He left a soldier...and returned a cowboy.

Can Rocky Mountain Ranch make him a husband?

After a medical discharge from the marines, all Devlin Langford wants is peace and solitude on his Montana ranch. Instead, he finds his childhood nemesis, Chloe Kenner, in his rental cabin. The cheerful cookbook writer can’t forget how she once pestered him—and crushed on him. Is her sunny smile just what he needs to begin healing?

A USA TODAY bestselling and award-winning author of over thirty-five novels, ROXANNE RUSTAND lives in the country with her husband and a menagerie of pets, including three horses, rescue dogs and cats. She has a master’s in nutrition and is a clinical dietitian. RT Book Reviews nominated her for a Career Achievement Award, two of her books won their annual Reviewers’ Choice Award and two others were nominees.

Also By Roxanne Rustand

Love Inspired

Rocky Mountain Ranch

Montana Mistletoe

High Country Homecoming

Aspen Creek Crossroads

Winter Reunion

Second Chance Dad

The Single Dad’s Redemption

An Aspen Creek Christmas

Falling for the Rancher

Rocky Mountain Heirs

The Loner’s Thanksgiving Wish

Love Inspired Suspense

Big Sky Secrets

Fatal Burn

End Game

Murder at Granite Falls

Duty to Protect

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

High Country Homecoming

Roxanne Rustand

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09667-6

HIGH COUNTRY HOMECOMING

© 2019 Roxanne Rustand

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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She was impossible to forget.

Looking at those big blue eyes that were staring at him with recognition and horror, he felt memories slam into him.

He hadn’t seen her since he was sixteen, when she’d been his persistent shadow. The bane of his existence. “Chloe? What are you doing here?”

She blushed. “I—I thought you were in the military. Your family said—”

Apparently her memories of him weren’t that happy, either. “I’ve been back a couple days. They were expecting me.”

“I...um...I’m renting a cabin here on the ranch. For a few months.”

He gaped. “Months?” he repeated, hoping he’d heard her wrong.

She nodded as she grabbed her suitcase. “Well...I guess I’d better get settled.”

Of all people to show up while he was trying to regain a sense of peace and figure out how to start his life over!

As he watched her enter the cabin, he couldn’t help feeling as if he were wavering on a fragile precipice with unknown, dangerous water below. Blue water the same color as Chloe’s eyes.

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for joining me in Montana ranch country.

High Country Homecoming is the second novel in my Rocky Mountain Ranch series, and this book was such fun to write. It combines some of the things in life that I love the most—faith, strong family connections, horses, dogs and country life...and cooking! And it even provided a nice reconnection to a wonderful old friend, attorney William Roemerman, who helped with legal aspects of the heroine’s past.

My husband and I live out in the country with three horses, two rescue dogs and a number of rescued kitties. I’ve had horses since I was a little girl of six, so whenever I start a book series set in ranch country, it makes me feel right at home. And in this book, my heroine Chloe is an avid cook—a woman after my own heart.

Since she’s working on a cookbook with recipes gleaned from her beloved grandmother’s recipe box, I thought you might like to try one of those recipes—which is actually a recipe that I have been making for decades!

If you enjoyed this book, you can check harlequin.com or other online bookstores for the first in this series, Montana Mistletoe. The third title will be out in early 2020.

You can reach me at: www.roxannerustand.com, http://Facebook.com/roxanne.rustand, http://Facebook.com/roxanne.rustand.author.

Or by regular mail at: PO Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52406

Wishing you a lifetime of blessings,

Roxanne Rustand

Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth.

—1 Corinthians 13:4–8

With love to Danielle, Ben, Lily, Violet and Finn. You light up my life!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

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

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Grandma Lydia’s Chocolate Chip Cookies

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Home. Sort of, anyway.

Chloe Kenner glanced down the hill toward the sprawling ranch-style home sheltered by pines, then scanned the horse and cattle barns far below. Assured that no one was watching, she did a happy dance of joy.

She’d lived on the Langfords’ remote Montana ranch for five years as a little girl, while following her dad from his erratic employment at one ranch to the next. Even though their abrupt departure had been clouded with the usual embarrassment and regret, she still had warm memories of two of the three Langford boys and their sweet grandma, Betty.

The middle brother—Devlin—was another story altogether. But when she’d called to ask about renting a cabin, Betty had said Devlin was career military and rarely visited. And though everyone would be gone when Chloe hoped to arrive, her isolated cabin would be unlocked and ready, and she was to make herself at home.

Perfect. Complete peace and quiet.

After the calamitous end of her secretarial job in Minneapolis, heavy local news coverage of the debacle had ensured that she was nearly unemployable there. At least until one particularly rabid reporter gave up and decided to leave her in peace, and all of the others forgot about her and moved on. But surely none of them would find her clear out here in Montana.

She’d been skillfully framed by her conniving former boss—who had lied about being single and had declared his undying love, while embezzling from investment clients, then he’d pinned the crime on her when he was caught. How had she been so blind? Such a poor judge of character? Just the thought of ever risking another romance made her shudder.

But the thought of looming bankruptcy was worse. With no interruptions for the next three months, she could finish her writing projects and pray they would help pay off her staggering legal debts.

She shifted the weight of her heavy backpack, bowed her head and resolutely dragged her bulky suitcase up the rocky trail to the first of three cabins that she remembered were strewn amongst the trees.

The unfamiliar higher elevation had her panting as she struggled onward, but the crisp pine scent was so sharp and pure, so reminiscent of the past, she knew she was already grinning from ear to ear when she finally caught sight of a cabin partly hidden by the trees to the right.

Pebbles skittered down the steep path far ahead of her. A twig snapped.

Her heart lurched. She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes riveted on the trail that wound through some boulders and disappeared into the trees.

Bears.

Mountain lions.

Even wolves were possible here, in the foothills of the Rockies. She eyed the distance to the cabin. Too far. Running might make her look like scared, easy prey. Like a big, tasty rabbit.

She eased her backpack onto one shoulder and pulled the suitcase alongside her hip to widen her profile, raised her arms to look more intimidating, and then as a forewarning, began belting out the only song she could think of.

Another twig snapped.

A tall form sauntered into view, backlit by early evening sun. She couldn’t make out his features, yet she instantly knew who he was. Trouble. The song died on her lips as she blinked and swallowed hard.

If only it had been a bear.

* * *

“‘Jingle bells’?” Devlin drawled.

Bright flags of color turned the young woman’s face as pink as the roses his late mother had planted along the front of the main ranch house, turning her into a riot of color with that fluorescent-yellow T-shirt and the cloud of curly dark auburn hair that had partly escaped her ponytail. Several silver bracelets gleamed on her right wrist.

His first thought was that he’d like to get to know her a whole lot better.

His second was that a woman like this one wouldn’t want to be seen with someone like him. Six months ago, maybe. But not anymore.

