Cade Coulter's Return. Lois Faye Dyer

coat peered at him over the top strand of barbed wire fences.

      The road curved around the base of a butte and climbed a rise. From the top, Cade saw the buildings that he’d once called home, clustered at the foot of a flat-topped hill on the far side of the valley.

      He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel after thirteen years but he hadn’t expected to feel numb.

      Maybe he’d been gone too long. Maybe the roots that once held him here were well and truly dead.

      Or maybe I’ve been driving too long with too little sleep, he thought.

      The truck and horse trailer rattled over the old bridge spanning the creek, then climbed the slope to the buildings. Cade pulled up the truck next to the corral and barn and stepped out. Rolling his shoulders to ease the tension of days spent driving, he turned in a slow circle, scanning the buildings.

      The house needed a coat of paint and held an air of abandonment, its curtains drawn behind blank windows. The barn with its low cattle shed attached at one end, the granaries and machine shop were all weather-beaten. What little paint remained on the structures was peeling from the gray boards. All the buildings looked down-at-the-heels rough but Cade’s assessing gaze found no sagging rooflines. The structures appeared to be square and solid on their foundations.

      Jiggs stamped and shifted, rocking the trailer on its axles and demanding attention.

      Cade walked to the back of the trailer, unlocked and swung the gate wide. Jiggs looked over his shoulder and gave an impatient huff.

      “Hey, boy.” Cade grinned, entering the trailer and moving past the big stud to untie him. “Little anxious to get out of here?” The horse shifted his weight and nudged Cade’s shoulder with his nose. “I don’t blame you. It’s been a long trip.”

      He caught the lead rope at the halter, just under the black’s muzzle. “Back up, big guy.”

      Jiggs obeyed, his hooves clattering on the wooden trailer deck. The minute all four feet were on solid ground, he shook himself and danced in a half circle at the end of the lead rope, lifting his head to look around. His ears pricked forward and he whinnied.

      Cade looked over his shoulder to see what had caught Jiggs’s interest, turning fully when he saw a young woman standing just outside the open barn door, a bucket of grain in one hand. Silvery blond hair brushed the shoulders of a dark green barn coat and her brown eyes were wide, the surprise on her oval face clearly indicating she hadn’t expected to see him. She wore faded jeans beneath the bulky coat and old boots covered her feet, her walk smooth and graceful as she moved toward him.

      His eyes narrowed as he tried to place her and failed. If she was a neighbor, he didn’t remember her.

      And I would have remembered, he thought. Even covered by the coat and plain jeans, he could tell her body was slim and curved. Her fair skin glowed with health in the weak afternoon sunlight, her mouth lush below a small, straight nose. And her thick-lashed brown eyes were alive with intelligence, curiosity and a feminine interest mixed with wariness.

      Everything male in him noticed—and liked what he saw.

      “Hello,” she said, her voice slightly husky. Her gaze was fastened on his face and the small frown that veed the arch of her brows cleared as she drew nearer. “You’re one of Joseph’s sons, aren’t you.”

      It wasn’t a question. The conviction in her voice was strong, mixed with the relief reflected on her face.

      “I’m Cade Coulter. Who are you?”

      Her eyes widened when he gave his name but she didn’t reply with her own. She seemed wholly absorbed in studying him and the open fascination in her deep brown eyes started slow heat simmering through his veins, his muscles tightening as her gaze swept slowly over his face and moved lower.

      Mariah stared at the man in front of her. He was tall, easily a few inches over six feet, his shoulders broad beneath a sheepskin-lined tan coat. He wore a gray Stetson over coal-black hair and beneath the brim’s shadow, black lashes framed his deep green eyes. He wasn’t conventionally handsome but there was something essentially male, powerful and vaguely dangerous about him. His face was angular with a firm jaw, strong cheekbones, straight nose and a hard mouth.

      He swept a slow, assessing look from the crown of her head to her boots and back up again. She caught her breath, awareness prickling her skin at the male heat that blazed for a brief moment in his darkened eyes before they were once again unreadable.

      She realized that he’d asked her a question but she hadn’t answered, too busy drinking in his dark good looks while shivers of excitement raced over her skin. Self-conscious heat warmed her cheeks and she struggled to conceal her reaction to him.

      “I’m Mariah Jones,” she told him. “I work here.”

      He stared at her for a moment, those green eyes unblinking. Then he looked away, sweeping the area with a quick glance. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”

      “There are only three of us—Pete Smith, J. T. Butler and me.”

      “Three of you?” His voice was harsh, incredulous. “For how long?”

      “I’ve been here four years,” she replied. “And J.T. about two. I’m not sure how long Pete worked for Joseph. He was here when I arrived.”

      Cade let his gaze sweep over the run-down buildings once again. “No wonder this place looks like hell.”

      “There aren’t enough hours in the day to keep up with everything,” she said evenly, trying to tamp down the spurt of anger caused by his comment.

      He glanced at her, lifting a brow as if surprised at the thread of defensiveness in her voice. “I didn’t say there were. But this is a big ranch. Three people aren’t enough manpower to do more than barely keep this place running.” He flicked another glance over the buildings. “Where are the other two?”

      “Pete went to town for mail and groceries. J.T. isn’t due home from school for another couple of hours.”

      “School? How old is he?”

      “Seventeen.”

      He swore under his breath and glared at her.

      “How old is Smith?”

      “Sixty-five.”

      “A kid, a guy on Social Security and a girl. What the hell was the old man thinking?”

      “If you’re referring to your father, I suspect he was doing the best he could with what he had,” she said, an unmistakable snap in her tone.

      He gave her another dark, unreadable look. “Yeah, I expect he was.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through thick black hair, raking it from his forehead in a frustrated gesture.

      Mariah had seen Joseph make that same gesture a hundred times, and the likeness between father and son was suddenly sharpened.

      Cade turned away and led the big horse to the corral. Yanking the lock bar free, he swung open the gate and walked the horse in, unsnapping the lead rope to set the animal loose. The stallion immediately trotted to the water trough and hay rack on the far side of the enclosure.

      “I’m heading into town to talk to the attorney,” Cade told her as he unhitched the horse trailer from the dusty truck. “I should be back in a couple of hours.” He yanked open the pickup door and paused. “I’ve been on the road for days and I’m tired of restaurant food. Does anyone cook around here?”

      “We take turns. Supper’s on the table in the bunkhouse at six. Tonight it’s chili.”

      “I’ll be here.” The engine turned over and the pickup rolled forward, swinging in a U-turn.

      Moments later, Mariah stood alone next to the empty horse trailer, watching a plume of dust rise behind the truck’s wheels as it sped down the gravel lane toward the highway.

      So