“Who’s the gunman?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“And you thought it was okay to bring this kind of danger to the ranch without warning anyone? Someone other than you could have been killed tonight.”

He knew that sounded gruff, insensitive even. But no one had ever accused him of putting sensitivity first. Still, he felt…something. Something he cursed, too. Because Mason hated the fear in Abbie’s voice. Hated even more the vulnerability he saw in her eyes.

Oh, man.

This was a damsel-in-distress reaction. He could face down a cold-blooded killer and not flinch. But a woman in pain was something he had a hard time stomaching. Especially this woman.

He blamed that on her flimsy gown. And cursed again.

About the Author

Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why USA TODAY bestselling author and former air force captain DELORES FOSSEN feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.

Mason
Delores Fossen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

The scream woke Deputy Mason Ryland.

His eyes flew open, and Mason stumbled from the sofa in his office where he’d fallen asleep. He reached for his shirt but couldn’t find it. He had better luck with the Smith & Wesson handgun that he’d left on his desk.

He threw open his office door and caught the scent of something he darn sure didn’t want to smell on the grounds of his family’s ranch.

Smoke.

The wispy gray streaks coiled around him, quickly followed by a second scream and a loud cry for help.

Mason went in the direction of both the smoke and the voice, racing out into the chilly October night air. He wasn’t the only one who’d been alerted. A handful of his ranch hands were running toward the cabin-style guesthouse about a hundred yards away. It was on fire, the orangey flames licking their way up the sides and roof. And the place wasn’t empty.

His newly hired horse trainer, Abbie Baker, was staying there.

That got Mason running even harder. So did another shout for help. Oh, yeah, that shout was coming from the guesthouse all right.

“Call the fire department,” he yelled to one of the ranch hands.

Mason also shouted out for someone to call his brothers as well even though they would soon know anyway. All five of them, their wives and their children lived in the family home or on the grounds of the ranch.

Mason made it to the guesthouse ahead of the others, and he tried to pick through the smoke and the embers flicking through the night air. He hurried to the sound of his trainer’s pleas for help.

And he cursed when he saw her.

Abbie was in the doorway, her body half in and half out of the house, and what was left of the door was on her back, anchoring her in place.

The smoke was thick and black, and the area was already hot from the flames, but Mason fought his way through just as one of the ranch hands caught up with him. Rusty Burke. Together, they latched on to the door and started to drag it off Abbie. Not easily. It was heavy and bulky, and it didn’t help that the flames were snapping at them.

Mason didn’t usually think in terms of worst-case scenarios, but he had a split-second thought that his new trainer might burn to death. The possibility gave him a much-needed jolt of adrenaline, and Rusty and he threw the door off her. In the same motion, Mason latched on to her arm and dragged her away from the guesthouse.

“I couldn’t get out,” she said, her voice clogged with smoke and fear.

“You’re out now,” he let her know.

Out but not necessarily safe. The ranch hands were already there with the hoses, but he doubted the house would stand much longer. If it collapsed, Abbie could still be burned or hurt from the flying debris.

“Are the horses okay?” she asked. Mason was more than a little surprised that she’d think of the animals at a time like this.

“They’re fine.” At least he was pretty sure of that. “This is the only building on fire.”

Mason scooped her up, and she looked at him. It was pitch-dark, probably two or three in the morning, but thanks to the flames and the hunter’s moon, he saw her eyes widen. A single word left her mouth.

“No.”

Mason didn’t have time to question that no before she started struggling. She wasn’t a large woman, five-five at the most and on the lean side, but she managed to pack a punch when she rammed her elbow against his bare chest. He cursed and put her in a death grip so she couldn’t fight her way out of his arms.

“I’m trying to save you,” he reminded her, and he added more profanity when she didn’t stop fighting.

Abbie was probably still caught up in the fear and the adrenaline, but Mason was finding it a little hard to be sympathetic with the cold rocky ground biting into his bare feet and with her arms and legs waggling around.

“We have to get away from the fire,” he snarled.

Those wide frightened eyes looked at the flames, and she stopped struggling just long enough for Mason to get a better grip on her.

He started running toward the ranch office where lately he’d been spending most of his days and nights because of the heavy workload. He could deposit Abbie there and hurry back to see if the guesthouse could be saved. He wasn’t hopeful, especially because the ranch wasn’t exactly in city limits. It would take the fire department a good twenty minutes to reach them.

The door to his office and quarters was still open, and he hurried inside, flipped on the lights with his elbow and placed her on the sofa. Mason looked down at her, to make sure she wasn’t injured.

She didn’t appear to be.

Visibly shaken, yes. Trembling, too. Pale and breathing way too fast. All normal responses under the circumstances.

Her eyes met his again, and Mason saw the fear that was still there. And maybe something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Did you try to kill me?” she asked.

That single question seemed to be all she could muster because she groaned, closed her eyes, and the back of her head dropped against the sofa.

Mason huffed. That definitely wasn’t something he expected to hear her say. He’d been a deputy for fifteen years, and his employee no doubt knew it. Even though most people were leery of him because…well, because he wasn’t a friendly sort, they didn’t usually accuse him of arson or attempted murder.

“Why would I set this fire?” he demanded.

Abbie opened her mouth, closed it and shook her head. She also dodged his gaze. “I’m not sure what I’m saying right now. I thought I was going to die.”

Mason guessed that was a normal response, but he was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. “How did the fire start?”

Abbie shook her head again. “I’m not sure. I woke up, and there was smoke all around me. I tried to get to the door, but I started coughing and couldn’t see.” She paused, shivered. “When I got to the door and opened it, it fell on me.” Another pause. “Or something.”

“Or something?” he pushed.

Oh, man. The bad feeling was getting worse, and Mason blamed it on that stupid question. Was there a nonstupid reason that she thought someone had tried to kill her, or was this the ramblings of a woman whose mind had been clouded with fear and adrenaline?

“Or something,” she repeated.

Abbie pushed her light brown hair from her face. Long hair, he noticed. Something he hadn’t realized because she always wore it tucked beneath a baseball cap. In fact, he’d thought of her as tomboyish, but there wasn’t anything boyish or tom about the person lying on his sofa. In that paper-thin pale blue gown, she looked like a woman.

An attractive one.

Something Mason wished like the devil he hadn’t noticed. She worked for him, and he didn’t tread down that path. Business and sex never sat well with him.

“Did you leave the stove on?” he pressed.

But all he got was another head shake—something else that didn’t please him. He wanted some answers here, and he wanted something to tamp down that bad feeling in his gut. However, the knock on his already-open door had him shifting in that direction.

