The Wrangler's Bride. Justine Davis

that handsome, well-bred, cool, calm Jake Fortune was guilty of the spectacular murder of a Hollywood icon.

      But she knew better than most that troubled waters could hide a multitude of sins.

      Three

      “Hey!”

      It came out as a yelp, and Grant couldn’t help laughing as Joker again tugged Mercy’s tidy ponytail into complete disarray. She backed away and gave the big Appy a disgusted look.

      “I’ve got to stop using that apple shampoo,” Mercy muttered, tugging at her pale blond hair.

      “It’s more than that,” he said, still chuckling. “I feed him the real thing, and I sure don’t get this kind of reaction.”

      It was nothing less than the truth; in the week she’d been here, Mercy had become the focus of the horse’s world. He neighed loudly whenever she came into sight, sulked grumpily if she didn’t pay him enough attention, and complained noisily if she paid too much attention to any other horse.

      “I’m just somebody new,” she said. “Whose hair happens to smell like his favorite snack.”

      “Not just somebody new, something. Not many women come here, and those that do tend to stay away from him.”

      “Ah,” Mercy said, smiling again. “So he likes the ladies, is that it?”

      “It’s part of his job. He is a stallion, after all,” Grant pointed out, wondering if she would be embarrassed by the earthy explanation.

      Mercy’s smile became a grin, and Grant realized she wasn’t easily embarrassed now, any more than she had been twelve years ago.

      “I suppose it is,” she said easily. “Maybe you should get him a lady of his own.”

      “He has a string of them, every breeding season,” Grant said dryly.

      “A job most males would envy,” she said.

      He raised a brow at her; had there been a note of sourness in her voice? Almost of accusation? He’d never been one to accept universal guilt for the wrongs done by the entire male population, considerable though they might be, and he wasn’t going to start now.

      “Maybe,” he said. “But the rest might feel sorry for him for being a sucker for a city girl.”

      Her brows furrowed, and he saw the same expression cross her face that he imagined had just crossed his own, as if she were wondering if he was accusing her of something. He hadn’t meant to; he was long past his old anger at city women and the games they played.

      “And that’s a bad thing?”

      “Let’s just say city girls belong in the city.”

      Her brows rose. “I see. And your mother? Does she belong there, too?”

      He grimaced at her painfully accurate thrust. Mercy had never been one to back down from a confrontation, and he should have guessed that wouldn’t have changed. Especially since she was now a cop.

      “She feels she belongs with Nate. Wherever that might be. But she’s happy, and that’s all that matters.”

      “But you’d rather she was happy back here.”

      Grant let out a short breath, sorry he’d ever started this. “What I’d rather doesn’t matter, either. Even though she was born here in Wyoming, she felt…too isolated here. There were no other women on the ranch, the closest neighbor is miles away, and Clear Springs even farther.”

      “I can understand that,” Mercy said, all the challenge vanishing from her voice. “Your mother is a very outgoing, gregarious woman, she likes people, and it would be hard for her to feel so alone.”

      “Yes.”

      “Still, it must have been awfully painful for her to leave you here while she moved to Minneapolis. I know how much she loves you. Family is everything to her.”

      “She didn’t leave me. I chose to stay here.”

      She gave him an odd look that he couldn’t quite interpret. “I know. She told me that even at four years old you were a stubborn cowboy.”

      He drew back a little, and his brows lowered. “My mother told you that?”

      “She said when she married Nate she asked if you wanted to come live with them. Your answer was to kick Nate in the shin and run away.”

      Grant felt himself flush. “My mother talks too much.”

      “Are you upset because she said it, or because she said it to me?”

      “Both,” he muttered. But a sudden thought made his eyes narrow as he looked at her. “Just when did this conversation take place?”

      “Oh, right before Christmas, as I recall. I remember helping Kristina with that marvelous tree.”

      Christmas? Almost a year ago? What had Mercy been doing discussing him with his mother then? And then another thought hit him. He’d been with his family at Christmas last year, and Mercy hadn’t even been mentioned, he knew that, or he wouldn’t have been so surprised when Kristina called about her. And if she’d been around, he was sure his mother would have mentioned it; she felt it was her duty to try and make Grant feel part of the family, which included telling him about everyone’s doings, and that would have included Kristina’s closest friend, if she’d been there.

      “I was at mom’s the whole holiday week last year, and you weren’t around,” he said.

      She’d been off with her now deceased partner and lover, no doubt, Grant thought suddenly, wishing he hadn’t said anything. But she didn’t react with pain or shock or grief, she merely grinned at him.

      “I meant Christmas twelve years ago, Grant.”

      He blinked. “Oh.” Then he scowled at her. “You set me up for that.”

      “Yep,” she agreed blandly. “And you bit.”

      She turned back to Joker. She patted his neck, then rubbed gently at his velvety nose, and the stallion nickered softly and let out a gusty sigh of unmistakable pleasure. And Grant had to laugh once more.

      He’d wondered how she managed to be a cop, as small and delicate and fragile as she seemed. But he was beginning to see that her sense of humor, her wit and her quick intelligence probably went a long way toward making up for whatever she lacked in size, muscle and brawn. She might not be able to physically intimidate, but he had a feeling the person who tried to outwit her or outthink her would quickly learn a sad lesson, and probably wind up outwitted himself.

      “Yes, you big lunk,” she said to the horse, in a soft tone that proved she wasn’t at all immune to the big Appy’s whimsical charm, “you are a beauty. But you know that, don’t you? Pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?”

      Joker snorted, and stretched his neck out for more of her rubbing caresses. Grant watched her small, slender hands stroke the glossy black hide, and felt an odd tightening low in his belly.

      “You could make even a city girl like me want to learn to ride, couldn’t you?”

      Grant looked at her sharply, wondering if her use of his mocking term was meant for him. But she didn’t look at him, merely continued her stroking of the blissfully happy horse’s heavily muscled neck.

      For the first time in his life, Grant McClure found himself envying a horse. And he didn’t like the realization one bit.

      “Thanks for fixing that bridle for me, Chipper.”

      The young hand looked at him, startled. “I didn’t, Mr. McClure. I didn’t have time to get to it, by the time we found that stray colt and I got that fence repaired.”

      The colt, one of the first of Joker’s get that had been born on the M Double C, had gotten out of a small