whine in his throat. Rafe saw the marred ground on the other side of the stream, where the hunter had landed his jump. “Good job, buddy. We’ll get over there, too, see if we can track the bastard down.”

They crossed farther upstream to avoid confusing the hunter’s prints. Not that they’d be any help—the guy had slid backward when he landed, smearing whatever pattern was on the bottom of his shoes. Jed picked up the scent again and bounded forward, leaving Rafe nothing to do but follow.

The aspen grove bordered a wide meadow filled with pungent sagebrush and the windblown arcs of tall, gray-green grass. Now the hunter’s path was visible as a dark line of crushed plants. Rafe released Jed’s lead and pursued the trail on his own.

The line gradually curved to the west, where a thick stand of pines edged the open field. When the tall brush ended, the trail seemed to end as well. Jed zigzagged between the trees, doing his best to pick up a scent, looking more and more worried as the minutes passed.

But Rafe, listening to the wind, had picked up voices. He called the dog to heel. “Which way, buddy? Where are they?”

In response to his whisper, the bloodhound headed roughly south. Signs of human intrusion appeared—a soda can against the foot of a lodgepole pine, a paper napkin blown into a spiny shrub’s branches, a circle of burned grass where some idiot had built a fire. Rafe cursed the stupidity, and moved on.

By the time he and Jed reached the voices—and the pair of trucks parked in a clearing just off the road—Rafe had collected beer bottles and empty condom packets in a discarded plastic bag, along with food wrappers and paper products. He didn’t need to evaluate the assembled company to realize that this was a popular teen hangout. And somehow he wasn’t surprised to find Bobby Maxwell in the center of the group.

They’d heard him coming, because he made no attempt to be quiet. About half a dozen faces were turned his way when Rafe stepped into the clearing.

Bobby raised a soft-drink can in greeting. “Fancy meeting you here, Deputy! Come join our picnic.” A pretty girl sat by his side on the tailgate, trying and failing to hide how nervous she was.

In the next truck bed, a towheaded boy leaned back against a silver metal toolbox. He glanced at Jed, who was still casting around the clearing, investigating scents. “Nice-looking dog, Deputy. What are you hunting?”

“A trash can,” Rafe said, holding up the bag of refuse. “This where you spend your Sunday afternoons?”

“Sometimes.” Bobby swung his legs—still in his Sunday pants and shiny boots—back and forth from the knees. He’d ditched the tie and folded back his starched shirt cuffs. “You might’ve noticed, we’re not exactly living at the center of the social world.”

“Who are your friends?”

“Megan Wheeler.” Bobby touched the top of her head with his drink can. “Dan Aiken, Racey Taylor, Jerry Heath, Kim Rawlins. Anything else you need to know?”

Rafe reached into a juniper shrub and pulled out a recently emptied beer can, still wet with condensation and scented with yeast. “I might like to know who sells beer to underage kids on a Sunday.”

Bobby’s angelic expression wasn’t intended to fool anybody. “I wouldn’t know. I’m a decaf diet-cola man, myself. Dan swears by guava juice.”

“Makes my hair shine,” the boy said, rubbing a hand over his head. Bobby and friends laughed…except for Megan, who still looked worried.

Straight answers from this crowd were unlikely, but Rafe decided to take one shot. “Seen anybody else around this afternoon?”

“No, sir.” Bobby leaned back on his elbows. “Nobody but us nature lovers.”

They were being careful to avoid giving him any concrete reason for suspicion. Without probable cause or a bona fide warrant, he couldn’t search the vehicles for alcohol, an illegal kill or anything else. And Rafe didn’t doubt that Judge LeVay and Robert Maxwell would, between them, discount even the strongest probable cause.

“Enjoy,” he said, approaching Bobby as he lounged in the truck bed. He set the bag of trash on the tailgate, between the boy’s knees. “And rub up that shine on your halo by dumping this where it belongs.” Whistling for Jed, he turned his back on the group and headed for the trail that would take him back toward town.

“You can count on us,” Bobby yelled after him.

Rafe heard the triumph edging his tone. “I know I can,” he called over his shoulder.

The important question being…for what?

DURING THE NEXT WEEK, the game warden got two more reports of poached bucks farther up in the mountains. Bobby Maxwell came into town every night about eight-thirty and drank until the bar closed or the bartender threw him out. Dan Aiken was with him, more often than not. Eavesdropping in the diner, in the general store, in the grocery market, Rafe learned that those two, along with Jerry Heath, hung out together like the Musketeers. And got into almost as much trouble.

He heard them himself, racing their trucks down Main Street at midnight between Thursday and Friday. They roared past him just as he reached the intersection in his own truck. Bobby gave him a grin and a salute as he flashed by. Then, with a squeal of tires that dragged sparks from the asphalt, the three vehicles wheeled off into the darkness in three different directions. Rafe was tempted to drive up to Walking Stones and wait for the Maxwell kid to come home, then arrest him for drunk and disorderly, DUI, and any other infraction that came to mind along the way.