It was his ranch hand Rusty. The lanky young man was out of breath and looked on the verge of blurting something out before his attention landed on Abbie. He motioned for Mason to meet him outside.

Mason looked at Abbie. “I’ll be right back.” Yeah, it sounded like a warning and it was. By God, he was going to get those answers and settle this uneasy feeling. He would find out why she’d thought he had tried to kill her.

He stepped outside with Rusty, and when he got a better look at Rusty’s face, he pulled the door shut. “More bad news?” But it wasn’t exactly a question. Mason could already tell there was.

Rusty nodded. “The guesthouse collapsed. Nothing left to save.”

Well, heck. That didn’t please Mason, but it could have been much worse. His trainer could have gotten killed.

Abbie could have gotten killed, he mentally corrected.

And he cursed himself for thinking of her that way. Mason blamed it on that blasted thin gown and those frightened vulnerable brown eyes.

“There’s more,” Rusty went on, grabbing Mason’s attention.

Mason took a deep breath, ready to hear the news he probably didn’t want to hear, but before Rusty could spill it, he saw his brother Grayson hurrying toward them.

Like Mason, his brother was half-dressed. Jeans that he’d probably just pulled on and no shirt. Even half-dressed, Grayson still managed to look as if he were in charge.

And he was.

As the eldest of his five brothers and the Silver Creek town sheriff, Grayson had a way of being in charge just by being there.

“How’s the trainer?” Grayson immediately asked.

“Alive,” Mason provided. He didn’t add the customary and well part to that because he wasn’t sure that was true. He should probably look to see if she’d had a blow to the head. After all, the door could have hit her when it became unhinged. She might even have a broken bone or two.

“The EMTs are on the way,” Grayson explained. He looked at Mason. “Rusty told you about the guesthouse?”

Mason nodded. “It’s gone.”

Grayson stopped next to him, his breath gusting. Probably because he’d run all the way from the main ranch house. “Yeah. And there was a gas can by the back porch. Rusty managed to pull it out of there before the flames took over.”

What the devil? Mason mentally went through the reasons why Abbie would have had a gas can on the porch, and he couldn’t immediately think of one. She trained his cutting horses and didn’t have anything to do with any ranch equipment that required gasoline.

“Looks like someone could have set the fire,” Grayson concluded.

Arson. On the ranch.

The anger slammed through Mason. Even though he had five brothers who were equal owners of the land, the ranch was his domain. He ran it. It was what he loved, more than a badge, more than just about anything. And if someone had intentionally burned down the guesthouse with Abbie inside, then that someone was going to pay and pay hard.

“It could have been worse,” Rusty went on, turning to Grayson. “Mason barely got Abbie out of there in time.”

That was true. And Mason went back to Abbie’s stupid question.

Did you try to kill me?

Had she seen something or someone? Maybe. And Mason changed that maybe to a probably after remembering the way she’d looked at him. He was accustomed to people shying out of his way. Used to the uneasiness that he caused with his steely exterior, but Abbie’s fear had twisted something inside of him that he hadn’t felt before.

The sound of sirens sliced through his anger and thoughts, and all three of them looked in the direction of the road where there were swirls of red-and-blue lights approaching. The fire department, an ambulance and a sheriff’s cruiser. Could be one of his brothers, Dade or Gage, in the cruiser, because they were both deputies.

“I’ll talk to them,” Grayson volunteered. “You stay with the trainer until the EMTs have checked her out.”

He would, but while he was doing that, Mason could ask some questions that might help them get to the bottom of all of this.

Grayson and Rusty headed out in the direction of the approaching emergency responders, and Mason threw open his office door. His attention zoomed right to the sofa where he’d left Abbie.

She wasn’t there.

Mason looked at the adjoining bathroom. Door closed. And that’s probably where she was—maybe crying or falling apart from the inevitable adrenaline crash.

He took a moment to pull on his boots, but when he still couldn’t find his shirt, he crossed the large working space and knocked on the bathroom door.

No answer.

So he knocked again, harder this time. “You okay in there?”

Still no answer.

He rethought that crying or falling-apart theory and moved on to one that caused his concern to spike through the roof. Maybe she was unconscious from an injury he hadn’t noticed.

No knock this time. Mason kicked down the door and was thankful when it didn’t hit her. He looked at the sink first. Not there. Then, the separate toilet area. Not there either. And she darn sure wasn’t in the shower.

That’s when he noticed the bathroom window was wide-open.

What the devil was going on?

He hurried to the window and looked out. Thanks to that hunter’s moon, he saw her. Barely. She was at least thirty yards away, her pale blue gown fluttering in the wind.

Abbie was running as if her life depended on it.

Chapter Two

Abbie didn’t take the time to tell herself that it’d been a really bad idea to come to the Ryland ranch. But that’s what she would do later. For now, she just had to get out of there as fast as she could and hope that she could somehow make it to safety.

Safety with no car, no money, no shoes.

Clearly, she had some big strikes against her.

Abbie glanced over her shoulder and saw one of the biggest strikes of all. Mason Ryland. Her boss and perhaps the person who wanted her dead.

She’d been a fool to come here, and that foolishness might soon get her killed.

With Mason’s footsteps bearing down on her, Abbie didn’t give up. She ran, praying that she would make it to the fence before he could grab her. The fence wasn’t a sure thing. First, she’d have to scale it and then try to disappear into the thick woods that surrounded the sprawling ranch. But just reaching the fence was her next obstacle.

“Stop!” Mason yelled.

His angry voice tore through the darkness, through her, and she had a terrifying thought.

What if he shot her?

After all, he had a gun. Abbie had seen it when Rusty and he had pulled the door off her. The sight of that weapon and his fierce take-no-prisoners expression had caused her heart to skip a beat or two.

She kept running, her lungs already starved for air, but she wasn’t fast enough. With the fence still yards away, Mason grabbed her shoulder and dragged her to a stop before he whirled her around to face him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mason demanded.

Abbie wanted to demand the same thing, but she couldn’t gather enough breath to speak. Mercy, her teeth were chattering from the chilly night air and the fear.

“Well?” he pushed. He looked down at her. At her face. At her gown. At the garment she was wearing over her gown. “And why did you steal my shirt?”

“I borrowed it,” Abbie managed to say. She would have done the same to a pair of shoes if she could have found them. She hadn’t. So she’d run out of his office barefoot.

