The Coltons of Wyoming. Beth Cornelison

off the connection to Gabby and pushed speed dial 4, ringing the land line in Tom Brooks’s room. Tom was a retired Marine and former police officer who had been shot in the hip five years ago and forced to take a desk job. Trevor had hired him this summer after it became clear Cheyenne was the target of kidnappers. He answered with a crisp, “Tom Brooks.”

      Amanda tucked her night shirt into her jeans and grabbed a sweatshirt from a drawer. “Tom, it’s Amanda. I’m so sorry to wake you, but there’s been an emergency.”

      She heard the rustle of sheets and squeak of bed springs as Tom flew into action. “What’s happened?”

      “Gabriella’s horse is sick.”

      “And you need me to guard Cheyenne while you see to the horse.”

      “Yes, please. I know you’re supposed to be off duty, but—”

      “No such thing as off-duty. My job is to protect that sweet babe of yours, whatever and whenever. I’ll be there in two.”

      “Thank you, Tom. You’re a godsend.”

      Amanda disconnected and stuck her cell phone in her back jeans pocket as she hurried into the adjoining room where her daughter slept. In the dim glow from the bunny-shaped night-light over the crib, Amanda peeked over the railing at her sleeping child. Her whole world. Her life.

      As it always did whenever she looked at her precious baby girl, Amanda’s heart swelled until she thought it might burst. How could someone so tiny and fragile stir such a deep, consuming love?

      Cheyenne gave a snuffly sigh, and Amanda bit her bottom lip, concerned over the baby’s congestion. Levi, Amanda’s half-brother and the doctor who was caring full-time for her ill father, had assured her it was nothing but a cold, that Cheyenne would be fine in a couple days. But as a first-time mother, Amanda still fretted over every runny nose and hiccup.

      Bending over the crib rail, Amanda rubbed Cheyenne’s back and tucked the fuzzy pink blanket around her daughter’s feet. Straightening, she whispered, “Oh, chickpea, what would I do without you?”

      A soft knock heralded Tom’s arrival, then he opened the door and peered into the nursery. “Miss Amanda?”

      Amanda waved him in. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. Maybe all morning. If she wakes up all congested, Levi said to give her a dropperful of this.” She handed him the decongestant bottle and backed toward the door. “Thanks again.”

      Tom nodded gravely. “Yes, ma’am. You go help that sick horse.”

      Amanda grabbed her veterinary bag from a bench at the foot of her bed and hesitated at the bedroom door. In recent months, it had become all too clear that her daughter was the target of kidnappers intending to extort money from Amanda’s wealthy family. Leaving Cheyenne, even for a few minutes, even with a trained guard, always reminded Amanda how vulnerable Cheyenne was, how quickly her baby could be snatched, how devastated she’d be if anything happened to her daughter.

      Tom noticed her hesitation and smiled. “Go on, Miss Amanda. I’ll protect your little princess as if she were my own.”

      With a sigh and a smile of gratitude, Amanda ducked into the hall and hustled to the stairs. She took the steps two at a time, grabbed her work gloves and a parka from the back closet, and was practically running by the time she reached the back door. She’d just pulled her cell phone from her back pocket to start waking ranch hands when a tall dark-haired man barreled out of the employees’ wing.

      “Hey,” she called, squinting in the darkness to determine which of the ranch hands he was. But when he raised his head, glancing her way as he strode briskly across the ranch yard, she didn’t recognize him, and a tingle of apprehension crawled down her spine. In light of the recent tragedies at the ranch, a stranger wandering the grounds in the predawn hours sounded all kinds of alarms for Amanda. “Hey, stop right there, pal!”

      The man stopped, shifting his weight restlessly and sending her an impatient glare as she hurried to catch up to him.

      She returned a hostile stare, sizing him up as she approached him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

      He flicked his black Stetson back from his face and frowned. The blue-white security lights cast harsh shadows across his square jaw and rugged cheeks. “Slade Kent. Word is there’s a horse with colic needs tending, so I’m headed to the stable.”

      Somewhat mollified, Amanda hitched her chin for him to accompany her as she continued toward the stable. “So you’re a new hand?”

      “Who’s asking?” Slade fell in step beside her, his long-legged strides outpacing her so that she was nearly jogging to keep up.

      “I’m Amanda.” When he sent her a look that said, So? she added, “Amanda Colton. Dead River Ranch belongs to my family. It’s my sister’s horse that has colic.”

      He gave a little nod. “I see. Well, ma’am, I promise to take good care of the horse. You can go back to the house and stay warm. I’ll be sure someone keeps you posted on how the horse is doing.”

      His patronizing tone grated her already-stressed nerves, and she barked an ill-humored laugh. “I also happen to be a vet.” She held up her medical bag. “I’ll be the one treating Peanut.”

      He gave a dismissive scoff. “Unnecessary. Any ranch hand worth his salt has dealt with colic before. I don’t need your help.”

      Her eyebrows shot up, and she gave him an incredulous look. “Oh, really? Who died and made you king?”

      “Not king. Foreman. Which means decisions about the livestock and horses are my call.”

      She slowed to a stop, stunned by his audacity and his job title. “You’re our new foreman? Since when?”

      He stopped when she did and faced her. “Since Dylan Frick hired me.”

      “Dylan?” She cocked her head, suspicious. “Dylan moved out of town.” To be precise, he’d entered Witness Security with his fiancée, but Slade didn’t need to know that.

      Slade gave her an impatient glance. “He made the arrangements before he left. I have an employment contract with his signature I can show you if you need proof. But later. Right now, that horse is my only concern.”

      He spun on his boot heel and continued up toward the stable.

      Clamping her mouth in a line of frustration, Amanda ran to catch up again. “Foreman or not, I’m the one with the veterinary degree, and I’m in charge of medical issues with the animals.” She panted for a breath, irritated to be winded from keeping pace with him. A white cloud formed in the frigid December air as she puffed out a deep breath. “That includes colic.”

      Slade reached the stable first and grabbed the large slide bolt that secured the alley doors. “A degree is no substitute for experience.”

      When he opened the heavy door, she scooted past him and sent him a smug grin. “Then it’s a good thing I have plenty of experience, as well.” Spotting Trevor and Gabby in the center alleyway walking Peanut in circles, she hustled toward them. She dug an elastic band out of her coat pocket and finger-combed her hair into a ponytail. “How long has he been symptomatic?”

      Relief eased the worry in Gabby’s face when she saw Amanda had arrived. “He was acting edgy when I was in here after dinner, and I couldn’t sleep, worrying about him. I got up a little while ago to check on him and found him like this.” She waved a hand at the sorrel gelding, who tossed his head, fighting the lead clipped to his halter and kicking at his abdomen with a rear hoof.

      “Have you taken all the water and feed out of his stall?”

      “Yes,” Gabby answered.

      Amanda set her medical bag on a bale of hay and retrieved her stethoscope. When she turned around, Slade had taken the lead from Trevor and was stroking Peanut’s neck. He leaned close to the horse and made a low soft noise meant to