Shielded By The Cowboy Seal. Bonnie Vanak

else out of respect for Meg, who was supposed to arrive six hours ago.

      Maybe she had to stop somewhere to buy the dog a prime rib dinner.

      Coop stopped walking Betsy and placed her in the stall. “Good girl,” he crooned.

      His sister had had a way with animals, and could always make Betsy better.

      Betsy nosed around, looking for the carrot Brie had always placed there as a treat. Coop’s throat tightened. He stroked her withers.

      “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You can’t eat yet, not until you get over this colic.”

      Betsy whinnied.

      “I know,” he whispered, laying his head against the horse. “I miss her, too. But I promise, I’m going to do everything she would have to get you well again.”

      Giving her a final pat, he headed outside, pulling up the collar of his faded sheepskin jacket. Dark storm clouds had blotted out the moon, and the night had turned wicked cold.

      Inside the house, he went into the private family living room and found his mom sitting by the fireplace in the rocker Brie had always liked to use when she was home. Fiona glanced up, lines furrowing her brow.

      “How’s Betsy?” she asked.

      “Better.” Not exactly a lie, but he wasn’t going to worry his mom any more than necessary. “Horses are all fed, bedded down. They’ll be fine. And the guests?”

      “They left a while ago. They wanted to get a head start away from the storm. I refunded the rest of their stay.”

      Cooper wanted to protest, but his mother’s warning look stayed him. “Why?” he asked.

      “Return business is important, Cooper. I didn’t want them to think we put our guests’ safety last and money first.”

      It sounded like a wonderful principle, but it wouldn’t pay the bills. They were okay for now, but the first payment on the refinance of the farm was due soon.

      Not to mention the costs of burying Brie...

      He rubbed at the tightness in his chest. Sabrina was only twenty-six when a stray bullet pierced her body armor. She’d been responding to a routine domestic disturbance call with her partner. The husband shot them both, but Brie’s partner wore the standard departmental body armor.

      He lived.

      Brie died.

      Cooper had purchased the armor especially for his baby sis when she started working as a beat cop in dangerous areas of the city. He didn’t want her having the standard body armor the department issued. He wanted the best.

      Now Brie lay six feet under, and Combat Gear Inc., the company that produced the defective gear, kept rolling in profits. He would hire a lawyer to sue, but the company’s owner, M. E. Franklin, probably had enough money to purchase a cruise ship filled with attorneys. Coop had googled his name, but found nothing. He seemed a total mystery.

      All he’d found so far was that the bulletproof vests were invented by Randall Jacobs, vice president of Combat Gear Inc. Coop had done a little more checking and found out the man owned a posh summer home on a lake near here. Once he got over some of his grief, maybe he’d pay the man a visit.

      He studied his mother, worried about the purple shadows beneath her eyes. Today had been a tough day. Federal authorities had opened an investigation at last into Brie’s death after someone tipped them off about the faulty bulletproof vests. He’d sent the family lawyer to give a statement to the Feds and the media.

      Dredging up Brie’s death had opened old wounds. For all of them.

      Fiona’s warm brown gaze sharpened as she looked up at the antique clock on the fireplace mantel. “Isn’t your guest overdue? I made up the cottage with fresh linens and blankets, and stacked firewood.”

      Coop stiffened. “I thought she could stay at the inn.”

      “She has a vicious dog. Better if she stays in the cottage.” His mother gave him a knowing look. “With you.”

      Uh-oh. He recognized that spark in her eye. “No. Maybe for the night, but, ah, no. I can find a place for the dog.” He flexed his hands in their worn leather gloves. The cottage behind the barn, with a fabulous view of the White Mountains, had been Brie’s retreat.

      “Brie would approve of a woman in trouble staying there,” Fiona said in her gentle way. “You can’t keep that house as a memorial to your sister, Cooper. You have to let go sometime.”

      “It hasn’t even been six months.” He went to the fireplace to warm his chilled body. “And I’m not sure how much trouble this Meg is in. She lives in Palm Beach and she’s rich. She looks like a spoiled beauty queen.”

      “Don’t judge. Your friend Jarrett vouched for her. Isn’t that enough?”

      Guilt pinched him. Coop turned around with a sigh and squinted at the now-darkened skies. “I’ll try calling the number he gave me for her cell phone.”

      But after dialing it, it kept ringing. Fat flakes of snow began to fall as he paced the porch. Coop pocketed his cell and went inside.

      “I’d better go look for her.”

      “Call me when you find her.” Fiona always worried ever since Brie’s death.

      “Of course.”

      Gathering several blankets, he tugged his wool Stetson low over his brow, pulled up his collar and went outside. A blast of icy air slammed into him, sending a chill snaking down his spine. Cooper climbed into the Ford pickup and started the engine.

      Damn nasty night to be outside. Maybe the princess had decided to sightsee and didn’t have the foresight, or the courtesy, to phone and let him know she’d be delayed. But as he drove through the increasing snowflakes, worry niggled him.

      Coop knew his irritation masked a greater emotion—grief. It was far easier to give way to anger than to examine the winking light of deep grief that had gripped him since they’d lowered Brie into the ground. He’d refused to cry, held back the tidal wave of sorrow so he could stay strong for his family.

      Focus. It was what had gotten him through missions with the team and brought him home alive time after time. He squinted as the truck’s headlights barely pierced the thick gloom of snow.

       If she’s decided to hole up in some ritzy hotel and I’m out here for nothing, I’ll really be pissed.

      But the same tingle that skated down his spine grew stronger. Gut instinct. Had saved his butt a time or two before on missions, so he never ignored it.

      Instead of continuing down the main road, he turned off the side road that was a shortcut leading to the farm. Jarrett had given Meg directions, a disposable cell phone that couldn’t be tracked, and the fastest way to get to the farm. If Meg used this road and her car had broken down by chance, she’d be doomed because only locals used the shortcut.

      And most locals were smart enough to be snug at home, curled up by the fire with mugs of hot chocolate, not riding around in a late-autumn blizzard.

      He drove for two miles and was nearly ready to give up when he spotted an older model white sedan parked by the roadside. It looked deserted, but the tingle down his spine intensified.

      Cooper parked behind the car and got out. A blast of icy wind slammed into him, slicing his cheeks like tiny darting needles. Damn, that was cold! The snow had stopped and turned to freezing rain. Driving on these roads was gonna be hell, but the truck was steady and he knew this turf.

      His sole concern focused now on the occupant of the car. Using his Maglite flashlight he always carried in the truck, he shone light into the car.

      A slender woman and a dog lay on the backseat curled up beneath a quilt. Neither responded as he opened the door. The dome light overhead didn’t even turn on.

      Damn