Montana Sheriff. Marie Ferrarella

was.

      And this was where the only man she’d ever loved or would love was.

      But a part of her craved to explore the unknown, desperately wanted to spread her wings and fly, to see how far she could go if she pushed herself. She didn’t want to live and die in a tiny corner of Montana because she had no choice in the matter. If she decided to live in Redemption, she wanted it to be by choice, after having experienced an entire spectrum of other things—or at least something else. She didn’t want to become one of those people who died with a box full of regrets.

      Didn’t she have them anyway? Not having Cole in her life had made for a very large, very painful regret. But then, nobody had ever said that life was perfect and any choices she made of necessity came with consequences.

      Besides, she was happy.

      Or had thought she was, Ronnie amended. Until she saw Cole again.

      “You still did the right thing,” Ronnie said out loud to herself, her voice echoing about the inside of the sedan.

      If she’d told Cole that she was pregnant, there was no question that he would have married her. The question that would have come up, however, and would continue to come up for the rest of her life was would he be marrying her because he loved her—really loved her—or because it was the right thing to do? The right thing to give his name to his child and make an honest woman out of her so that there would never be any gossip about her making the rounds in Redemption?

      Ronnie knew she wouldn’t have been able to live with that kind of a question weighing her down.

      What she’d done was better.

      Not that Cole would ever see it that way.

      But that was his problem, not hers, she thought, pushing down on the accelerator.

      COLE WATCHED HER CAR BECOME smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely, then he went back to his office on the next street.

      He’d barely sat down at his desk after muttering a few words to Tim—the overly eager deputy he’d hired last year after Al St. John retired—before the door opened again and his mother walked in.

      Midge James was a lively woman, short in stature but large of heart. Over the years she’d gone from being exceedingly thin to somewhat on the heavyset side. But each time she tried to make a go of a diet, her husband Pete, Cole’s father, would tell her that she was perfect just the way she was and that he really appreciated having “a little something to hang on to.”

      Eventually she stopped trying to get down to the size where she could fit back into her wedding dress. She figured if she was lucky enough to have a man who loved her no matter what her size, she should just enjoy it. And him. So she did.

      As she walked in now, Cole saw that his mother was carrying a basket before her. A very aromatic basket that announced it was filled with baked goods—muffins most likely—before she even set the basket down and drew back the cloth she’d placed over the top.

      “Something wrong, Ma?” Cole asked as he started to rise to his feet.

      “Sit, sit, sit,” Midge instructed, waving her hand at her son in case he hadn’t picked up on her words. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured him. “Why?” she asked. “Can’t a mother visit her favorite son without there being something wrong?”

      Cole’s lips curved in a tolerant smile. “I’m your only son, Ma.”

      “Makes the choice easier, I admit,” Midge responded, punctuating her statement with her trademark cherubic smile. Crossing to his desk, she placed the basket smack in the middle. “Just thought you might like a snack.” She pulled the cloth all the way back. Beneath it were at least two dozen miniature muffins. “They’re tiny. Makes it kind of seem like you’re eating less,” she explained, one of the many diet-cheating tricks she’d picked up along the way.

      Glancing at the deputy who was eyeing the basket contents longingly from where he sat, she assured him, “There’s enough for you, too, Tim.”

      She didn’t need to say any more. Tim was on his feet, his lanky legs bringing him to Cole’s desk in less than four steps. And less than another second later, he was peeling paper away from his first of several muffins. His eyes glowed as he bit into his prize.

      “Good,” he managed to mumble, his mouth filled with rich cake and raisins.

      Midge beamed. “Glad you approve, Tim.” She pushed the basket closer to her son. “Have one, Cole,” she coaxed him.

      Cole eyed the contents and then selected a golden muffin. There were also chocolate ones and he suspected several butterscotch muffins in the batch, as well. His mother never did do things in half measures.

      “Not that I don’t appreciate you trying to fatten me up, Ma,” he said, “but why are you really here?”

      The expression on his mother’s face was the last word in innocence as she lifted her small shoulders and let them fall again. “I just felt like baking today, and then, well, you know what happens if I leave this much food around. I get tempted and I absolutely refuse to go up another dress size.”

      He eyed the basket. “You could have given them to Will,” he pointed out, mentioning the ranch foreman.

      Midge dismissed his suggestion. Been there, already done that. “Don’t worry, Will and the other hands already got their share.”

      Cole regarded the muffin in his hand for a long moment.

      “It tastes better if you eat it without the paper around it,” Midge prompted in a pseudo stage whisper.

      For a moment, he wrestled with his thoughts. And then Cole raised his eyes to his mother’s kindly, understanding face.

      “You know, don’t you?” he asked.

      For a brief moment, Midge contemplated continuing to play innocent. But Cole was too smart to be fooled for long—she doubted if she’d succeeded in fooling him even now. With a shrug, she decided to let the pretense drop. After all, she’d come here to offer him a little comfort if comfort turned out to be necessary. And if Cole let her.

      God knew Cole was as self-contained as his father had been. Her son certainly didn’t get his stoicism from her. She had always been more than willing to talk about what was bothering her.

      “Yes,” she admitted quietly.

      “How long have you known?” he asked. Just because she lived on a ranch didn’t mean that his mother was out of the loop. Hell, she was the loop.

      “Not long. I stopped by Amos’s place late yesterday afternoon to see how he was getting along.” Amos had been there for her to offer his support when her husband had passed away; it was only right that she return the favor. “I saw her car pulling up as I was leaving.”

      Cole nodded slowly as he took her words in. His expression gave none of his thoughts away. “Did you talk to her?” he finally asked.

      She’d debated stopping to exchange a few words, then quickly decided against it. Midge shook her head in response now.

      “No, I thought it’d be better if she just saw her father first. After all, Ronnie had just come much too close to losing both him and her brother. She would have,” Midge emphasized, “if it hadn’t been for you.”

      Taking credit, even when he deserved it, wasn’t what he was about. “Maybe,” Cole allowed vaguely.

      “No maybe about it,” Tim piped up jovially from his corner of the office. He looked at the man he considered to be his role model. “Folks are saying you’re a regular hero, Sheriff.”

      Cole had never cared for labels, and praise had always made him uncomfortable. Now was no different.

      “And what’s an irregular hero, Tim?” he asked.

      Caught off guard,