But another wee-hours confrontation with Robert Maxwell would be as counterproductive as the last. Judge LeVay would hand out the same warning to keep clear of Maxwell business, while the folks in town would chalk up yet another win to Boss Maxwell, and their respect for Rafe would drop another notch. He knew a no-win situation when he saw one.

The solution to his problem came to him at breakfast Friday morning. Sitting in his usual spot at Grizzly’s, Rafe picked up his coffee mug, stared at it for a second, then grinned. There was still one person concerned about Bobby and his friends whom he could approach without risking his health or his job. In fact, getting her on his side might raise his status around town, help him settle the Maxwell kid down and improve his personal life.

He made the call when he went home for lunch. A voice he didn’t recognize answered the phone. “Walking Stones Ranch, Beth Peace speaking. May I help you?”

Rafe cleared his throat. “This is Deputy Sheriff Rafferty. Could I speak to Thea Maxwell, please?”

A silence followed, and he didn’t think he was imagining the disapproval pulsing through the line. “Miss Maxwell is at work, Deputy. Can I take a message?”

“Sure.” His disappointment was way out of proportion to the situation. “Please ask her to call me at the office before six, or at home afterward.” He dictated the numbers. “It’s important that I talk to her. Not urgent.” No need to cause a panic. “But I’d like to get in touch as soon as possible.”

“I’ll tell her. Goodbye.” Beth Peace disconnected briskly. Secretary or housekeeper or whoever, she’d taken on the familiar Maxwell attitude.

The phone rang a total of eight times before he left the office that afternoon. Rafe jumped each time, picked up the receiver with his breath a little short…and dealt with two traffic complaints involving tourists, three questions about the start of deer season, a report of vandalism to an abandoned cabin in the woods, a hang-up call and a wrong number. No word from Thea Maxwell.

By nine that night, he’d decided she was going to ignore him. That realization, coupled with a message on his answering machine that said his furniture remained lost on the highway between Los Angeles and Paradise Corners, shortened his temper to the point where even talking to Jed was too much of an effort.

When the phone rang at nine-thirty, Rafe had just dropped his only coffee mug, which left a zillion pieces of pottery scattered across the kitchen floor plus one long and extremely painful shard embedded in his foot.

“Hello.” Not his friendliest tone. Receiver clutched between shoulder and cheek, he tried to ease the ceramic splinter out of his arch.

“Um…Deputy Rafferty? It’s Thea Maxwell.”

He jerked as she said her name. The splinter burrowed deeper. Rafe swore.

“I beg your pardon?” Glacier mode.

“Damn, here we go again.” Rafe gave up on the splinter. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.”

“That’s just your usual phone manner?”

“I have a piece of glass in my foot and was trying to get it out when you called.”

“Are you okay?” Her question carried a current of laughter. And maybe a hint of concern?

“I’ll live.” He dabbed gingerly at his bleeding foot with a paper towel. “I think.”

“I’m sorry, too, for calling so late. We worked past dark, bringing some cows down from the high country. A few of them spooked, detoured through a steep gorge, and the only way out was back into the mountains. That added about five hours to the process.” Weariness roughened her voice.

“I’ve had those kinds of days. You need a meal and a bath and a bed.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “So why did you call? Our housekeeper said it was important.”

Rafe pulled his thoughts back from a mental picture of Thea Maxwell soaking in a tub of warm, sweet-smelling water. “Uh…yeah. It’s about your brother.”

“Oh, really.”

“But I don’t want to get into anything tonight.” He’d expected the sudden change in her tone, but it bothered him anyway. “I wondered…is there sometime in the next day or two that you could come into town?”

“You want to interrogate me at the jailhouse?”

He sighed. “I want to buy you a cup of coffee, maybe a piece of pie, and talk this situation over like reasonable people.”

Thea recognized Rafe Rafferty’s exasperation. She couldn’t blame him—he didn’t have a clue that her question was purely defensive, an effort to get control of the excitement his invitation provoked. “I, um, I usually come in on Saturday mornings to pick up groceries. Do you have time…tomorrow?”

“Sure.” How could he sound so calm when she felt as if she was standing in the middle of an electrical storm? “How’s ten-thirty sound? Too early?”

“Th-that’s fine.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Was he hanging up? “Rafe, um, Deputy? Wait a minute. Deputy?”

“Rafe will be fine.” She practically heard him grin. “What’s wrong?”

“Where do you want to meet?”

“Oh, yeah. Good question. Is Grizzly’s okay with you?”

“Great. I…I’ll see you at Grizzly’s at ten-thirty.”

“Sounds good.” After a long pause, he said, “Well, then…good night. Get some rest.”