He searched her face, his gut telling him that he knew her. From high school? College? Maybe an old neighbor? After so many years in the military, he’d lost touch with everyone around here.

Yet a lovely woman like this one would be impossible to forget, with that delicate ivory complexion, playful scattering of small freckles across her nose, and big blue eyes the size of pansies that were now looking up at him with recognition and utter horror.

A cascade of memories tinged with guilt slammed through his thoughts.

He hadn’t seen her since he was sixteen and she’d been his spindly, persistent shadow. An eleven-year-old chatterbox who had been the bane of his existence. “Chloe?”

“I—I thought you were in the Marines,” she stammered, her blush deepening. “Betty said...”

Apparently her memories of him weren’t that happy, either. “I’ve been back just a of couple days. They weren’t expecting me.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze sliding past him. “I...um...I’m renting a cabin here. For a few months.”

He stared at her, at a loss for words.

While the family was piling into his brother Jess’s SUV to leave for California yesterday morning, Betty had mentioned that someone was coming to stay in the cabin nearest the house.

He could now guess why she’d conveniently neglected to say who it was, or for how long. Betty had always seemed to know Devlin better than he knew himself, and surely she’d seen how Chloe had pestered him all those years ago.

But he still couldn’t imagine why the renter had to be this Pollyanna, who could cheerfully talk nonstop for hours without taking a breath. What on earth would she do with herself on this lonely, isolated ranch? Bother him, no doubt.

Pine Bend, Montana, population 1,200, was a good fifteen miles away, and the town beyond was another twenty miles, with even fewer residents.

“Months?” he repeated, hoping he’d heard her wrong—which was always a possibility, given his battle-damaged hearing.

She nodded as she shifted the weight of her backpack and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. “Well, then...I guess I’d better get settled.”

His vision of blessed, healing solitude evaporated. Sure, there were others living here at the ranch, but none of them were intrusive, and even his brother’s six-year-old twins seemed to sense that he needed to be left alone.

The Chloe he remembered had no such sense of personal boundaries.

He sighed, giving in to the inevitable. Dad had bought up several neighboring ranches at foreclosure auctions before he passed away. Maybe Devlin could use one of those houses if any were vacant.

Still, the strict code of manners instilled in him since childhood nudged at him. “Do you need help with that luggage?”

She shook her head and veered off the trail, onto the path toward the cabin, clearly laboring against the weight of that ridiculously large suitcase and the steep incline.

She was still stubborn, too.

He silently strode over to her and took the handle, carried the bag up to the cabin and opened the door wide.

He surveyed the interior, which was in far better condition than the other two cabins up the hill that had been empty for years. Betty had clearly done her best to make this one welcoming.

The windows were open to let in the crisp mountain air, a Mason jar on the table held a bouquet of wildflowers and through the open bedroom door, he could see a stack of fresh towels waiting on a bright patchwork quilt. The hardwood floors gleamed.

Chloe came inside behind him and dropped her backpack by the door with a soft gasp of wonder. “It’s almost the same as when I was a girl.”

She stood close enough that he heard almost every word clearly before she walked into the center of the main room and turned slowly, taking in the stone fireplace, the pine paneling, the sofa draped with a quilt and the dark pine rocking chair in the corner. Beyond an L-shaped counter with a breakfast bar and three bar stools, the rustic pine cabinets and updated kitchen appliances gleamed.

“This was always the foreman’s cabin, but I hear the last one left last November. Looks like Jess has done quite a bit of work in here.” He backed toward the open door and spun on his heel to leave.

At the touch of Chloe’s hand on his sleeve, he froze.

“Thank you,” she said. “This will be perfect.”

He nodded and made his escape without turning his right side toward her, avoiding the inevitable for a little while longer.

Initially, he’d been self-conscious, and had become adept at concealing his scars with collared, long-sleeved shirts and by the way he angled his face away during a conversation.

Now it was just a reflex.

For the most part, he’d learned to mask his more invisible and aggravating losses. The significant loss of his hearing, even with hearing aids. Loss of perfect vision in his right eye.

But even though he no longer cared what people thought of his appearance, he did dread the automatic gush of sympathy and empty platitudes from strangers who could surely care less.

But it was all relative.

Seeing Chloe again brought back his dark, helpless sense of being damaged, though his war injuries didn’t hold a candle to the crushing burden of what had happened on this ranch when he was just a kid.

Why did she have to show up while he was trying to start his life over?

Until last spring he’d been a Marine, an invincible warrior in control of his life. Now he was a disfigured man with disabilities, with nightmares that could hit without warning.

He’d spent the past six months recovering from multiple surgeries, knowing the military would never take him back for active duty. But last month, that sense of hopelessness had changed, thanks to an old buddy from the Marines who recommended him for a job. A perfect job.

And so he’d applied for a field position with a nationally acclaimed, high-tech security company. The recruiter had been doubtful, wondering if Devlin was still capable, but had given him until the first of July to prove he could handle the job.

And Devlin would do it. No question.

He would focus on regaining his strength, his dexterity. His accuracy with a weapon. And by July 1 he would be packing his bags for New York so his could reclaim his life, and a future. Having a firm goal had given him a new sense of hope.

But now, with Chloe’s arrival, instead of peace, he felt as if he were wavering on a fragile precipice with unknown, dangerous water below.

Was it the memory of her endlessly cheerful smile? The way she’d always tried to convince him that everything in his world was rosy, when as a young boy he was dealing with grief and guilt that never faded and a father who...

Even without hearing her footsteps, he sensed her coming up behind him. Stifling a sigh, he stopped in his tracks and spun around to face her.

“Look, I know we weren’t exactly friends when my dad was the foreman here. In fact,” she added with a rueful smile, “I suspect I was an awful pest.”

That much was true.

She’d shadowed his every move and asked a million questions every day, so in return he’d learned to retaliate by being a relentless tease—taunting her about her carrot-red hair, her freckles, her skinny legs—anything to just make her go away.

Never in a million years would he have told her that her hair was the prettiest color he’d ever seen, or that he’d always thought her freckles were cute. Looking back on his cruel younger self, he felt a flash of remorse.

“We were just kids. And you were almost like a sis—” He stumbled over the word.

“Sister,” she said softly, her eyes all too knowing. “I never knew the right things to say. But I saw the pain you and your brothers went through after your little sister died. And how cruel your dad was to you boys afterward. I just wanted to make things better somehow. Instead I probably drove you all crazy.”

His sense of guilt sharpened.

Life hadn’t been easy for her either, with an alcoholic father and a mother who’d ditched them both. Yet there she’d been, a little girl earnestly trying to help everyone else at the ranch after Heather’s death. Grandma Betty had called her a pint-size Pollyanna, but in return, he hadn’t been kind at all.