He mumbled some more profanity and stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had. But thankfully he didn’t shoot her or threaten to do it. That reprieve meant she had a chance to try to talk him out of whatever he was planning to do to her.

“Look, I’ll just go,” she managed to say after sucking in some more air.

“To heck you will.” He kept a punishing grip on her arm. “First, you’ll tell me about that fire and why you ran. After that, I can decide if I’ll arrest you for arson.”

That put some air back in her lungs. “What? Arrest me? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mason gave her another you’ve-lost-your-mind glare, and those ice-gray eyes drilled into her. Abbie couldn’t see the color of his eyes in the darkness, but she knew them well enough from her job interview. Not that he’d given her more than a passing glance in the three days she’d worked for him.

Well, he was doing more than glancing now.

In addition to the glare he’d aimed at her, his gaze kept dropping to her cotton nightgown. It wasn’t a garment meant to be provocative, but she felt exposed with Mason’s attention on her.

Mason had a way of doing that, she’d learned.

Tall, dark and dangerous with his black hair and hard face. His brothers had those same Ryland looks, but they were softened on their faces and bodies. Not Mason. He looked like an ornery vampire.

Without a shirt.

Added to that were those gunmetal-gray cop’s eyes that saw, and had seen, way too much.

Abbie slid her left hand over her chest. Over the silver chain that veed down into her gown and in between her breasts. She couldn’t let Mason see the pendant at the end of the chain. If he did, the anger and questions would come at her full blast.

“We can stand out here and freeze our butts off,” he continued, “or you can tell me what happened.”

Because she couldn’t tear out of his grip and because he had that gun, Abbie knew she had to give him some kind of answer. The truth?

Probably not.

Not until she was sure she could trust him, and so far Mason hadn’t done anything to make her believe she could. Well, except pull her out of the burning house, but she wasn’t sure yet why he’d done that. Maybe her shouts for help had drawn so much attention that he felt he had no choice but to make a show of rescuing her. He probably wouldn’t have wanted anyone saying he’d let his trainer burn to death. Even if maybe that’s what he’d wanted to happen.

“I already told you I’m not an arsonist,” she explained. “I woke up, and the place was already on fire. I tried to get out, but when I made it to the front door, someone pushed me to the ground and shoved the door on me.”

“What someone?” he challenged.

Abbie shook her head. “I didn’t see his face.”

He studied her, his glare getting even harder. “So why accuse me then?”

Now, here’s where she had to lie. “I was scared. Talking out of my head. I’ve never come that close to dying.”

And that, too, was a lie. A whopper, actually.

Oh, she’d come close all right.

The seconds crawled by, and even though her teeth were still chattering and the goose bumps were crawling all up and down her, that didn’t seem to give Mason any urgency. Even though he was no doubt cold, too.

That no-shirt part caught her attention again.

She didn’t want to look at him. Okay, she did. Once more she was intrigued by how the Ryland genes could have created this puzzling mix of danger and hotness. Under different circumstances, she might have been attracted to Mason Ryland.

Abbie mentally groaned at that thought. Not good. Thoughts like that could only make this situation worse. And she was already at worse. The trick now would be to stop the damage from escalating into a full-blown nightmare.

“I have to get out of here,” she blurted out. “I can’t stay.”

Still no urgency from Mason, and when she tried to move, he snapped her back in place. “You honestly believe someone tried to kill you tonight?”

Abbie thought about her answer. “Yes,” she said, even though she dreaded what he would ask next. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Why would someone want to kill you?”

Mason’s question hung in the air and was just as smothering and as potentially lethal as the fire and smoke had been. Abbie tried to shrug. “Since I’ve been here at the ranch, I’ve had the feeling someone’s watching me.”

Also the truth.

Without warning, Mason released the grip on her, but he continued that ruthless stare. “Did you tell anyone about this?”

Abbie settled for a head shake.

“Well, you should have,” he growled. “We have surveillance cameras all over the ranch, but they’re not monitored unless I’m aware there’s a problem. I wasn’t aware. Plus, there’s the part about me being a deputy sheriff. I would have been very interested in knowing that you thought someone might be watching you.”

“I’m sorry,” Abbie mumbled. But there’s no way she could have told him about her suspicions without making Mason and his brothers suspicious. “I’ll pack my things …” Except her things had all burned. She was literally wearing everything she owned. “I have to leave,” she repeated.

“Not a chance. If the fire was arson, there’ll be an investigation. Grayson will need to interview you. There will be paperwork. And I hate paperwork,” he added in a gruff mumble.

Grayson, the sheriff. Another set of cop’s eyes. Just what she didn’t need right now. But she couldn’t very well break into a run and expect to get away.

No.

Her best bet was to pretend to cooperate so she could get out of there as fast as possible. Then she could regroup and figure out what to do.

Abbie glanced down at her gown to make sure the pendant was still hidden. It was. “Could I maybe borrow some clothes?”

Mason didn’t jump right on that with a resounding yes, but he finally grumbled one under his breath. What he didn’t do was stop the staring, and he sure as heck didn’t move.

“For the record, I think you’re lying about something,” he informed her. “Don’t know what yet, but I will find out. And if you set that fire, so help me—”

“I didn’t set it,” Abbie snarled back.

“You’re willing to have your hands and clothes analyzed for traces of gasoline or some other accelerant?” he snapped.

The question stopped her cold. Under normal circumstances, no, she wouldn’t mind. She would even volunteer. But these were far from normal circumstances. She obviously needed to get out of there.

Still, Abbie nodded. “Of course.”

Mason stared at her. And stared. Before he finally hitched his shoulder in the direction of the fire and the other ranch buildings. “Come on.”

Not exactly a warm and fuzzy invitation, but Abbie was thankful they were walking. Not easily and not very quickly. After all, she was barefoot, and Mason seemed to be as uncomfortable as she was.

“Tell me why you came here,” Mason tossed out. A demand that almost caused her heart to stop. Until he added, “Why did you want to work at the Ryland ranch?”

“You asked that in the interview,” she reminded him, but Abbie paraphrased the lie to refresh his memory. “You have one of the best track records in the state for cutting horses. I wanted to be part of that.”

Mercy, it sounded rehearsed.

He made a gruff sound to indicate he was giving that some thought. Thought smothered with suspicion. “You knew a lot about the ranch before you applied for the job?”

Abbie nodded—cautiously. The man had a way of completely unnerving her. “Sure. I did a lot of reading about it on the internet.”

“Like what?” he fired back.

She swallowed hard and hoped her voice didn’t crack. “Well, I read the ranch has a solid reputation. Your father, Boone Ryland, started it forty years ago when he was in his early twenties.”

