The Way We Wed. Pat Warren

      Red Rock Ranch, previous summer

      Jeff leaned against the corral fence, one booted foot propped on the bottom rung, lazily watching the horses on a hot August afternoon. Red Rock Ranch in northern Arizona was the perfect place for him to recuperate after his ordeal in Idaho, or so East had said. His dad had told him to do as little or as much as he wanted, not to push himself, to let his psyche heal.

      However, Jeff had arrived only yesterday and he’d already discovered that he wasn’t very good at doing nothing.

      Red Rock was another of SPEAR’s legitimate businesses, a working cattle ranch that also provided adventure vacations for monied tourists. But more importantly, it was a SPEAR training site ideally situated in the rugged mountains surrounding the ranch. It was beautiful country with its freshwater streams, the isolated location that brought about pitch-black nights, the silence broken only by the animals nearby.

      And there were plenty of them, two thousand head of Brahman-cross cows, twenty bulls and a couple dozen horses. The nearest town was two hours away on a rough dirt road scarcely navigable without an ATV. There were several of those around, too, and even an ultralight aircraft the manager used to fly out each morning over the 120 acres to check the water supply, fences and livestock. It was a huge operation and Jeff had learned to respect the dozen or so ranch hands who kept things running smoothly.

      He eased his hat back farther on his blond head and glanced up to watch a hawk chase a low-flying quail. He’d only visited Red Rock once before in his late teens, but the manager, Slim Huxley, remembered him well. That summer, Slim had taught him to ride a horse, how to spot fresh mountain lion tracks and the best way to round up cattle to herd them to a different pasture, and a whole lot more. East had commented when Jeff had returned to Condor that fall that he’d sent away a boy and gotten back a man, for Jeff had filled out and muscled up.

      Suddenly the lazy afternoon quiet was broken by the sound of a galloping horse coming closer. Jeff turned his head in the direction of the open pastureland off to the left.

      She was some distance away yet, astride a chestnut mare, her short dark hair flying about her face. With the pounding of each hoof, red dust sprayed from the dry rocky soil beneath the short, tough grass. Luckily there were no trees in her path for she was riding at a pretty good clip, heading for the barn right behind him. Straightening, he watched her approach.

      Now he could tell she was as one with the horse, leaning forward over the thick neck, grasping handfuls of coarse mane. She was a small woman, yet she seemed totally un-afraid of the huge beast. Fascinated, Jeff wondered who she was, this woman who rode so confidently. He was aware there were about twenty tourists staying at the ranch just now, but none that he’d seen ride like that.

      The mare sensed the ride was nearly over and seemed reluctant to stop even though they were nearing the barn. Finally, the big horse gave in and moved into a canter, then a walk. Moments later, both mare and rider came to a halt near him. The woman swung out of the saddle with a move so graceful that he knew she’d done it many times before.

      Jeff studied her in silence, taking his time to admire. She was small and feminine-looking despite the outsize man’s shirt and snug jeans she wore. Her wind-tossed hair was a rich brown, glossy, curling forward at her chin. Her face was flushed from her ride, a lovely olive complexion hinting at a Mediterranean heritage, her features fine-boned. Her mouth had a full lower lip that immediately had him wondering how it would feel to kiss her.

      Jeff leaned against the fence and waited for her to notice him.

      “Good girl,” the woman told the mare as she stroked the horse’s hide. The horse bobbed her big head up and down, then stretched to nuzzle the rider. The woman let out a husky laugh, then swung about and spotted Jeff for the first time. She shook back her hair while her chocolate-brown eyes slowly took inventory of him from his black Stetson to his leather boots, lingering just a heartbeat too long on his midsection.

      Suddenly she smiled and Jeff felt his heart do a somersault.

      “You must be new,” she said in a voice as husky as her laugh. She stepped closer, held out her hand. “I’m Tish Buckner.”

      He straightened, took her hand, slender but capable, and felt a jolt skitter up his spine. Her fingers trembled in his grasp and he knew she felt something, too. He watched nerves dance in her surprised gaze, saw her try to conceal her reaction.

      “Jeff Kirby,” he said, relieved that his voice hadn’t cracked since he felt like a pubescent teenager meeting his first girl. He could easily stand here holding her hand and staring into those fathomless brown eyes forever, he decided. Lord, but she was beautiful.

      “Nice to meet you,” Tish replied, then tugged her hand free of his, but kept her eyes on his face. She studied him a moment longer, then raised her firm chin that hinted at a stubborn streak and handed him the mare’s reins. “Would you cool her down, please? Her name’s Belladonna and she belongs in stall 10.”

      It took a moment for Jeff to realize she thought he was one of the ranch hands. Amusement bubbled up inside him, but he struggled not to react to her somewhat haughty, lady-of-the-manor attitude. A natural mistake, he supposed, seeing as how he was hanging around the corral wearing worn jeans, a denim work shirt and scuffed boots.

      “Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling down at her. He was half a foot taller at the very least. He had a sudden urge to reach over and touch her shiny hair, to watch the heat move into those big eyes. Or would they turn cool and frosty? he wondered. He decided to find out.

      Moving one step closer, Jeff raised his hand and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, then let his fingers linger in the softness. He watched the sun get caught in her eyes and fleck the brown with gold as she narrowed them at him, then stepped back.

      “If you value your hand, you won’t do that again,” Tish said, her voice suddenly cold as a mountain stream.

      So she was skittish, like a newborn filly. She didn’t seem like the average city-bred tourist who came to Red Rock for a ranch vacation, Jeff thought. She was too good a horsewoman and definitely not interested in a flirtation with a cowboy. No rings on her fingers, he noticed, so she probably wasn’t attached. If she was a SPEAR agent, he hadn’t heard of her. His gaze slid to her mouth, that full lip that seemed to invite a man to explore. No, he definitely hadn’t met her before. He’d have remembered that mouth. He’d love to question her, but he decided it might be more fun to allow her to think he was a hired hand. For now.

      Jeff dropped his hand, gave her a lazy smile. “No offense meant, ma’am. I guess you don’t like to be touched.” It was his turn to narrow his gaze, as if sizing her up. “But maybe you just need to be touched by the right man.”

      Now there was fire in her eyes as she stiffened. Without another word, she turned and caressed the mare’s flank, noticeably angry when she saw that her hand wasn’t steady. “See you tomorrow, baby,” she whispered to Belladonna. Turning, Tish walked away, her back ramrod straight, her shoulders obviously tense.

      Jeff watched her go until she was out of sight, then led the mare to the side pasture to walk her awhile before wiping her down after that vigorous run. “Sure wish you could talk, Belladonna,” Jeff commented. “I’d love to hear all about that lady.”

      Red Rock Ranch consisted of several outbuildings including separate barns for milking cows and newborn calves, others for insemination and birthing as well as horse stables. There was also a large bunkhouse where the ranch hands lived and an adjacent mess hall that had its own cook. The tourists vacationed in a luxurious three-story building that offered spectacular views from deluxe suites. Their dining room took up nearly half of the lower floor.

      SPEAR agents stayed in the two-story main house with large, homey rooms with private baths on the top floor. On the lower level was a rustic lobby with slate flooring, a conference room, the manager’s office and a great room with a huge stone fireplace, comfortable furniture, a large-screen television and a full wall of bookcases filled to over-flowing.

      There was also the dining room which