“Um... I can see my arrival is a surprise,” she added with a fleeting, wistful smile. “But don’t worry. I’ll be working in my cabin, making my own meals, and I won’t be a bother. You’ll hardly ever see me. Promise.”

The impact of her words hit him like a fist to the gut.

He’d put in his latest set of hearing aids from the VA this morning to give them one last try—though they sure didn’t help much and were aggravating to boot. Now he almost wished he hadn’t, because her meaning was all too clear. She figured making herself invisible was the best way to make him happy, and the sad part was that she was right.

Feeling like a jerk, he started to dredge up an apology, but she walked away without turning back.

* * *

After finishing up the late afternoon chores, Devlin glanced at the time and headed back to his cabin.

He’d felt edgy and off-balance since Chloe’s unexpected arrival, though there certainly was no reason for it.

She planned to keep to herself.

He planned to do the same.

In fact, once the rest of the family came home from California, Dev would work on remodeling his cabin—when he wasn’t running and lifting weights—and their paths would rarely cross again.

He collected a .22 Winchester 190 rifle from a padlocked closet and some boxes of ammo from a locked cupboard in his bedroom. The intense, laser-like focus of target practice had never failed to settle his thoughts. After a few hundred rounds or so, he’d definitely have everything back into perspective.

He headed over the rise just beyond his cabin. Below, the ground fell sharply into a broad, grassy meadow rimmed on three sides with a high, curving hillside that created a perfect rifle-range backdrop, while the fourth side opened up into a heavy pine forest leading up into the foothills.

Sure enough, the old wooden target frames were still there, though several were falling into disrepair. He sauntered over, found a dozen old tin cans scattered on the ground nearby and then lined them up on the almost-horizontal crossbar of one of the targets. Then he strode back to a triangular boulder marking a distance of a hundred yards and loaded .22 LRs into the magazine.

It had been almost nine months since he’d felt the weight of an assault rifle in his hands. The simple .22 in his hands had been his grandfather’s and felt like a toy in comparison.

But before he could raise it high enough to look through the site and fire, a searing jolt of pain tore through his damaged shoulder.

He winced.

Forced himself to continue.

Struggled to focus.

The shot went wild, pinging off a distant boulder with a puff of dust and rock chips.

One after another were the same, until he’d burned through a hundred rounds and had hit one of the tin cans maybe thirty times, his frustration and anger at himself growing with each pull of the trigger.

He’d refused to believe what the VA docs had told him. He’d been a crack shot—scoring 349 at his last marksmanship qualification—so what did they know?

But lifelong skills and sheer strength of will weren’t enough to overcome the truth.

He had just partial vision in his right eye, due to irreparable damage. His shoulder-replacement surgery six months ago had been only a partial fix at best, so it would never be the same.

Was this pathetic performance his future? Or could he regain his strength and skills by July, and qualify for the career he’d been offered?

Maybe it was just a foolish dream, but from now on, he was going to work at it every single day. Weight lifting. Running. Target practice. And he wasn’t going to stop until he reached his goal.

A twig snapped. He suddenly sensed that someone was watching. He spun around and froze, scanning the hill behind him, all of his senses on high alert.

But no one was there.

* * *

Devlin stopped at the main house, let himself in through the back door and unlocked the pet door so the twins’ puppy could go out into the fenced yard at will.

Even with a half-grown pup chasing around the kitchen after a tennis ball, the house felt empty with everyone gone.

He’d arrived late Sunday night, and during the first two days he’d been here, he’d discovered that the little blonde twins seemed to be everywhere all at once, playing with their rascal of a puppy. Building forts with blankets. Trying to be “good helpers” when Grandma Betty or Abby—who had been hired as their nanny and who was now Jess’s fiancée—were trying to make a meal. Which meant a lot more spills in the process, though no one seemed to mind the extra mess.

There was so much more laughter in the house now—nothing like the grim silence Devlin and his brothers experienced while growing up. Even with Grandma Betty’s best efforts to make it a happier home after Heather’s death and Mom’s passing the next year, it had felt as if the life had been drained from the house and everyone in it.

Devlin looked in the fridge and found a 9ʺ x 13ʺ pan on the middle shelf, read the directions on the sticky note affixed to the foil wrap and snorted.

Reheat at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Don’t worry about pre-heating the oven. Frozen microwave-ready bags of veggies in freezer. Coconut cake on the counter. Tell Chloe to come to the house for supper. She’s had a long trip today. J

Betty had added Chloe’s cell number in larger print and underlined it twice, apparently guessing that Devlin might not follow through.

He sighed as he turned on the oven and shoved the pan inside, imagining a meal with Chloe across the table, chattering away. Maybe he could just ignore the note...

Nope.

He’d been career military; as tough, hardened and relentless as any of his buddies. But he still didn’t dare ignore his grandma’s orders. She’d always loved Dev and his brothers to pieces, but she’d also instilled in them a deep sense of respect and responsibility.

If he failed to be thoughtful, just the disappointment in her voice would make him regret it.

He dutifully made the call on his amplified cell phone, though when Chloe politely declined, he breathed a sigh of relief and said he’d drop off some dinner on his way up to his own cabin, anyhow.

Just as he was pulling the casserole out of the oven, he heard a loud knock on the back door and Chloe let herself inside. “I figured I’d save you the bother and just come down.”

She gave a startled laugh as the pup raced over to her and collapsed at her feet, a mass of waving paws and wagging tail. She bent down to rub his fat belly.

She looked up at Devlin, her head cocked. “What is he? Some golden retriever mix, I’d say.”

“I’ve been told his mom was a golden, father unknown.”

“What’s his name?”

Devlin shot a quick, pained glance at her over his shoulder as he settled the hot casserole on a trivet. Then he turned back to face her so he could read her lips as she spoke. “Uh... Poofy. Thanks to the twins.”

“Not exactly the name of a hardworking ranch dog, but he’s such a big fluff ball that I can see why.” Chloe laughed. “Do the twins belong to Jess?”

He hesitated, debating over how much to say. “He adopted them this past winter. Their mom is Lindsey, our youngest cousin. She...well, she just couldn’t handle raising them.”

He searched the freezer for frozen vegetables and held up microwavable bags of corn and green beans. “Preference?”

“Either.”

He tossed the green beans into the microwave and pushed the buttons for about four minutes.

When he turned around again, Chloe was staring at him, and he realized that she’d finally seen the scars.

Multiple operations had repaired much of the visible damage, leaving a jagged scar that trailed from his right temple to the corner of his jaw, but as it descended along his neck and into the collar of his shirt, the scarring was heavier.

At least his shirt covered the worst: the twisted, gnarled flesh that draped over his shoulder replacement and upper arm, where much of the bicep muscle was gone forever.

“Devlin.” She rose slowly and moved closer, lifting a hand to cradle the side of his face. “What happened?”

He jerked away, resenting the pity in her voice. Alarmed at the unexpected warmth that flowed through him at the touch of her hand.