Mason stopped and whirled around so quickly that it startled her. He aimed his index finger at her as if he were about to use it to blast her into another county. Then, he turned and started walking again.

“My father,” he spat out like profanity, “bought the place. That’s it. He didn’t even have it paid off before he hightailed it out of here, leaving his wife and six sons. A wife who committed suicide because he broke her spirit and cut her to the core. He was a sorry SOB and doesn’t deserve to have his name associated with my ranch that I’ve worked hard to build.”

The venom stung, even though Abbie had known it was there. She just hadn’t known it would hurt this much to hear it said aloud and aimed at her.

“You don’t look as much like your father as your brothers do,” she mumbled. And before the last word had left her mouth, Abbie knew it had been a Texas-sized mistake.

Mason stopped again, so quickly that she ran right into him. It was like hitting a brick wall. An angry one.

“How the hell would you know that?” Mason demanded.

Oh, mercy.

Think, Abbie, think.

“I saw your father’s picture,” she settled for saying.

The staring started again. Followed by his glare that even the darkness couldn’t conceal. “What picture?” he asked, enunciating each word.

Abbie shook her head and started walking. Or rather, she tried to do that. But Mason caught onto her arm and slung her around to face him.

“What picture?” he repeated.

She searched for a lie he’d believe, one that could get her out of this nightmare that she’d created. But before she could say anything, Mason’s gaze snapped to the side.

And he lifted his gun in that direction.

For one horrifying moment, Abbie thought he was going to turn that gun on her, but his attention was focused on a cluster of trees in the distance. The trees were near the fence that Abbie had fought so hard to reach.

Mason stepped in front of her so quickly, she hadn’t sensed it coming. He put himself between her and those trees.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Shh,” he answered, and like the rest of this conversation, he sounded rough and angry.

Mason was a lot taller than she was, at least six foot three, so Abbie came up on her toes to look over his shoulder. She saw nothing. Just the darkness and the trees. Still, that nothing got her heart racing.

Because someone had set that fire.

In her attempts to evade Mason, Abbie had failed to realize that if Mason wasn’t on to her, if he didn’t know why she’d really come to the ranch, then someone else had set that fire.

Someone else had tried to scare her. Or worse.

Hurt her.

“You think someone’s out there?” she asked.

But Mason only issued another shh and looked around as if he expected them to be ambushed at any moment.

Abbie stayed on her toes, although the arches of her feet were cramping. She ignored the pain and watched.

She didn’t have to watch long.

There.

In the center of that tree cluster. She saw the movement. So slight that at first she thought maybe it was a shadow created by the low-hanging branches swaying in the wind. But then, the shadow ducked out of sight.

“I’m Deputy Mason Ryland,” Mason shouted. “Identify yourself.”

Silence. Well, except for her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. Who was out there? The person who’d set the fire? Or was this something worse?

“Get down on the ground,” Mason said to her. “I’m going closer.”

Abbie wanted to shout no, that it could be too dangerous to do that, but Mason caught onto her arm and pushed her to the ground. “Stay put,” he warned. And he started in the direction of those trees.

With each step he took, her heart pounded harder, so hard that Abbie thought it might crack her ribs. But she didn’t move, didn’t dare do anything that might distract Mason.

He kept his gun aimed. Ready. Kept his focus on the trees. When he was about fifteen yards away, there was more movement. Abbie got a better look then—at the person dressed head to toe in black.

Including the gun.

The moonlight flickered off the silver barrel.

“Watch out!” Abbie yelled to Mason.

But it was already too late. The person in black pointed the gun right at Mason.

Chapter Three

Mason dived to the ground and hoped Abbie had done the same. He braced himself for the shot.

It came all right.

The bullet blasted through the night air, the sound tearing through him. Mason took aim and returned fire. The gunman ducked just in time, and Mason’s shot slammed into the tree and sent a spray of splinters everywhere.

And that’s when it hit Mason. The gunman hadn’t fired at him.

But at Abbie.

Mason glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was okay. She seemed to be. She had stayed put on the ground with her hands covering her head. Good. But her hands wouldn’t stop a bullet.

What the devil was going on?

First the fire, now this. It wasn’t the first time danger had come to the ranch, but it was a first attack on one of his employees.

An employee who had plenty of questions to answer.

After Mason took care of this gunman, he would ask Abbie those questions. First, he wanted this shooter alive to answer some, too, but he had no trouble taking this guy out if it came down to it.

Mason kept watch on the spot where he’d last seen the gunman, and he lifted his head slightly so he could have a better chance of hearing any kind of movement. He heard some all right.

Footsteps.

Mason cursed. The gunman was running.

Escaping.

Mason fired another shot into the trees and hoped it would cause the guy to stop. It didn’t. Once the sound of the blast cleared, Mason heard the footsteps again and knew the shooter was headed for the fence. He would make it there, too, because it wasn’t that far away, and once he scaled it, he could disappear into the woods.

That wouldn’t give Mason those answers he wanted.

Mason got to a crouching position and watched the fence, hoping that he would be able to see the shooter and wound him enough to make him stop. But when the sound of the footsteps stopped, the guy was nowhere in sight.

“Don’t get up,” Mason barked to Abbie.

But that’s exactly what he did. He kept his gun ready, but he started running and made a beeline to the fence. Mason ran as fast as he could. However, it wasn’t fast enough. He heard the gunman drop to the other side of the fence.

Mason considered climbing the fence and going after him. That’s what the rancher in him wanted to do anyway. But his cop’s training and instincts reminded him that that would be a quick way to get himself killed.

Maybe Abbie, too.

The gunman could be there waiting for Mason to appear and could shoot him, and then go after Abbie. His brothers and some of the ranch hands were no doubt on the way to help, but they might not arrive in time to save her.

So Mason waited and stewed. Whoever had set that fire and shot at Abbie would pay for this.

When he was certain they weren’t about to be gunned down, Mason stood. He kept his attention and gun on the fence and backed his way to Abbie.

“Let’s get out of here,” he ordered.

Mason didn’t have to tell her twice. She sprang to her bare feet and started toward the ranch—backward, as Mason was doing.

“Why did he try to kill you?” he asked her without taking his attention off the fence.

Abbie didn’t jump to deny it, but she didn’t volunteer anything either. She was definitely hesitating, and Mason didn’t like that.

“Why?” he pressed.

“I’m in the Federal Witness Protection Program,” she finally said.