“You, too.” There was some kind of problem here, saying goodbye. “Um…good night.”

“Sure.” He pulled in a deep breath. “’Night.” After yet another hesitation, Thea heard the phone click off. Rafe Rafferty was finally gone.

Unless you counted the way she thought about him as she showered. The way he got between her eyes and the book she tried to read while eating the warmed-over plate of chicken and dumplings Beth had made. The way he got all tangled up in her dreams.

THEN THERE WAS the problem Saturday morning of what to wear. Nothing special, of course. Just the usual jeans and boots and a shirt, with a jacket against the cold wind sweeping down from the mountains. So what if the shirt was new, hanging in her closet since her trip to Denver last summer? The bright red would be cheerful on this gray day. And, yes, the black jeans were new, too. A woman didn’t have to look like one of the boys when she drove into town. There was such a thing as self-respect.

But she got a sharp glance from Beth. “You’re awful dressed up. What’s going on?”

Thea picked up her coffee cup. “Nothing. Just driving in for the groceries, same as usual.”

“What can I fix you for breakfast?” Saturday was short-order day—you could ask for strawberry waffles or ostrich-egg omelettes and Beth would do her best to oblige.

But Thea couldn’t imagine putting food on top of the jitterbugs in her stomach. “I ate late last night. I’ll just get something in town.”

“With that deputy?”

Trust Beth Peace to know everything. “He wants to talk about Bobby.”

The housekeeper puffed out like a threatened hen. “What’s there to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” It was too early to leave, but she couldn’t face any more questions. “I’ll tell you when I get home.” She put her cup in the sink and started out the back door. Her work jacket hung there—dusty worn denim with a tear in the sleeve from yesterday’s argument with a fallen branch.

Beth followed her as she reversed directions and headed for the coat closet in the great room. “You might want to put on some jewelry for this date of yours. Earrings, at least.”

Shrugging into her black wool blazer, Thea thought about it. Then shook her head. “It’s a business meeting, Beth, that’s all. He wants to talk about Bobby. I don’t need to get all dressed up. See you later.” She left by the front door, preferring to walk all the way around the house in the cold rather than go through to the back with the housekeeper at her heels, teasing.

But she didn’t get away fast enough to avoid hearing Beth’s comment.

“Of course you shouldn’t get dressed up.” The older woman crossed her arms over her full breasts. “And I’m the queen of the monkey house.”

Thea looked back just before she rounded the corner. “I’ll add bananas to the grocery list,” she called, and heard Beth’s laugh carried off on the wind.

Instead of heading straight out to the state road, Thea turned the Land Rover toward the work buildings, the cattle barns and the pastures beyond. Backing onto the foothills of the Crazy Moutains, the Walking Stones Ranch claimed terrain from water meadows all the way to subalpine mountain peaks. Most of that land was as familiar to her as her own bedroom.

And she loved to examine it the way other women might admire their jewelry. Even on a cloudy day, Walking Stones showed its riches, in the dull gold of cut hayfields, the fading green of frosted grass, brilliant yellows and reds from the aspens and oaks, the velvet black of fat Angus cattle grazing for breakfast. Wood smoke, wet leaves and a hint of snow colored the wind, its moan the only sound in an otherwise blessed silence…

Until it was broken by a rifle shot.

Thea jumped, then sighed and shook her head. Deer season opened today. Herman and Bobby and her dad had left before dawn for the start of their annual male-bonding ritual. She’d never been invited to go along, but she’d never wanted to. Venison steak didn’t hold a candle to range-fed Angus beef, as far as she was concerned. Culling the deer population made sense, she supposed, although she had a strong belief in nature’s ability to handle its own problems. There were, after all, coyotes and wolves.

Mostly, though, she liked looking at the deer alive, liked the alert shine of a doe’s eyes, the sweetness of the fawns, the power and majesty of a heavily antlered buck. Why destroy something so beautiful?

Turning into the wooded hillsides, she headed up a dirt track toward the fence line dividing Walking Stones land from the national forest. The winding mountain road beyond the back gate was the long way into town, guaranteed to take up enough time that she wouldn’t look stupid arriving early for her meeting with Rafe Rafferty. Or, worse, eager. Just because she wanted the chance to see him again, maybe have a decent conversation, didn’t mean he had to know how she felt.

Thinking of his dark eyes and the humor she’d caught there a couple of times, Thea stopped at the gate, climbed down from the Land Rover to unlock the chain, drove across the cattleguard, stopped again and got out to refasten the lock. She pulled hard, to be sure the snap had caught, started to turn away, and realized her brain had recorded an image she hadn’t quite processed.

Easing between two of the fence wires, she walked carefully over the rough ground, uneven with clumps of grass and rocks and dirt. About a hundred feet along, she came upon what her eyes had seen without her mind knowing. A deer. A doe.

Or what was left of one, anyway.

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