He didn’t talk about the details with anyone. Not the shrink back at the VA hospital, not his docs. And here in Montana, he certainly wouldn’t be talking to Jess or Abby or anyone else. However ugly, his scars were nothing compared to the ultimate sacrifice paid by his closest buddies—and he didn’t talk about that, either.

It did no good to dredge up the day when three of them were killed in an ambush and he was the only one to walk away. It only fed the nightmares and the guilt, and stirred feelings of desperation because he knew the past could never change.

He silently pulled the green beans from the microwave and dumped them into a serving bowl, then grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboard and gave her one. “Help yourself. I’ve no idea what’s in the casserole.”

Clearly ill at ease after his rebuff, she avoided looking at him as he pulled a metal spatula from a crock on the counter that held serving utensils and handed it to her. “The casserole looks wonderful. Ham and scalloped potatoes, I think. Thanks.”

He gave her a plate and waited until she served herself, then scooped ample portions onto his own. The tantalizing aroma of this simple home-cooked meal flooded his senses. When had he eaten anything that smelled this good?

Chloe lingered uncertainly by the round oak table in the kitchen, as if debating whether to stay or go. An awkward moment lengthened between them.

“Well,” she said finally, “I got a late start from Minneapolis yesterday, so I had to drive the final seven hundred miles today. If you don’t mind, I’ll take this back to my cabin and return the plate in the morning. I need to settle in and get to work.”

With a little wave of her fingers, she let herself out the door.

Work at what? What could she possibly plan to work on in a cabin, in the middle of nowhere?

And for that matter, where had she been all these years? What made her come so far out West when there must have been endless places to stay that were much closer to Minneapolis?

His curiosity about her life was growing.

Poofy followed her for a few steps, then looked back at Devlin, his tail drooping.

He looked down at the crestfallen dog. “Yeah. Lucky it’s just you and not Abby or Betty here. I’m sure they’d have something to say about my manners.”

Chloe had apparently grown up in more ways than one.

As a kid, Ms. Perpetual Questions had been relentlessly persistent, but she’d clearly gotten the hint and was tactfully planning to give him all the space he wanted.

So maybe he had his peace and quiet back...yet from the strange wrenching in his heart, maybe that wasn’t what he wanted after all.

Or was it?

Chapter Two

Well, that had certainly been awkward and embarrassing. But not unexpected as far as Devlin’s attitude was concerned, so at least he was still consistent.

If Chloe had known that he was going to be here, she would’ve given up her dream of three months of perfect, uninterrupted seclusion on this middle-of-nowhere ranch in Montana and headed straight to her new job in Kansas City that she didn’t want, but couldn’t refuse.

Lifting yet another heavy cardboard box from the trunk of her car, she shouldered her computer bag and started up the rocky trail to her cabin for the fifth time.

At the sound of footsteps behind her, she hesitated for a split second, then kept walking. But she was no match for Devlin’s long stride.

“I can carry that box,” he said as he fell in beside her. “I’m heading up that direction anyway.”

“No need.” She sidestepped when he tried to take it.

He gave a low sound of exasperation. “Still independent. I guess you haven’t changed that much after all.”

Adjusting the awkward weight of the box in her arms, she shot a side glance at him. “Neither have you.”

But that wasn’t exactly true.

He hadn’t been this polite the last time she’d seen him. Or this tall, well-muscled and flat-out handsome.

Back then, he’d been a tall, gangly sixteen-year-old, with a shock of unruly dark hair and the most beautiful silver-blue eyes she’d ever seen—back then, or since. She’d been just eleven, her last summer here, and he’d been her first big, hopeless crush. His lethal combination of teen-idol looks and bad-boy charisma had the girls in town following him like a flock of besotted groupies.

She’d teased him about them just to see his cheeks go red, but she had no doubt that the local women were going to be mighty pleased to see him back on their home turf. If someone, somewhere, wasn’t already wearing his ring and planning wedding bells, it wouldn’t take long for one of the locals to nab him. And the sooner, the better, before he broke any more hearts.

He certainly wouldn’t be breaking hers.

As a child, she’d been his persistent shadow, but in return he’d relentlessly teased her. Only when no one was watching did she ever let herself cry. She understood his behavior now, from an adult perspective. What teenage boy wanted a little girl to be his ever-present tagalong? But the teasing had hurt. He’d made her feel self-conscious and unworthy, and she’d grown to hate her freckles and everything else about herself.

But far worse, he’d hung out with the bad boys in high school—wild parties, lots of booze. She knew it was true—she’d seen him out in the woods and behind the barns, drinking with that rowdy crowd. And that scared her to death.

With a dad like hers, even at eleven she’d known Devlin’s drinking was a terrible red flag—a lifetime, ironclad deal-breaker, no questions asked.

No matter how handsome or polite or charming he might be now, she was not looking for romance any longer, and especially not with someone who partied and got drunk with his friends.

At the cabin, he stepped in front of her to open the door wide.

“Well, have a good...” He stared at the pile of boxes in the middle of the floor and the mountain of grocery sacks on the counter. “You sure pack light.”

At the brief deepening of the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, she felt the impact of his old charm clear down to her toes. The local women weren’t going to be just pleased at his return; they were going to be over-the-moon ecstatic.

“How long did you say you’re staying?”

Dropping the last box onto the stack, she pulled her laptop-case strap from her shoulder and laid the case on the kitchen table. “Three months. I had just enough money saved to stay here that long before I move on.”

“What sort of work did you do?”

“I was a secretary for...” she faltered, debating how much to reveal. “...a big investment firm, while putting myself through graduate school.”

That much was true, just not entirely complete. And it wasn’t like she was a criminal on the run—she’d been exonerated, after all. Even so, she’d already seen the expressions of doubt and accusation on the faces of acquaintances...people who’d wanted to believe the worst.

But Devlin had no interest in her. He surely wouldn’t think to try googling her on the internet, so it should be possible to simply keep her troubled past where it belonged. In the past.

He eyed her curiously. “What was your major?”

Mom had declared she was foolish to chase dreams that might never come true. When her own mother didn’t believe in her, was it ridiculous to think she could ever succeed? Would Devlin laugh if she told him about what she was doing?

“My major was Creative Writing,” she said. “That’s why I wanted to come out here. I wanted a peaceful, beautiful place to stay, where I could concentrate on my writing with no interruptions. Since I have such happy memories of Montana, this ranch seemed perfect.”

“And then where will you go?”

That was the hard part. Knowing Chloe’s situation, her sister had offered her a generous salary, and a chance for a fresh start. Far too generous an offer to refuse. But the thought of her future weighed on her shoulders like a mantle of iron.

She might not ever make much money with her writing, so she could hardly afford to turn down Jane’s offer, considering her legal debts. But it was the last thing she wanted to do. “I’ve got a property-management job waiting for me in Kansas City.”

