His Holiday Bride. Jillian Hart

the brakes, launched out of his seat and followed the porch light to the back of the house.

      The door flew open before he reached the porch and a younger version of Autumn with serious blue eyes and red-brown hair stepped out to greet him. The college-aged girl had a streak of blood on her pajama top.

      “Autumn?” He choked out, unable to ask the question. The fear in his gut cinched tight.

      “You’re the sheriff? You made good time from town.” The girl spun on her heels, gestured to him and led the way toward the brightly lit back door. “Justin and my sister are out there, and they haven’t come back.”

      His knees felt half-jelly as he forced his feet to carry him up the walk. Usually he was invincible, but the thought of Autumn out there facing armed thieves made him weak. He glanced around. Nothing but miles of rangeland and cattle. The paramedics were volunteers from town who were at least twenty minutes away. And a hospital? He had no idea where the closest trauma center would be.

      This was a sign. He cared more about Autumn than he’d realized. He stumbled up the steps, across the porch and into the bright lights of a spacious kitchen.

      “You must be Ford Sherman.” A brawny man in his early fifties sat at a round oak table with his chair pushed back, T-shirt sleeve rolled up and fresh sutures exposed. He stood and extended his good hand. “Glad to meet you. I’m Frank Granger.”

      “Looks like you’ve been better.” They shook. He’d seen a wound like that before. “You took a bullet.”

      “Flesh wound, mostly.” Granger didn’t look troubled by it.

      “Dad, sit down.” Another red-haired young woman pointed to the chair and scowled at him. “You’ve been shot.”

      “Yeah, but it’s not bad.”

      “I don’t care. You’re going to sit down and stay down.” This daughter, who looked to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, dabbed a swab along tidy stitches, her stern tone at odds with the affection on her face. “You could have been killed.”

      “Nothing vital got hit.”

      “You still could have slipped off your horse, rolled down the ridge and died, so you will stay in this chair or I’ll rope you into it.” She dropped the swab into a wastebasket and reached for a sealed package of gauze. “I’m almost as good as Autumn when it comes to calf roping, so don’t tempt me.”

      “Women.” Frank shook his head, good-natured, as he eased back into his chair and turned to the business at hand. “Out in the field, I got a few good shots in. Didn’t see a fireball, but I probably forced them down. If I did, they couldn’t have gone far. They’ve got an injured man with them and likely one on the ground.”

      “I haven’t been briefed on all this.” As a country lawman, he was out of his depth. Back in Chicago they would set up a perimeter and start a search. “Anyone else hurt?”

      “Don’t know. Haven’t heard from Justin, my oldest son. He’s either out of cell range or in a lick of trouble. Since I haven’t heard gunshots, I’m guessing he and Autumn are safe.”

      Autumn. The worry in his gut cinched one notch tighter.

      “Ow, Cheyenne.” Granger winced and yanked his arm away. “Aren’t you done yet? I gotta go.”

      “Do I need to get a lasso?” the daughter threatened.

      “Honey, you go right on ahead, but remember this. You can’t outrun me.” Frank winked, rolled down his sleeve and bounded to his feet. “C’mon, sheriff. Let’s go huntin’. You know how to ride a horse?”

      “I’ll manage.”

      “That’s the spirit.” Granger opened a cabinet and tossed him a rifle. “You’ll need this. That little Glock you’re packing might not do the trick.”

      Ford’s fingers closed on the cold metal stock, and he clicked into action mode. The setting might be different, but the task was the same. This was what he knew. This was what he was good at. He led the way out the door, down the steps and into the night.

      “I can’t believe this.” Autumn rode up alongside her brother on the ridge. Below rolled the shadowed meadows and lowland hills, and a herd of quarter horses huddled in the hollows. “You walked up here?”

      “As fast as my boots could carry me.” His grip tightened on the binocs. “Had a blowout. Someone knifed the tires. I was lucky to get as far as I did.”

      “Puts a whole new light on what happened to the truck.” Autumn slipped down, rifle in hand.

      “My guess is that every tire in the place is flat.”

      “Mine, too. See anything around that smoke cloud?”

      “The chopper has to be down, but I can’t get a look. If we’ve got rustlers on the ground, we might have a chance of rounding them up.” He pocketed his binoculars in his bulky winter coat. “I need a horse.”

      “Take Aggie, I can get Bella out of the field.” She slid to the ground. “How many men are there?”

      “Won’t know for sure until we ferret ’em out, but we do know they’re armed and likely to be cranky at us for grounding them.” Justin bounded onto the mare, talking quietly to her. Aggie wasn’t used to being ridden by anyone else, and she cast a long, pleading look before Justin signaled her with his knees and pressed her forward down the crumbling slope.

      Autumn stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. In the meadow, a few colts moved closer to their mamas, and mares lifted their heads nervously. Only one horse broke from the herd and paraded head up, mane and tail flying.

      Bella. Autumn slipped and slid down to the valley floor, startling small creatures and dodging a stray bat. When she reached her girl, she noticed that there was foam on her withers and her sides were heaving.

      “Did that helicopter bother you, too?” Autumn rubbed the mare’s nose. “Did you think you were missing out on the fun?”

      A loving nicker, and Bella pressed her face against Autumn’s stomach, leaning in. Sweet. She ran her fingers through her old girl’s forelock like always and laid her cheek against the hard plane of horsey forehead. Just for a moment. A greeting between old friends.

      “I missed you, too, girl.” She broke away, rifle still in hand. “Are you ready to ride?”

      In perfect understanding, her friend whinnied, head up, tail flicking. They were a team. They’d always been the best team. She grabbed a fist of mane and swung up, Bella already moving. Without a single lead, the mare wheeled in the direction where Justin and Aggie had disappeared and took off, confident, racing the wind.

      Fencing was down. It was hard from this distance to tell if it had been cut or torn down by running cattle. The cows could be hurt, and she didn’t have her pack on her. She flipped open her cell, but still no service. When they reached the hard path along the fence line, she caught sight of Aggie and Justin trying to gather the nervous animals.

      “Helicopter!” Justin called out, pointing to the south. Looked like it was approaching the ranch house. The bird was white and well lit, the county’s south-boundary sheriff responding.

      Finally. Relief flitted through her. At least they wouldn’t be stuck with an inexperienced city sheriff in this dangerous situation. Ford Sherman might well be a good city lawman, but she couldn’t picture him riding bareback in the middle of the night while sighting and shooting a rifle. Sure, he had been great in town earlier, getting Loren on the horn, and her truck towed, and interviewing anyone within earshot of the diner. But this? Probably not. A lot of men, even strong alpha men, weren’t suited to it.

      “These cows aren’t all ours,” Justin called out when she and Bella ambled closer. “I see Parnell’s brand and someone else’s.”

      “Why am I not surprised?” This was premeditated, well planned,