Barefoot Blue Jean Night. Debbi Rawlins

of the Rocky Mountains. How had she not noticed the two-story vertical window? It didn’t particularly suit the log-cabin style and yet it did because not to showcase the view would’ve been criminal.

      “You’re quick.”

      Jamie recognized Rachel’s voice and looked down to see her approaching from the dining-room area.

      “Yeah, I travel so much I kind of have to be.” She took another step down, her attention divided between Rachel and the view. Against the distant clear blue sky an eagle soared.

      “Amazing, isn’t it?” Rachel had turned to the window.

      “Do you ever take it for granted?”

      “Nope. While I was away at school I’d come back for the summer and holidays and every time I’d be in total awe.” She smiled. “My sorority sisters’ reaction to the pictures on my laptop gave me the idea for the dude ranch. In fact, two of them are coming next month.”

      “Was it the pictures of the countryside or your brothers that got their attention?”

      Rachel let out a surprised laugh, and Jamie truly wished she hadn’t been quite so frank. Especially when an older woman came through the swinging doors with a knowing smile on her face. She had to be Rachel’s mother. Same auburn hair, friendly green eyes, slight build.

      Maybe she hadn’t overheard.

      “So which one of my brothers hooked you in?” Rachel asked, still grinning.

      Jamie sighed. “I was just saying …” She left the last step and smiled sheepishly at the older woman. “Hi. You have to be Rachel’s mom.”

      “It’s Barbara.” She set the vase of giant sunflowers on the foyer table and wiped her palms on the front of her jeans. “Yes, I’m the mother of the whole brood.” She had a firm handshake and warm smile. “Dinner isn’t for a couple of hours. May we get you a snack to hold you over?”

      “Thanks, but I already had a couple of the oatmeal cookies. My compliments to whoever made them. Wow.”

      “I’ll be sure to tell Cole,” Rachel said.

      Jamie blinked. “Seriously?”

      Barbara made a tsking sound and gave her daughter an admonishing look.

      Jamie chuckled, mostly at herself. What the hell, she’d already stuck her foot in it. “You got me all excited. I was ready to ask for his hand.”

      “You have my blessing,” Barbara said, then laughed. “But I wouldn’t count on it.” She darted a look at Rachel. “I can’t seem to get rid of any of them.”

      Rachel rolled her eyes. “Love you, Mom, but you’re full of beans. What would you do without us?” She gave Barbara a quick kiss on the cheek. “Ready for the tour, Jamie?”

      “Ready,” she confirmed, the affection between mother and daughter tugging at her heart. She couldn’t imagine her mom teasing her that way. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. Sadly, they barely had one at all. “Rachel, if you’re busy, I don’t mind wandering around on my own.”

      “Nope, you’re getting a tour. Otherwise, I’d have to help with dinner preparation.”

      “See you two later.” With an indulgent smile, Barbara left through the swinging doors.

      Rachel pointed out the kitchen and the large room with an impressive stone fireplace where guests tended to linger after dinner. At six, beer and margaritas would be served on the porch, dinner at seven in the dining room—with the exception of Saturday nights when Chester, the bunkhouse cook, fired up the smokers and the evening meal was served family-style on the picnic tables outside.

      On their way to the stables, Jamie kept an eye out for Cole. A dark-haired man riding a bay horse left the barn and galloped north but it wasn’t him. Even from the back Jamie would’ve known.

      “The bunkhouse?” she asked, casting a glance at the two men leaving a long rectangular building across the yard. With the door open, a strong whiff of coffee drifted through the warm air and stirred an old memory. The men who worked her uncle’s peanut farm always had a pot of acrid brew going, no matter how hot or humid the weather.

      “It is, but I promised the hands we’d keep the place off-limits to guests. Believe me, you don’t want to go in there anyway.”

      The men saw them and each lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave. Jamie smiled and nodded. “Must be hard for these guys to have a bunch of tourists underfoot.”

      “No, not at all,” Rachel said quickly, then eyed the taller, more taciturn-looking man in his mid-sixties as the pair of cowhands moved closer. “Some of the old-timers are a little slow to adjust, but I promise it won’t affect your stay here.”

      “I get it.” Jamie shrugged. “It’s a working ranch, and frankly, that’s part of the appeal.”

      “I hope you’re right,” Rachel murmured, then as if regretting the remark, glanced at Jamie. “Everything is still new for us. I kind of wish you’d wanted to come later.”

      “Hey, don’t worry about it.” She smiled at Rachel, whom she’d decided she really liked. Had they met in college, Jamie suspected they would’ve been friends. “Look,” she said, nudging her chin toward two giggly young women dressed inappropriately in heeled sandals, brief shorts and halter tops, watching a tall cowboy demonstrate a lassoing technique. “They seem to be having a good time.”

      “Oh, yeah. So is he, apparently. That’s my brother Trace.”

      At Rachel’s dry tone, Jamie grinned and got a better look at the guy’s face. She could see now that he was one of the brothers. He was kind of young and good-looking but not in the same league as Cole … who she really wanted to see again. But she didn’t dare ask, not after making that glib remark in front of his mother and sister.

      “How do I sign up for activities?” she asked as they reached the stables.

      “What specifically are you interested in?”

      “As many things as I can fit into this week.”

      “Good for you. How about we go over the schedule after dinner?”

      “Sure, and by the way, I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”

      Rachel gave her a long speculative look, then absently nodded, a slow smile lifting her mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      The stable was cool and dim after walking a few minutes in the blazing August sun. Horses stopped munching hay to curiously study the newcomer. Only a small paint seemed put off at the intrusion and tossed its mane, nickering loudly.

      “Be quiet, Bubblegum.” Rachel stopped at the stall and stroked the horse’s neck. “Mind your manners.”

      Unexpectedly overcome by the familiar smells of fresh straw, leather and saddle soap, Jamie hesitated, reliving that moment nearly twenty years ago on her first day in Georgia. Feeling utterly alone, she’d run from the strange family she’d never known and hidden in an empty stall. They’d found her, coaxed her out, hugged her, soothed her, loved her.

      She shivered.

      Rachel touched her arm. “You okay?”

      “Fine.” She shrugged. “My aunt and uncle used to have a peanut farm in Georgia before they retired. Their stable was only half this size, though.”

      Muffled voices carried from the back where it was dark and shadowed. Jamie couldn’t see anyone but she immediately recognized Cole’s quiet husky drawl.

      “I thought he’d left,” Rachel said absently.

      “Who?”

      “Cole. He’s supposed to be working on the irrigation system in the north pasture.” Rachel picked up her pace. “Cole? Jesse?”

      “Back