He regarded her for a long moment. “You don’t exactly look thrilled about it.”

“It will be a blessing,” she said firmly. “I’ll need a job as soon as I leave. But until then, I will count myself fortunate to stay here once again.”

He seemed to consider that for a while, then sighed. “I expect Betty will be happy to see you.”

Chloe couldn’t help but smile at his less-than-gracious attitude. “I can’t wait to see her, either. After my mom took off, I used to pretend that she was my grandma. She still sends me birthday cards with invitations to come visit, but this is my first time back. When will the family be home?”

He was bent over the dead bolt on the door, checking it out. He didn’t answer.

He’d ignored some of her questions, and twice he hadn’t responded when she called out his name. She’d figured he was just being his usual distant self.

But now she wondered. Devlin had been physically wounded and probably had deeper, more-emotional wounds, as well. Who wouldn’t with all of the dangers he’d probably faced in battle?

Had he also ended up with hearing damage due to his military career?

It was entirely plausible, but prying personal information from him had always been a futile task. She waited until he looked up again. “When will the rest of your family be back?”

“A week from tomorrow.”

Sure enough, now she could see that he wasn’t just listening; he was trying to watch her speak. “Aren’t the twins in school?”

“Kindergarten, but they’re on spring break.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a fleeting, affectionate grin at the mention of the little girls. “They seemed pretty excited about Disneyland.”

“I can believe it. They’ll sure have a lot of days with Mickey.”

Devlin shrugged. “Not all of that time. They’re visiting their mom in San Diego, Jess is looking at some stallion prospects and Abby will be checking out a few colleges.”

“Who is Abby?”

“She was hired as a nanny last fall, and now she and Jess are engaged.”

“But she’s looking at colleges, so she’s leaving?”

“Considering online programs, I guess.”

“Good for her.” Chloe slid a knife through the shipping tape on the top of a cardboard box labeled Kitchenware and inspected the contents. Books.

She straightened and rested a hand at the small of her back. “You’ll have eight busy days ’til they get back, then. Are there ranch hands to do the chores?”

“Nope. I told Jess I could do it. Might as well earn my keep while I’m here.” He touched the brim of his Stetson and gave her a slight nod of farewell, then turned for the door. “‘Night.”

She’d already seen how he favored his weak right arm and shoulder, while handling that heavy pan of ham and scalloped potatoes. And when she’d heard the sound of gunfire down in the shooting range this afternoon, she’d walked up the hill and briefly watched him struggle to hit the targets.

At sixteen he wouldn’t have missed a single shot. But even from the top of the hill, she’d seen his rifle barrel wobble. Not wanting to embarrass him, she’d slipped away before he noticed she was there, but the problem was clear enough. How was he was going to manage doing chores?

Maybe he wasn’t warm and friendly, and he certainly wouldn’t ever be a pal. But she just couldn’t ignore someone in need, even if he wished she would disappear.

“Hey, Devlin—if you need any help, just holler,” she called out. “You’ve got my cell number, now.”

He didn’t respond.

She stared at the door closing behind him, feeling an old, familiar wave of compassion and frustration.

He hadn’t wanted help or sympathy years ago, and he clearly didn’t want it now. Which was fine. She already had a lot on her plate without trying to get past his prickly defenses.

Still, a warm sense of hope and purpose spread through her. She’d volunteered at the local no-kill animal shelter over the past few years and had rehabbed many foster animals in her little rental house. Wounded birds. Abused dogs. Feral cats. With love and care, she’d been able to send all of them back to the shelter when they were ready to find good forever homes.

Granted, a man like Devlin was a lot more complex than, say, a Corgi, but could she help him?

As a cheerleader and a compassionate listener, maybe she could tactfully help him somehow...or push him to find the services and support he needed. If only he would let her.

She re-taped the box she’d just opened, set it aside and sliced the shipping tape on a box marked Linens. This one was stuffed with sweaters. She sat back in her heels with a sigh.

Obviously her hasty departure from Minneapolis hadn’t been conducive to good organization, but she’d been so careful otherwise.

She’d avoided mentioning her moving plans to the few friends she had left. Canceled her newspaper and magazine subscriptions. Switched her bills to online payments. And then she’d arranged a three-month disappearance at a private Montana ranch, where she would pay for everything in cash.

Escaping that one persistent reporter—who had continued to paint her in his series of articles as a greedy, conniving Jezebel angling for a wealthy, married man—had been her first priority, and speed had been her greater concern.

Even after she’d been exonerated, the reporter had refused to let the story go. Since then she had applied for several jobs. Every time, the interviewer had looked at her name, then looked up at her face with dawning recognition. And that job possibility had ended.

But now she was far away. Starting her life over. And hopefully he’d find no trail to follow.

* * *

Devlin groaned as he watched the twins’ pony hightail it out of the front of the barn. For an animal that fat and lazy, Lollipops showed surprising speed now that he was free.

He’d turned his back on the beast for a split second while dropping hay into the corner manger of the pony’s stall, never expecting that Lollipops would move a muscle except to head toward his grain and hay. He’d seen the twins riding in the arena, trying to get the pony into a lope, and a truck with an empty gas tank moved faster.

Muttering under his breath, he grabbed a bucket of pellets, plus a halter and lead rope, and jogged outside to the parking area.

The pony was nowhere in sight.

Not by the pasture fence to the east of the barn, where a couple dozen broodmares close to their foaling dates could be seen standing slant-hipped around three round bale feeders, whiling away their time until being brought in for the night.

Not along the fence on the other side of the barn, where a dozen mares and their new foals were out on forty acres of pasture.

And not along the fence line perpendicular to the broodmare pasture, farther to the west, where a herd of heavily pregnant cows were lined up along the long feed bunk.

That meant the pony could be heading down the long gravel lane toward the highway, which would be a remarkably bad idea given the semitrucks that blew by a good twenty miles an hour over the speed limit. Or, if he’d thundered past the broodmare pasture, he might have turned into the dirt lane leading up to the summer range pastures. Though unlikely that he’d leave close proximity to the other horses, he could end up lost forever if he skirted the fences and kept going.

Devlin needed help, and Chloe was the last person he’d want to call, but she was also the only other person here. So be it. She could always say no. He reached for his phone—and realized he’d left it in his cabin when he’d gone back for some more Tylenol.

At the abrupt sound of the pup barking excitedly, Devlin heaved a sigh of relief and jogged up to the main house. Bingo.

Repeatedly jumping up against the chain-link fence surrounding the yard, Poofy wagged his tail furiously when Devlin came into view. Then he ran to the far corner and began barking anew, his attention fixed on the trail leading to the cabins.

Which wasn’t exactly good news, either.

The final cabin sat atop the hill, looking over a series of rising foothills that led up into the mountains and the unfenced government land that abutted a corner of the Langford ranch.