Of all the things Mason had expected to hear, that wasn’t on his list. But his list now included a whole barnyard of questions.

“Who’s the gunman?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Mason couldn’t help it. He cursed again. “And you thought it was okay to bring this kind of danger to the ranch without warning anyone? Someone other than you could have been killed tonight.”

He knew that sounded gruff. Insensitive even. But no one had ever accused him of putting sensitivity first. Still, he felt…something. Something he cursed, too. Because Mason hated the fear in Abbie’s voice. Hated even more the vulnerability he saw in her eyes.

Oh, man.

This was a damsel-in-distress reaction. He could face down a cold-blooded killer and not flinch. But a woman in pain was something he had a hard time stomaching. Especially this woman.

He blamed that on the flimsy gown. And cursed again.

“I need details,” he demanded. “Why are you in witness protection, and why would someone want you dead?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything, Mason heard Grayson call out to them. “Are you two okay?”

Mason was, but Abbie looked ready to keel over. “We’re not hurt,” he shouted to his brother. Because the gunman was probably long gone, Mason turned in Grayson’s direction so he could get to him faster. “The guy shot at Abbie.”

“Abbie?” Grayson questioned. Like the other half dozen or so ranch hands with him, he was armed.

“She’s the new cutting-horse trainer I hired,” Mason explained. “And she’s in witness protection.”

The news seemed to surprise Grayson as much as it had him.

“I don’t know who tried to kill me,” Abbie volunteered.

Her voice wasn’t just shaky, it was all breath and nerves. She let out a small yelp when she stumbled. Probably landed on a rock, because there were plenty enough to step on. That did it. Mason put his gun in the back waist of his jeans and scooped her up. He didn’t forget that it was the second time tonight he’d had her in his arms—and neither circumstance had been very good.

Too bad she felt good.

She smelled good, too, even though he could pick up traces of the smoke. Her scent, the feel of her, stirred things he had no intentions of feeling, so he told those feelings to back off. Way off. He wasn’t going there with Abbie.

Then he looked down at her. Saw the shiny tears in her eyes. Heard the slight hitch in her breath when she tried to choke back those tears.

“I’ve been in witness protection for twenty-one years,” she whispered.

Mason did the math. If he remembered correctly, Abbie was thirty-two. That meant she’d entered the program at age eleven. A kid.

“And nothing like this has ever happened to you?” Grayson asked, sounding a little too much like a hard-nosed cop for Mason’s liking.

That was a big red flag, because Mason remembered that it was a question he should have asked. No. He should have demanded. He forced himself to remember that he was a deputy sheriff and that Abbie had put them all in danger.

Still, he felt that twinge of something he rarely felt. Or rarely acknowledged anyway.

Sympathy.

He’d rather feel actual pain.

“Years ago, someone tried to kill me,” Abbie answered. And she paused for a long time. “Not long after my mom and I entered witness protection, someone fired shots at me.” Another pause. “They killed my mother.”

Oh, hell.

Nothing could have stopped that slam of sympathy. Nothing.

Mason and his brother exchanged glances, and Mason knew there’d be more questions. Had to be. Grayson would need to investigate the fire and shooting. One of them would also need to contact the U.S. Marshals who ran witness protection and let them know that Abbie’s identity had been compromised.

Still, twenty-one years was a long time to go without a compromise. And Mason considered something else. Why had it happened now, only three days after Abbie had arrived at the Ryland ranch?

A coincidence?

His gut was telling him no.

Mason kept that to himself and trudged the last leg of the distance to the ranch. He headed straight for his office, and this time he didn’t intend to let Abbie run away.

The first thing Mason did was place her on the sofa again, and despite all the sympathy he was feeling, he gave her a warning glance to stay put. Grayson followed him inside, no doubt ready to question Abbie, but Mason didn’t plan to start until he’d located a few things. First, he got Abbie a blanket and then he found her some socks.

“Who killed your mother?” Grayson started. “And why?”

Abbie put on the socks, mumbled a thanks and pulled the blanket around her.

Her sigh was long and weary. “My mother and I went into witness protection after she testified against her boss, Vernon Ferguson, a corrupt San Antonio cop.” Her voice was as shaky as the rest of her. “Ferguson got off on a technicality, and shortly afterward he sent a hired gun named Hank Tinsley after us. Tinsley turned up dead a few days later.”

Mason figured there were plenty of details to go along with that sterile explanation. The stuff of nightmares. Something he knew a little about because his grandfather Chet had been shot and left to die. Mason had been seventeen, and even though nearly twenty-one years had passed, the wound still felt fresh and raw.

Always would.

Not just for him but for all his brothers.

That wound had deepened to something incapable of being healed when his father had left just weeks later. And then his mother had committed suicide.

Oh, yeah. He could sympathize with Abbie.

But sympathy wasn’t going to keep her safe.

“You think this Vernon Ferguson came after you tonight?” Mason asked. He stood over her, side by side with Grayson.

Abbie shook her head. “Maybe.”

It was a puzzling answer, and Grayson jumped on it. “You have somebody else other than Ferguson trying to kill you?”

“I don’t know. Over the past twenty years, Ferguson has managed to find me two other times, and both times he sent hired guns. Nothing recent, though. Mainly because we’ve been very careful.”

Mason didn’t miss the we, and later he would ask who this person was in her life. Because it might be important to the investigation. Not because he was thinking she had a boyfriend stashed away. On her job application she had said she was single, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in love with someone.

And for some reason, a reason Mason didn’t want to consider, that riled him a little.

Abbie closed her eyes a moment and when she opened her eyes, she turned them on Mason. “My caseworker is Deputy U.S. Marshal Harlan McKinney over in Maverick County. He’ll need to know about this.”

Mason nodded, but it was Grayson who reacted. “I’ll call him. And check in with the fire chief.” Grayson glanced at her shoeless feet peeking out from the blanket. “I’ll also ask my wife about getting you some clothes.”

“Thank you,” she said in a whisper. Abbie didn’t move until Grayson was out of the office and had shut the door. Then she sat up as if ready to leave.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Mason reminded her.

She blinked. “But I figured you’d demand that I leave. It’s not safe for any of you with me here.”

“That’s probably true, but you’re still not going anywhere.” In case she’d forgotten, he took his badge from his desk and clipped it to the waist of his jeans. “You’ve got six lawmen on this ranch.”

Her gaze came to his again. “And yet someone still got to me.”

Yeah, and that meant whoever had done this was as bold as brass, stupid or desperate. Mason didn’t like any of those scenarios.

