Montana Sheriff. Marie Ferrarella

stopped his vehicle in front of the all-too-recent scene of the assault on his soul.

      It was obvious that Ed was at odds with the store’s truck.

      Cole stuck his head out of the driver’s-side window. “Something wrong, Mr. Haney?” he asked the man mildly.

      Ed’s head jerked up. For a second, he appeared surprised that he’d been overheard. And then he scowled. Deeply.

      “Two somethings,” he corrected, annoyed. “First the truck won’t start, and then Billy calls in. He only works part-time for me,” Ed explained. “Says he’s got a cold and he’s taking a sick day. You ask me, he just wants to spend time with that girl of his, Judith Something-or-other—”

      “Julie,” Cole corrected. “Julie Gannon.”

      It still astonished him, though he gave no indication, how much his memory seemed to have sharpened ever since he’d become sheriff. It was almost as if the responsibility had caused him to suddenly pay attention to the comings and goings of all the locals—something he’d never had time for or interest in before.

      As for names, up until four years ago, they usually eluded him. They were incidental, beside the point. Only faces had left an impression. Now every face had a name and a history.

      “Yeah, her,” Ed agreed, waving his hand vaguely. “Point is that I’ve got this here order for Ronnie’s dad and nobody to take it out to the ranch.” He raised his eyes to Cole’s at the end of the statement, as if he was waiting for something. When Cole maintained his silence, Ed prodded a little. “You wouldn’t be going out that way anytime today now, would you, Sheriff?”

      Cole had wondered how long it would take for the store owner to get around to this. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he replied.

      “Oh.”

      Had he not heard it himself, Cole wouldn’t have thought it was possible to pack that much emotion and distress into a single two-letter word.

      With a sigh, he decided to put the man out of his misery.

      “Guess I could look in on Amos,” Cole allowed. “Seeing as how there doesn’t seem to be anything going on in Redemption that needs my immediate attention.”

      Ed instantly brightened. “You’d be doing me a huge, huge favor, Sheriff.” He beamed at the younger man. “I told everybody that you were the right man for the job.”

      Now the man was going a little overboard. “Being sheriff doesn’t include making deliveries for the local stores,” Cole pointed out.

      “No,” Ed readily agreed. “But looking out for the town citizens and going that extra mile—or ten—for them kinda does.” He moved in closer, dropping his voice as if he was sharing a timeless secret with him. “People remember a man who looks out for them. You never know when that might come in handy.”

      Cole laughed shortly. “First snow hasn’t come down yet and you’re already busy shuffling, Mr. Haney,” he marveled. “Okay, you want me to send Hank on over to take a look at your truck, see what’s wrong?” Approaching the back of the defunct vehicle, Cole began transferring the load that was intended for Ronnie’s ranch from Ed’s truck to his.

      Ed joined in, eager to get the job done before Cole had a chance to change his mind. “No, no, I’ll give him a call myself. You’re already doing way more than I’ve got a right to expect.”

      Humor quirked the corners of his mouth. “You remember that, Mr. Haney,” Cole told him.

      And that was how, fifteen minutes later, Cole found himself on the road to the McCloud ranch despite the fact that after this morning’s run-in with Ronnie, he’d had absolutely no intention of going anywhere near the sprawling horse ranch.

      Damn, who the hell was he kidding? Nobody ever made him do anything he didn’t want to do at least somewhere deep down in his soul. Being a pushover was for men without spines or convictions, and he had always possessed both—in spades. If he had wanted to avoid seeing Ronnie again, he wouldn’t have agreed to take Haney’s order over to the ranch.

      Truth was that he was in the market for an excuse so he could put himself in her path again. To give her yet another opportunity to explain why she’d taken off that way six years ago. Because up until that devastating day, he’d thought she loved him. Been convinced she loved him. He damn well knew that he loved her.

      But she’d taken off without saying a word. Love meant talking things out, at least once in a while, didn’t it?

      Apparently not for Ronnie.

      Glancing down at the speedometer, Cole saw he was pushing his truck hard without realizing it. The intensity of his thoughts telegraphed themselves through his body, making him press down on the accelerator. He was going ninety-one miles an hour. Cole eased back on the pedal.

      There was nothing else out on the open road—mostly a given in these parts—but still, if someone did suddenly come around and clock him, how would it look to see the sheriff going more than twenty-five miles over what was posted as the speed limit?

      Cole frowned and kept one eye on the speedometer. Being the sheriff of the town could be really confining.

      RONNIE WAS DEFINITELY NOT looking forward to the long drive to Helena, not coming so soon on the heels of her marathon drive over from Seattle. She really wanted to curl up somewhere and take a very long nap. After seeing Cole, she felt drained.

      But then, she also felt incredibly wired. Cole had always managed to do that to her, to get everything inside of her moving at top speed with just a look or a touch.

      Especially a touch, she remembered, her mind drifting.

      She wasn’t here for a reunion, Ronnie reminded herself sternly. She was here to help her father run the ranch while he—and Wayne—recovered. And she was here for Wayne.

      To see her older brother before—

      No, there was not going to be a “before,” she upbraided herself. Wayne would be fine. Just fine.

      Positive thoughts, she would only have positive thoughts, Ronnie silently ordered herself. She wasn’t one of those people who believed in transmitting energy or “vibes” or any of that kind of far-out nonsense, but on the other hand, keeping a good thought couldn’t exactly hurt, right?

      At this point, she wasn’t about to rule out trying anything short of waving a chicken over Wayne’s head and chanting some kind of strange, unfathomable incantation.

      Wayne was going to be fine, he was going to be fine, she silently insisted again. No reason to think otherwise.

      Glancing over her shoulder, Ronnie looked in the direction of the house. She’d left Christopher to entertain her father—the boy had actually succeeded in making her father smile a couple of times since they got there.

      She’d also left Juanita, the housekeeper who had been with the family for as long as she could remember, watching over her father and her son. That freed her up to go see her brother.

      She had to brace herself, she thought, for what she might see. She’d never known a day when Wayne, six foot four, tanned with wide shoulders, a small waist and powerful arms, wasn’t the absolute picture of robust health and strength. Seeing him any other way would be a shock to her system.

      But she couldn’t let on that it was because, despite the fact that he was still in a coma, she felt that on some level, he would be able to see her reaction. She didn’t want anything daunting his spirits and keep them from rallying.