Devlin weighed the options of going back to saddle a horse, grabbing a four-wheeler from the machine shed or just continuing on foot to the top of the hill. His cabin overlooked a grassy meadow on the other side of the hill, already green with tender spring grass. Surely the greedy little beast wouldn’t go farther than that.

What on earth would he say to the girls if he’d lost their pony forever? Mountain lions, bears and even the occasional wolf were all possible out here. And all would consider a chubby, elderly pony easy prey.

He hesitated, then knocked on Chloe’s door, softly first, then louder. From inside he could hear a radio. Was she just ignoring him? Putting him in his place? Swallowing his pride for the sake of the twins and their beloved pony, he banged on the door louder.

No answer.

So be it. He headed back up the trail, hoping Lollipops didn’t prove to be too cagey for one person to catch.

Just past his cabin, Devlin shielded the sun from his eyes with his hand and muttered a rusty prayer as he searched the makeshift rifle range in the meadow and the surrounding timber. Nothing.

Wait...

At the far side of the meadow, something was rustling through the underbrush. A moment later the vagabond pony stepped out of the shadows with a slender figure at his side.

Chloe.

Relief and gratitude flooded through him. Thank you, Lord.

His boots sent pebbles skittering down the rocky slope as he descended the steep hill to meet them. Sunlight filtering through the pine branches turned the palomino pony’s coat to molten gold, and picked out the gold and ruby highlights of Chloe’s auburn hair. If he had any artistic abilities, he would’ve wanted to capture the beauty of the scene on canvas.

Her arrival at the ranch had been the last thing he’d expected. He’d resolved to keep his distance from her. But right now he couldn’t think of a more welcome sight.

“Looking for someone?” Chloe called out as they met in the middle of the grassy meadow. She was holding on to a narrow leather belt she’d buckled around the pony’s neck. “He was really trucking when he ran past my cabin, but he wasn’t hard to catch once I caught up with him.”

“Thanks, Chloe.”

“He melted at the sight of a carrot. I think he was having second thoughts about missing his dinner.”

“From the looks of him, he hasn’t missed many.” Devlin slipped the halter onto him and gave Chloe her belt back. “I owe you one. You’ve made the twins very happy.”

She said something he couldn’t hear, so he looked over at her to watch her lips as she spoke. “What?”

“Who is this little guy, by the way?” she repeated.

Dev started leading the pony toward home, with Chloe on his other side. Only then did he notice two remaining carrots still sticking up from the back pocket of her jeans. “His name is Lollipops.”

She laughed. “I’ll have to say, those girls are certainly original.”

At the top of the hill, Devlin stopped in front of his cabin. “Hang on to him a minute, would you? I need to grab my cell phone.”

When he came out with his phone, Chloe was cradling the pony’s head in the crook of her arm, his thick, long white mane flowing over her arm like a waterfall. The tender pose and the soft glow of her beautiful complexion nudged at his heart, and once again he wished he could capture the scene with oils or watercolors.

“So, is this where you live?” she asked, staring up at the dilapidated cabin. “In that?”

He nodded. “For now.”

“It looks...rustic,” she said tactfully. “Is it better inside?”

He snorted. “Nope.”

“If I hadn’t shown up, then you’d be in the nicer cabin, right?” She bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry—though not quite sorry enough to switch. This one is scary.”

After some of the places he’d been in the Middle East, it was a palace. “It’ll do.”

“I could break down that door with a sneeze. Does it even lock?”

“Not yet.”

She raised her gaze to the mossy, swaybacked roof. “And does it leak?”

“I’m sure it does, given the water stains on the floor. But it hasn’t rained since I got here, so I’m good.”

“So far.” She rolled her eyes. “I’d guess varmints moved inside long ago. Right?”

“Just the mice and chipmunks that aren’t giving up their territory without a fight. I need to borrow a barn cat from the horse barn.”

She visibly shuddered. “Really, this cabin would make a nice bonfire. Then a new one could be built in its place. Why did Jess give you this sorry mess? Even a corner in the horse barn would be better. Maybe the tack room?”

When she turned away to study the cabin, he could only guess at half of the words she was saying, but he certainly caught her drift.

“Well?” Now she looked exasperated, and a warrior’s gleam lit her eyes as she propped her hands on her hips and glared at him. “When Jess gets back, I’m going to talk to him.”

This was the Chloe he remembered, ready to go toe-to-toe with anyone, in righteous defense of her latest cause. Usually in his defense, to tell the truth, though Dad had never been impressed. He’d told her father to “keep that kid out of my way” more than once.

But Devlin didn’t need anyone—especially Chloe—standing up for him now. Especially against a brother who had welcomed him home with open arms, despite how he’d failed the family three years ago. He was the prodigal son...only worse.

“Jess wanted me to stay in the main house, but I prefer my privacy. This works.”

“But—”

“And I’m starting renovations on it, so it’ll be convenient to stay up here. Once everyone gets home, I’ll get to work. Then I’ll reno the middle cabin next. I want to get both done before I leave. As...as a favor.”

Penance was the right word, but that would open up all sorts of questions he had no intention of answering, and some that he couldn’t.

He wondered what Chloe would think if she knew the truth about the kind of man he really was. But then again, maybe she’d known all along.

Chapter Three

With the windows wide-open to the crisp, clean mountain air, Chloe had slept better than she had in years. Funny how she hadn’t been back since she was eleven, yet this still seemed like home.

She’d put all of her perishable foods in the fridge as soon as she had arrived yesterday. This morning she’d unpacked her clothes and scrubbed the kitchen cupboards. Then she’d put away the rest of the groceries she’d picked up on her way to the ranch, as well as the more unusual canned and dry items she’d brought from Minneapolis.

Now, with the early-morning sun beaming through the windows, she searched through the stack of cardboard boxes on the floor until she found her electric breadmaker. She then collected the necessary ingredients and opened up the file labeled Experiments in her laptop.

Cinnamon pecan bread. Version 12.

Versions one through six had risen to glorious heights and then stuck to the inside lid of the breadmaker like wet plaster. Seven through eleven had been too dense, collapsed or had the tenderness of shoe leather. But eleven had been sooo close.

Who knew it would be so difficult to replicate her late Grandma Lydia’s family-famous recipes for modern appliances? At this rate, it was going to take a decade to get everything right.

But then...she smiled as she carefully measured the ingredients into the machine according to her latest notes, this time adding honey instead of brown sugar and adding a tablespoon of vital wheat gluten. Once she’d retested and photographed every recipe, she could finish her final revision of her cookbook manuscript.

While the breadmaker was chugging through its Knead Cycle, she thumbed through the yellowed, tattered index cards under the cookies tab in Lydia’s wooden recipe box until she found one bearing Lydia’s silent, high praise—so stained and worn that the ink was barely legible.