“Why would Ferguson still want you dead if he got off on the charges with a technicality?” Mason asked. He located a black T-shirt in the closet and pulled it on. He grabbed his black Stetson, too.

“Maybe he still considers me a loose end.” But she didn’t sound convinced.

And that only reinforced the fact that something just wasn’t right here.

Mason pulled his chair over to the sofa and sat so that he’d be more at her eye level. Abbie adjusted her position, too, easing away from him, and in the process the blanket slid off her.

Great.

He felt another punch of, well, something stirring below the belt when he got another look at the gown. And at her breasts barely concealed beneath the fabric. Not a good combination with that vulnerable face and her honey-brown eyes.

“I swear, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said. “I didn’t know Ferguson could find me. I’ve always been careful.”

Mason made a heavy sigh and reached out. He doubted his touch would give her much comfort, but he had to do something. He put his fingertips against her arm. Rubbed gently.

And he felt that blasted below-the-belt pull happen again.

Their gazes met, and the corner of her mouth lifted. Not a smile but more of a baffled expression. Either she figured out he was going nuts or else she was feeling something, too.

“For the record, I didn’t think you’d be like this,” she said.

The cryptic remark got his attention, and Mason would have asked what she meant. If her gown hadn’t shifted. Yeah, he saw her breasts. The tops of them anyway. And while they snagged his attention in a bad way, it was what was between her breasts that snagged it even more.

The pendant.

Or rather, the silver concho.

He instantly recognized it because he had one just like it. All of his brothers did. A custom-made gift from their father with their initials on the back. A blood gift he’d given them all just days before he’d run out on them.

Abbie gasped when she followed Mason’s gaze, and she slapped her hand over the concho. Mason just shoved her hand away and had a better look at the front of it.

And there it was.

The back-to-back Rs for the Ryland ranch. This wasn’t a new piece either. It was weathered and battered, showing every day of its twenty-one years.

Abbie tried again to push his hand away, but Mason grabbed both her wrists. He turned the concho over, even though it meant touching her breasts. But it wasn’t her breasts that held his attention right now. It was the other initials on the back.

B.R.

For his father, Boone Ryland.

Mason let go of the concho, leaned down and got right in Abbie’s face, but it took him a moment to get his teeth unclenched so he could ask her the mother of all questions.

“Who the hell are you?”

Chapter Four

Abbie knew her situation had just gone from bad to worse. She also knew that Mason wasn’t just going to let her run out of there again. Not that she could.

Not now.

Not after the gunman’s attack.

She’d opened this dangerous Pandora’s box and had to stay around long enough to close it. If she could. But closing it meant first answering the Texas-sized question that Mason had just asked.

Who the hell are you?

“I’m Abbie Baker,” she said, knowing that didn’t clarify anything, especially because it was a name given to her twenty-one years ago by the U.S. Marshals when she and her mom had entered witness protection.

Her real name was Madelyn Turner. Maddie. But she no longer thought of herself as that little girl who’d nearly died from a hired gun’s bullet.

She was Abbie Baker now.

And she had a thoroughly riled, confused cowboy lawman looming over her. He was waiting for answers that didn’t involve her real name or anything else so mundane. Mason’s attention and narrowed glare were on the concho.

“Where did you get it?” he asked.

Abbie considered another lie. She’d gotten so good at them over the years, but no one was that good. There was no way she could convince Mason that she’d found the concho and then had coincidentally applied for a job at the Ryland ranch.

There was nothing chance about it, and now she might have endangered not just Mason but also his entire family. Someone had come after her tonight, and she had to get to the bottom of that—fast.

First, though, she had to get past Mason, literally. And that meant giving him enough information to satisfy him but not so much that he would have a major meltdown.

“Where did you get the concho?” he repeated.

Abbie tried not to look as frightened as she felt, but she figured she wasn’t very successful. “Your father gave it to me.”

She saw the surprise go through his eyes. Maybe Mason had thought she’d stolen it or something.

“My father?” he snapped.

Abbie settled for a nod, knowing she would have to add details. But the devil was in those details, and once Mason heard them, he might physically toss her off the ranch. That couldn’t happen at this exact moment.

“When?” he pressed. “Why?”

She had no choice but to clear her throat so she could answer. “When I turned sixteen. He said it was a good-luck charm.”

That was a lie. Actually, Boone had said he wanted her to have it because it was his most valuable possession. Something he’d reserved for his own children.

Nothing about his severe expression changed. Mason’s wintry eyes stayed narrowed to slits. His jaw muscles stirred. He continued to glare at her. For several snail-crawling seconds anyway. Then he cursed. One really bad word. Before he turned and scrubbed his hands over his face. It seemed to take him another couple of moments to get his jaw unclenched.

“So Boone is alive,” he mumbled. “Or at least he was when you were sixteen.”

“He still is alive,” Abbie confirmed. “I talked to him on the phone before I went to bed.” She chose her words carefully. “He met my mother and me about four months before she was killed.”

“Where?” he barked.

“Maverick County. But we’ve lived plenty of other places since then.” She paused because she had to gather her breath. “We move a lot, finding work at ranches all over the Southwest. He’s always worried that Vernon Ferguson will find me.” And finish what he’d started.

Mason’s eyes narrowed even more. “Boone lived with you?”

“He raised me,” Abbie corrected.

That didn’t improve Mason’s ornery mood. More profanity, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a dry smile that held no humor at all.

“He raised you.” And he repeated it. “He couldn’t raise his own sons or be a husband to his wife, but yet he took you in. Why?”

Abbie had asked herself that a thousand times and still didn’t have the answer. “It was either that or I would have had to go into foster care. There weren’t many options for a kid in witness protection.”

“You would have been better off in foster care,” Mason mumbled. “I figured the SOB was dead.” He held up his hand in a stop gesture when she started to speak. “He should be dead.”

That sent a chill through her. That chill got significantly worse when Mason grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

“He sent you here,” Mason accused. “Why? He wants to mend fences with us after all these years?”

Abbie didn’t get a chance to deny it.

His grip was hard and punishing. “Well, you can just go back to Maverick County and tell the bastard that he’s not welcome here. Neither is his lackey. Consider yourself officially fired.”

“He didn’t send me,” Abbie managed to say.

Mason no doubt heard her, but he didn’t respond except to haul her toward the door. Abbie dug in her heels. Or rather, tried. It was like wrestling with an angry bear. She wasn’t a weakling, and her work with the cutting horses had honed some muscles that most women didn’t have, but she was no physical match for the likes of Mason.

