Her Cowboy Dilemma. C.J. Carmichael

that wasn’t going to happen. Cassidy loved her mother, but it was the sort of love that did best when there were at least a hundred miles between them. And much as she loved the ranch, she thought a business career could be exciting, too. She could hardly wait to get started.

      Cassidy’s tires rumbled as she drove over the cattle guard that was meant to keep Coffee Creek cattle from roaming beyond their property line. A hundred yards farther down the road, she came to the small wooden bridge that crossed over one of several unnamed creeks that ran through their property.

      She drove up the final hill, then paused, looking down on the homestead that had been in her father’s side of the family since the mid-eighteen-hundreds. It was hard not to feel a sense of pride. From here she could see the white barns with their green roofs, stacks of rolled hay, sorting pens and chutes, and the neatly fenced paddocks and larger pastures. All the outbuildings had been constructed in the hollow of a wide valley, high enough that there would be no danger of flooding in the spring, but protected from the worst of the winds that came off the mountains.

      The main house sat above the other buildings, backing onto a grove of pines and with a view out to Square Butte—a flat-topped mountain that dominated the skyline to the north.

      Through a stand of ponderosa pines to her left, Cassidy could see glimmers of Cold Coffee Lake around which their father had built homes for all three of his sons.

      Driving past the graveled turnoff to the lake and the cabins, Cassidy crossed through the main gate, with the wrought iron detailing of the double Cs that were the family brand. Her tires rumbled yet again on another cattle guard. And then she was home.

      Four other vehicles were already parked in the yard. Her mother’s white SUV, Jackson’s black one, Corb’s Jeep and, of course, Farley’s charcoal-and-silver truck, with the Farley & Sons logo on the side.

      Cassidy slid in next to her mother’s SUV, where she wouldn’t block any of the other vehicles. She cut off the ignition and waited to see if her arrival had been watched for.

      Given the trouble Farley had described, she hadn’t been expecting a welcoming committee. Probably everyone was down at the barn with the sick horse. But there was one faithful soul waiting to greet her.

      Sky, still trim and healthy-looking despite the gray flecks in her black coat, must have been sleeping on the front porch. She was sitting now, head cocked, waiting for the cue.

      She’d been trained not to go near any vehicle if there were people inside. But the moment Cassidy stepped out, she came running as fast as her old hip joints would let her.

      “Hey there, Sky! Oh, it’s so good to see you.” Cassidy crouched by her dog, wrapping her arms around her and burrowing her face in Sky’s sun-warmed coat.

      Sky wriggled and grunted, panted and smiled, demonstrating in every way possible her extreme happiness at having Cassidy home again.

      “Has Corb been taking good care of you? You sure look pretty.” Cassidy gave her dog a lot of pats and scratches, then sat up on her haunches to look around. The place was almost eerily quiet. Not even the housekeeper, placid, middle-aged Bonny, was here. Must be one of her days off.

      They’d had many housekeepers over the years. Olive had exacting standards and most didn’t last more than six months or so. But Bonny was made of stern stuff and had been here almost four years now. Cassidy was glad. Besides having loads of common sense—that helped her deal with Olive—she was also an excellent cook.

      Cassidy patted Sky again, wondering why her dog wasn’t up at Corb and Laurel’s cabin. When Cassidy had left for college five years ago, she’d been living in residence and unable to bring her dog with her. Poor, lonely Sky had turned to Brock for companionship, then after his death, to Corb.

      Now she lived almost full-time with Corb, Laurel and Stephanie...and yet somehow she’d known to wait at the main house today. Possibly Sky had heard Cassidy’s name spoken more often than usual and had guessed she was coming home?

      Cassidy didn’t put it past her. Sky was a remarkable dog. When she was younger, she’d been as useful as an extra hand at moving and herding cattle. Now she was too old to work, but she was as smart as ever.

      Finally, Cassidy stood, brushing the fine gravel from her knees. She could go into the house and wait for the rest of them to join her. But she’d seen Farley at the café and the world hadn’t fallen apart. Besides, she was anxious to find out if Lucy was going to be okay.

      She gave the signal for Sky to follow. “Come on, girl. Let’s head down to the barn and find out what’s going on.”

      * * *

      W HEN HER MOTHER decided to go into the quarter horse breeding business, they’d built a new equine barn equipped to accommodate twenty to twenty-five broodmares with a separate wing for the stallions. The family’s riding horses were pastured and boarded in a smaller, less high-tech barn, closer to the house. This barn—they called it the home barn—had also been updated at that time, including the addition of a new tack room and office, both of which Jackson had designed.

      It was to the home barn that Cassidy headed now, Sky heeling obediently on her left. She was glad she didn’t need to waste any time changing. Even when going to school in the city, she’d continued to dress the way she always had: in jeans and cowboy boots. She’d grown up in Western wear, and that was how she felt most comfortable.

      In fact, her main concern about going to work for an accounting firm in the city was adjusting to the suits and high-heeled pumps she knew she’d be expected to wear. She’d bought such an outfit for job interviews and so far every time she’d worn it, she’d ended up with blisters on her heels.

      Voices became audible as she drew nearer to the barn. The main door was open and her mother, Corb and Jackson were watching while Farley examined the golden palomino in the first stall. Cassidy stopped in the doorway, as yet unnoticed, waiting to see what would happen.

      Her mother looked trim in jeans and a pressed gingham shirt. No doubt hard work and a healthy diet had helped preserve her petite figure, but her silver-blond hair, styled in an attractive bob, was the result of regular monthly trips to the salon.

      She had her hands on her slender hips as she watched over Lucky Lucy’s examination, offering Farley pointers as he worked, which were no doubt exasperating to the experienced vet.

      “Be careful,” Olive said. “You don’t want to hurt her.”

      No response from Farley.

      “See how she’s holding her head?” Olive continued. “Low and extended? That’s not usual for her.”

      Farley, who would not have needed to have this pointed out, replied calmly, “She’s probably doing that to relieve the pain in her throat and lymph nodes.”

      Of the four of them, he was the only one Cassidy couldn’t see clearly because he was in the stall with the horse. Just the sound of his voice, however, made her feel nervous and excited, the same odd cocktail of emotions she’d experienced earlier in the café.

      “You seen any other cases of strangles lately?” Corb asked. Her brother’s shoulders were hunched with worry, as were Jackson’s. Both men had their backs to her, until Sky came up between them.

      “Hey there, girl.” Corb bent to pat the border collie’s head. “What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be on the porch, enjoying your retirement.”

      With that, blond, green-eyed Corb looked back toward the house, and a smile slowly broke through his serious expression.

      “Look who’s home. How’re you doing, Cass?”

      Of all her family, Corb was Cassidy’s favorite. He was easygoing, like their father had been, with a warm smile and eyes that sparkled with good humor. With his blond hair and green eyes, he was also the brother that looked most like her. If they’d been closer in age, people probably would have taken them for twins.

      He