My Best Chocolate Chip Cookies had to be a keeper, even if it needed tweaking to appeal to modern tastes.

First time through, exactly as written. The following efforts would be when the fun of experimenting began.

The wonderful scents of real butter, vanilla and brown sugar filled the air as she creamed the first ingredients, already hinting that Lydia had been onto something with the exact ratios in this recipe.

By the time Chloe pulled the second cookie sheet out of the oven, she’d polished off two cookies from the first pan and couldn’t help but nab a melty-soft treasure from the pan just out of the oven. Enough.

She usually tried to be careful about eating sweets, and certainly knew better than to indulge like this. Still...these cookies weren’t only wonderful; they felt like a connection to the loving grandmother she’d lost years ago.

She closed her eyes, savoring the rich, perfect confection. Imagining her grandmother measuring the same ingredients, enjoying this same flavor and aroma decades ago.

She opened her eyes with a start. Had she just moaned with pure enjoyment? Really?

Then she heard it again. But it wasn’t the sound of enjoyment. It was a low, agonized moan, and it was coming from outside the cabin’s screen door.

Definitely not human.

Too quiet to be a bear.

For all she knew, Devlin still loved warm cookies, but it would take more imagination than she possessed to envision him with his face pressed against the screen in hopes that she would share. He’d made it more than clear that he planned to keep his distance.

She warily circled the end of the kitchen counter and sidestepped along the wall until she could peek out of the screen door, ready to grab the heavier exterior door, slam it shut and lock the dead bolt against anything big and scary.

But nothing was there.

Just the soft rustling of the pines buffeted by a gentle breeze. A carpet of rusty pine needles and the empty, narrow path leading down to the trail.

Something moaned again, this time a little weaker, filled with pain and hopelessness that grabbed her by the heart. Easing the screen door open a few inches, she scanned the area again and then tentatively stepped outside. A wounded coyote or wolf wasn’t anything she dared encounter, but...

Her gaze dropped to the foundation of the cabin and what looked like a filthy gray pile of rags. A big pile at that.

“Oh, my,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”

* * *

Yesterday had not gone well.

Just the thought of how badly he’d done on the shooting range made Devlin want to slam a fist through a wall, except then he’d have yet another injury, and yet another barrier to having any kind of future at all.

Nothing was going to stand in his way.

The Marines had been his life for ten years. What other skills did he have but those of a warrior? If he didn’t qualify for the security-company job in New York, what other career was there for a man like him? None.

So this morning he’d risen early. Even before doing chores, he’d done two reps of the exercises given by his physical therapist. Started lifting weights again to build the strength in his damaged right arm and shoulder. He’d run four miles.

And then he’d gone back to the meadow and burned through another hundred rounds of ammo.

His aim had been even worse and his shoulder joint was still on fire from the stress—too shaky to even hold a cup of coffee by the time he’d finished shooting. His muscles ached.

But he could not afford to give up, and he was determined to complete this same routine every single day until he was as good as the man he’d been before. Or better.

Surprised to see an urgent text from Chloe, Devlin awkwardly unsaddled the two-year-old he was starting to work out in the arena, put him in a stall and drove the four-wheeler up to Chloe’s cabin.

Even before coming to a stop, he could smell warm cookies, fresh from the oven, and something else that was rich with cinnamon and butter. Homemade bread?

Almost dizzy from the tantalizing aroma, he took a deep breath and headed for the front steps of the cabin, where Chloe was crouched next to something covered in a fluffy yellow afghan.

“Look at this poor thing,” she said, her voice wavering. “Just look at how badly she’s hurt.”

She edged sideways and pulled back the afghan to reveal a large, gaunt dog covered in matted fur—gray or white, he couldn’t tell. One of its front legs appeared badly mangled, but with all of that thick fur crusted with dried blood, dirt and twigs, it was hard to see. Now that it had been uncovered, he detected the foul odor of infection.

“Does she have a collar?” he said in a low voice.

“No. And she’s really weak. She needs to get to a vet before it’s too late.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “But my SUV can’t make it up the narrow trail and I can’t carry her down. Will you help me?”

He hesitated. He’d seen this sort of thing before and knew the dog’s chances were slim, given its overall poor condition. The vet bills for this stray could be huge. But like Chloe, he’d never been able to turn away from something—or someone—in need.

Except for his own father and brother, three years ago, and that was a burden of guilt he would never escape.

“I’ll bring the four-wheeler up close. Do you have any long pieces of cloth we can use for a muzzle? She’s in a lot of pain and might bite when we try to move her.”

Chloe nodded and disappeared into the cabin, then returned with a bedsheet covered with pink flowers.

“Don’t worry, this sheet didn’t come with the cabin. It’s one of mine,” she explained as she ripped a long strip from it and helped him form a soft figure eight around the dog’s nose and the back of her head.

Her fingertips brushed his hand as they fastened the makeshift muzzle, and there it was again—the little flash of warmth and awareness that shot up his arm and landed square in his chest. And from her indrawn breath and the shocked look in her big eyes, she felt it, too. She fumbled at securing the knot, and they had to start all over again.

Bearing most of the weight with his good arm, he helped Chloe ease the dog onto part of the afghan and used it as a sling to lift her into the back cargo area of the four-wheeler. The animal raised her head for a moment and whimpered, then dropped back down and thumped her tail weakly.

On their way down to the hill, Chloe crouched over the dog, trying to hold her steady while Devlin drove slowly around the worst of the rocky bumps, then headed for his own SUV.

“No,” Chloe protested. “If you just tell me where the vet clinic is, I can take her. I know you’re busy, and anyway this was my idea. My work can wait, and I should take responsibility.”

“We can figure that out later.” Devlin pulled out his cell phone and googled Pine Bend veterinarians, called what appeared to be the only clinic in town these days and then slipped the phone back into his pocket. “They said to bring the dog on in. I’ll drive.”

“But—”

He set his jaw. “You might need help.”

She finally capitulated and helped gently move the dog into the back of his SUV. She gave Devlin a grateful smile. “I’m not sure if I turned off the stove. Can I use the four-wheeler to run up and check?”

He nodded tersely and ran a gentle hand over the dog’s quivering flank, then covered her with part of the afghan and shut the tailgate. He got behind the wheel and started the motor.

He’d intended to simply disappear at the Langford ranch for a while, to drop out of sight while physically preparing for what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. A life that would be far different now than what he’d always imagined.

And he’d intended to avoid Pine Bend for however long he stayed.

He could well imagine the small-town gawkers and their avid curiosity over a Langford son returning with obvious injuries from a war far away. Thanks to his father, the Langford name spurred resentment in some and envy in others. There would be stares. Whispers. Intrusive questions. And, of course, the effusive, empty show of sympathy that he recoiled from every single time.

Yet here he was, heading for town. His resolve had lasted all of four days, thanks to Chloe and her compassionate heart. But how could he refuse?