Still, she had to make him understand.

“Boone didn’t send me,” she repeated. “In fact, he wouldn’t be happy if he knew I was here.” And that was a massive understatement.

That stopped Mason, finally, even though they were just inches from the door.

“Boone knows how much you hate him,” she added.

Oh, that put some fire into those ice-gray eyes. “He can’t begin to imagine how much I hate him.” His attention dropped back to the concho. “I put a bullet through mine and then nailed it to my bedroom wall so it’s the first thing I see when I wake up. That way, I can remember that the man who fathered me is a worthless piece of dirt.”

Abbie had expected anger, but she hadn’t quite braced herself enough for this outright rage. Boone had been right. He had done the unforgivable when he’d walked out on his family. At least it was unforgivable in Mason’s eyes, and she wondered if she stood a better chance pleading her case to one of his brothers. The problem was, she might not get the chance to do that.

Mason started moving again, toward the door.

“Why did Boone leave Silver Creek?” she asked.

Again, that stopped him. Well, sort of. Mason didn’t open the door, but he put her back right against it, and he kept his grip hard and tight on her shoulders. She was trapped, and Boone’s warning came flying through her head.

Mason isn’t the forgive-or-forget sort.

It was one of the few times Boone had talked about his sons, about the life he’d left behind here in Silver Creek. Boone wouldn’t have wanted her to come here, but she’d had no choice. This was her best bet at finding the answers to why Boone had been so secretive lately. He was definitely keeping something from her, and Abbie was scared that the something meant he was in serious danger.

“You tell me why he ran off,” Mason challenged.

She shook her head. Actually, her whole body was shaking, maybe from the adrenaline. Maybe the cold.

Maybe Mason.

She glanced down between them, at the fact that their bodies were pressed against each other. Not good. After all, despite the anger and Boone’s warning about this particular Ryland, Mason was a man, and she was a woman.

Mason must have realized it, too, because while still scowling and cursing, he stepped back. “Why did Boone leave?” he repeated.

Abbie had to shake her head again. “I don’t know.” It was the truth, but she wished she had the answer because it would no doubt clear up a lot of other questions she had. “He wouldn’t say. But for what it’s worth, he was a good surrogate father to me.”

Mason made a skeptical sound and threw open the door. However, he didn’t toss her out. That’s because his oldest brother, Grayson, was standing in the way. He had an armful of clothes, a concerned look on his face and the same cop’s eyes as Mason. And he eyed the grip that Mason had on her.

“A problem?” Grayson asked, suspicion dripping from his voice. He waited until Mason let go of her before he handed her the clothes from his wife.

“Yeah, there’s a problem,” Mason verified. “Boone sent her.”

“He didn’t,” Abbie answered as fast as she could, and she was getting darn tired of that broken-record accusation.

Grayson looked first at Mason. Then her. “Is that why you’re here at the ranch, because of Boone?”

“No,” Abbie said at the exact moment that Mason said, “Yes.”

Grayson gave them a raised eyebrow. “Well, which is it?”

Both Rylands stared at her, waiting. “Boone doesn’t know I’m here, and he didn’t send me,” Abbie insisted. “He believes he doesn’t stand a chance of reconciling with any of you.”

“He’s right,” Mason jumped to answer.

Grayson didn’t voice an opinion, but his expression made it clear that Mason and he were of a like mind. And that meant Abbie was wasting her time and putting them in future danger for no reason. Well, except that she might get some answers from Grayson that she hadn’t managed to get from his brother.

Abbie hugged the clothes to her chest and looked Grayson in the eyes. “Boone never talked much about all of you, so I don’t know why he left.”

Mason cursed.

Grayson lifted his shoulder. “Does it matter why?” he asked.

Unlike Mason, he actually waited for her to answer. “Maybe.” That required a deep breath. “Something’s wrong.”

“If he’s dying, then you’d better break the news to someone who gives a flying fig,” Mason grumbled.

Abbie was about to tell him that Boone wasn’t dying, but she had no idea if that was true. And that made her sick to her stomach. Yes, Mason had a right to be this enraged, but she was already getting tired of it. He was aiming that venom not just at her but also at the man who’d raised her. A man she loved like a father.

“Get dressed,” Mason said again. This time it was an order, and he grabbed on to the concho and shoved it back into her gown so that it was out of sight. “I’ll drive you into town so you can leave Silver Creek.”

Grayson had a different reaction. He flexed those previously raised eyebrows. “Someone just tried to kill her,” he reminded Mason. “And that someone likely set fire to the guesthouse with her in it. As the sheriff, I think I’d like to get to the bottom of that first before she leaves.”

“Boone sent her,” Mason argued.

“And we can send her back. After the doc checks her out and she answers a few questions.” Because Mason was clearly gearing up for an argument, Grayson tipped his head to the clothes. “Go ahead and change.”

Abbie considered staying put, considered trying to convince them that she wasn’t there on a mission of peacemaking, but it was obviously an argument she’d lose. On a huff she headed to the bathroom but didn’t shut the door all the way. She needed to hear what the Ryland brothers were planning to do with her. Too bad she couldn’t quite manage that because both lowered their voices to whispers.

Angry ones.

Mason was still no doubt insisting that she leave immediately. Grayson had the more level head, and she remembered Boone calling him an old soul.

Abbie hurriedly changed into loose pants and oversized denim shirt. No underwear, but the flat slipper-type shoes fit. She was ready to face down the enemy, or rather her former employer, until she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Mercy. There was soot on her face. Her hair was a tangled mess, and there were dark circles under her eyes. And then she wondered why she cared.

Oh, yes. She remembered.

Mason, and that body-to-body contact. Abbie cursed him. Cursed herself. She didn’t let men get under her skin, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Steeled with that reminder, Abbie walked back into the main room, only to have both Ryland men stop their whispered conversation and stare at her.

“So, what’s the verdict?” she came right out and asked. Of course, Mason scowled at her and mumbled something she probably didn’t want to hear anyway.

“Our other brothers Dade and Nate are out looking for the man who took shots at you,” Grayson informed her. He was all cop now. “Any idea who he was?”

She shook her head. “It was too dark to see his face.”

Mason swung his attention in her direction. “What about the man who set the fire? Too dark to see him, too?”

Abbie ignored the skeptical, snarky tone. “I didn’t see him,” she verified. “In fact, I didn’t see anyone. I only sensed someone was there.”

“Your senses are good,” Grayson volunteered. “Because I looked at the door that Mason pulled off you. It’d been torn from its hinges. If you didn’t do that—”

“I didn’t.”