At least he didn’t recognize the vet’s name, so maybe she was new to town since he’d left home. Maybe she wouldn’t even recognize the Langford name.

Chloe was gone and back again in a flash, and when she climbed into the front seat of his SUV, she put a foil-covered paper plate on the console between them and settled a stainless steel tumbler into the cupholder.

“The stove was already off, but while I was there I took my bread out of the breadmaker, and decided I should bring you these as thanks for helping me. Milk and cookies.”

The intoxicating aroma of chocolate chip cookies filled the air when she lifted the foil.

She looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “And, I admit, giving these cookies away is a desperate ploy on my part, because I cannot leave them alone.”

Taken aback by the thoughtful gesture, his gaze locked on hers and time seemed to stand still. How could someone this pretty still be single?

He snorted under his breath. That didn’t take much thought. She’d been a persistent little pest when she was younger. If she was anything like that now, prospective boyfriends probably hit the road in record time...

Only, that wasn’t really true.

He’d believed it as a callow teenage boy, wrapped up in his own world, with little regard for the child who’d looked up to him like some hero.

The truth was that she’d been sweet and thoughtful as a little girl, and she was just as sweet and thoughtful now. And pretty. Really pretty. The kind of woman who made a man look twice, catch his breath and then think about a lifetime commitment.

So why was she here alone, instead of raising a family of pretty little redheads somewhere, with an adoring husband at her side?

He cleared his throat and turned the key in the ignition, forcing his attention to the ranch lane ahead and then the highway into town. Not his business.

He’d be leaving the ranch by July, she’d be leaving even sooner. There was no sense in thinking about anything beyond basic courtesy.

But he was already sure that he wouldn’t stop thinking about her anytime soon, and he definitely wouldn’t stop thinking about those cookies. He’d finished every last one by the time they were halfway into town, and he still wanted more. “Thanks. They were awesome.”

She chuckled softly. “It’s my Grandma Lydia’s recipe, so I can’t take any credit.”

He sorted through his old memories. “I think I remember her visiting here. She used sign language, right?”

Chloe nodded. “Mom started teaching me sign when I was a toddler so I could talk to her, but Grandma passed away when I was eight. I barely knew her, sad to say.”

Devlin glanced in the rearview mirror and adjusted the angle to check on the dog in the back. The poor thing hadn’t done so much as whimper during the fifteen-mile trip to Pine Bend. Was she even still alive? Given the extent of the wounds and obvious infection, she was going to face a long recovery if she even made it into town.

At the clinic, two vet techs came out and helped carry the dog into an exam room. The older one, a woman in her fifties with Bonnie on her name tag, began an initial exam, while the younger gal filled out information on a clipboard.

When the younger tech left to get a handheld chip scanner, Bonnie cocked her head and gave Devlin a long look. “You must be Gus Langford’s middle son. Am I right?”

Since he’d given his name over the phone before driving into town, her guess wasn’t much of a stretch, but he knew a conversational ploy when he heard it, and also knew how to deflect. He nodded curtly.

“Sorry about your dad, bless his soul. Parkinson’s is such a cruel disease. He had a long, hard struggle, but Betty and Jess did right by him.” She nodded, as if agreeing with herself. “You should have no doubt about that.”

If there was any accusation in her voice, he couldn’t hear it, but he felt a sliver of guilt at any rate. He should have been here. He could have been here at least part of the time, to help out at the ranch. But he’d let the pain and bitterness of the past inform his decisions, and death offered no second chances.

The other tech bustled into the room to scan the dog for any identification chips, and the young vet—Dr. Weldon, according to her name badge—walked into the room ten minutes later.

“My goodness,” she said softly. “Who do you have here?”

“She was laying outside my cabin,” Chloe said. “I don’t know how she managed to get there, because she’s so weak.”

The vet gently examined the dog and shook her head. “Obviously she’s had this injury for some time, and that infection doesn’t look good. With her high fever and malaise, it could well be systemic by now.”

“But you can save her, right?” Chloe pleaded. “The poor thing deserves a chance.”

“Once we’ve got her cleaned up better, get some X-rays and bloodwork drawn, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with. Why don’t you two step out for a bit—we won’t be long.”

When they all convened in the exam room once more, the vet ran a gentle hand over the dog’s ribs. “She does have oblique fractures of the second through fifth metacarpals.”

Devlin frowned. “Four bones? That doesn’t sound good.”

“Think of them like the bones that lie close together within the palm of your hand. They do show less displacement than I feared, so that’s in her favor. At first glance, I was expecting comminuted—badly shattered—fractures that were perhaps beyond repair, with significant soft tissue damage and possibly the start of necrosis. Meaning, her best chance would be amputation of that leg.”

Chloe drew in a sharp breath, and the vet looked up at her with a gentle smile. “You’d be surprised at how well dogs can do on three legs.”

“She has a good chance of recovery, then?”

The vet nodded. “She’s dehydrated and hasn’t eaten in a long while, so I want to debride her wounds, start IV fluids and antibiotics, and put her on a critical nutrition diet. She does need surgical repair of that leg, probably with bone plates and screws. Do you have any idea where she might have come from?”

Devlin cleared his throat. “No idea. I’ve been away from Montana for a long time, so I don’t know the locals anymore.”

“With no chip and no collar, we can’t contact her owners.” Dr. Weldon studied the dog for a moment. “I wonder if this could be Leonard Farley’s dog.” She looked up at the older tech, who shrugged. “Farley was an old Vietnam vet who lived by himself in a remote area. Hikers found him dead last fall. Heart attack, according to the autopsy. There were no relatives to contact, but the sheriff told me he owned a Great Pyrenees service dog that no one ever found.”

“From the looks of her, this dog didn’t have much more time left.” Devlin shook his head slowly, imagining the dog’s struggle to survive on its own for so long—even throughout an entire Montana winter. “After what she’s been through, she deserves good care and a good home. I’ll take responsibility for now. If an owner turns up, he can settle with me later.”

“No—I will,” Chloe said firmly. “You were kind enough to help me with getting her here, but it isn’t fair to let you pick up the bills.”

Chloe and her foolish pride. Yet he could hardly fault her for her strong sense of honor, and his respect for her grew.

Dr. Weldon looked between the two of them with a wry smile. “Usually I’ve got people trying to avoid responsibility in these cases. I’ll put you both down and let you figure it out between the two of you later.”

“Just give it to me.” Chloe had that stubborn gleam in her eyes again, but this time she wasn’t going to win.

A whopping vet bill could be devastating to someone like her, who was between jobs and driving a battered fifteen-year-old SUV. And knowing her parents, they probably came to her for money rather than the other way around. She wouldn’t have any help from them.

For all the mistakes he’d made during his life in Montana, for all the times he’d hardened his heart and resolutely gone his own way without looking back, this could be one small chance to finally do the right thing.

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