Grayson lifted his shoulder. “Then someone else did. I’m guessing it was the same man who fired those shots.”

She guessed the same. Abbie also guessed that his brothers would give it their best efforts in searching for the man. But she also knew there were miles and miles of wooded area surrounding the Ryland ranch. The odds weren’t good. And that put a hard knot back in her stomach.

“He’ll be back,” she said before she could stop herself. Abbie instantly regretted the admission, but it didn’t surprise Grayson. Perhaps not Mason either. It was hard to tell because his face seemed to be frozen in that permanent glare.

“Boone didn’t send me,” she reiterated. “And I’m sorry that you’re riled because someone tried to kill me on your ranch.”

“I’m not riled because of that.” That got rid of the glare. Judging from his annoyed huff, Mason hadn’t intended to ditch the glare, raise his voice. Or show even a smidgen of what had to be a bad temper to go along with that gruff exterior.

But Abbie hadn’t intended to go the snark route either. “Look, I’m frustrated. Scared. And feeling a dozen other things that you clearly don’t want me to feel. I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing,” Mason snapped. He stared at her. And stared. Then cursed again. “Quit apologizing,” he repeated.

Like the little arm rub he’d given her earlier, before he’d seen the concho, it sounded, well, human.

Grayson gave them both a stern glance, especially his brother. “Are you two sleeping together or something?”

“No!” Mason and she said in unison. Mason shot his brother a look that could have frozen Hades.

Grayson did some more staring and then made a sound of disbelief. “Then maybe we can concentrate on finding the man who tried to kill you.” He waited until he had their attention before he continued. “I’ve already made a call to Marshal Harlan McKinney to let him know what’s going on, and I’ve put out feelers to find out if Vernon Ferguson’s connected to this.”

She gave a weary sigh and pushed her hair from her face. “You won’t find a connection,” Abbie assured him. “Ferguson’s too smart for that.” And that reminder caused her to go still. “Ferguson found me awfully fast. I’ve been here at the ranch only three days.”

“Maybe Boone told him,” Mason instantly suggested.

Abbie didn’t even have to consider it. “Boone doesn’t know I’m here. That’s the truth. I told him I was visiting a friend in Austin.”

Mason gave her a flat stare. “So you’re telling us the truth, but you lied to him?”

“Yes.” She ignored his sarcasm and turned toward Mason. “Did you do some kind of background check on me?”

Mason probably would have preferred to continue the sniping match, but she saw the moment that he turned from an angry son to a concerned rancher and lawman. “Of course. I use a P.I. agency in San Antonio to screen potential employees.” He paused. “I don’t have the report back on you yet.”

Later, she would curse herself for not realizing that Mason would run such a check. She didn’t have an arrest record. In fact, not many records at all, and that would have perhaps flagged a P.I.’s interest.

It had probably flagged Marshal McKinney, too, but Abbie had called him right before she applied for the job at the ranch to tell him she might be working there for a short period of time. She’d also asked the marshal not to tell Boone, and McKinney must have complied because Boone hadn’t tried to stop her. And he would have if he’d known she was anywhere near Silver Creek.

Abbie shook her head and stared at Mason. “So why did you hire me before you got the report?”

“Because he needed a cutter,” Grayson jumped to answer. “He goes through five or six cutting-horse trainers a year.”

The muscles in Mason’s jaw tightened. “Because most aren’t worth spit.” Another pause, and he tipped his head toward her. “She seemed to know what she was doing.”

“Thanks. Your father trained me,” she added, knowing it would cause his glare to return. It did. Not just from Mason, but his brother, too.

She huffed but regretted that little jab. It was clear she wasn’t going to win them over to her side, so it was best to tell them the truth and hope they’d be willing to do something to help her.

Abbie took a deep breath before she started. “Something happened about a month ago. I’m not sure what,” she added because it looked as if both Rylands were about to interrupt her. “I know it started when Boone heard the news reports about the senator who committed suicide here in Silver Creek.”

“Ford Herrington,” Grayson supplied.

Abbie waited for them to add more. They didn’t. But she’d done her own reading about the senator. He’d confessed to murdering his wife and the Ryland sons’ grandfather Chet McLaurin, before taking his own life.

“What connection did Boone have to Senator Herrington?” Abbie asked.

“You mean other than Herrington murdering Boone’s father-in-law?” Mason asked. He was back to being a cowboy cop again.

She nodded. “Is there something more?”

Mason shook his head, huffed. “According to Ford, our grandfather was having an affair with Ford’s wife.”

“Was he?” she pressed, though she still couldn’t see the connection with Boone.

“Maybe.” And when Mason paused, Grayson took up the explanation. “His wife was having an affair with someone. Ford’s daughter, Lynette, confirmed that. She overheard her mother talking about it before she was killed, and Lynette has no reason to lie, because she’s our sister-in-law.”

So maybe that was the connection she’d been searching for. But why would a decades-old affair between a senator’s wife and Boone’s father-in-law have such an impact now? Especially because everyone seemed to know about it.

“Is it possible that the senator’s wife got pregnant and had your grandfather’s baby?” Yes, she was grasping at straws, but she had to find what had set all of this in motion.

Mason lifted his shoulder. “I suppose she could have gotten pregnant, but she didn’t give birth. No time for that. From the time line we’ve been able to come up with, Ford killed her only about a month after the affair started.”

Well, there went her secret-baby theory.

“Boone got upset when he saw the news reports about the senator’s suicide,” she added. “And he followed the story like a hawk. I’d never seen him like that, and since then he’s been secretive. Agitated. He even hired a P.I., and he won’t tell me why.”

The brothers exchanged concerned glances. “What’s your theory?”

Abbie had to take a deep breath. “I suspect something bad happened to Boone all those years ago. Something bad enough to cause him to walk out on his family.”

“And what would that be?” Mason’s tone wasn’t quite as lawmanlike as it had been for his other questions. The emotion and old pain were seeping through.

“I’m not sure,” Abbie admitted. “But a week ago I heard him talking to someone on the phone. I don’t know who, but it could have been the P.I. I only caught pieces of the conversation, but Boone mentioned the ranch. And all of you.”

“Us?” Mason challenged.

She nodded. “I think he was worried about your safety.” Mercy, she wished she’d heard more of that call. “He also said something else.”

“What?” Mason pressed when she paused.

Abbie tried to repeat this part verbatim. “Boone said the past was catching up with him and that it wouldn’t be long before someone came to kill him.”

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