Cowgirl in High Heels. Jeannie Watt

A question Ellie hadn’t thought to ask. Ellie, who always thought of everything.

      She’d been rattled lately. Disorganized. Not herself.

      Ellie rang the bell. After the second ring she knocked, then, after a suitable amount of time, tried the handle. Locked. Okay. She set down her handbag and stood for a moment, hands on hips, surveying the ranch, watching for some sign of movement around the barn and outbuildings. Nothing.

      Great. Her feet hurt and the small of her back ached from sitting for too long and she wanted to get inside. Now.

      She started walking around the house, her heels clunking hollowly on the wooden porch, looking for another way in and wondering if she was going to have to call Angela to get the number of the caretaker. She tried the side entrance, the back entrance, the sliding door. No luck. She’d just pulled her phone from her jacket pocket when she heard the sound of an engine.

      Salvation.

      Ellie rounded the corner of the house in time to see a woman with long dark hair scramble out of the open Jeep.

      “Miss Bradworth?” she called as she strode up the walk, her long flannel shirt flapping loosely over very worn jeans.

      “Hunter,” Ellie called back. “Mrs. Bradworth is my aunt.”

      “Oh.” The woman quickly crossed the distance between them, taking the porch steps two at a time. “Sorry about the wait. I didn’t know you were coming until half an hour ago.”

      “Really?” How was that possible?

      The woman held out a wad of keys and then, after Ellie automatically took them, shoved her hands into her back pockets. “I was in town when Walt called and got here as quickly as I could. I hope you haven’t waited for too long.”

      There was nothing about the woman’s tone that was impolite, but there was nothing that was particularly friendly, either. Ellie felt rather like an interloper. Well, she was an interloper related to the owner of this place.

      “Thanks for hurrying,” Ellie said, holding out her free hand. “Ms....”

      “Garcia. Jessie Garcia.” Jessie met her gaze directly as they shook hands and Ellie was struck by how really gorgeous the woman was, with high cheekbones and amazing dark eyes.

      “I’m Ellison Hunter. Milo and Angela’s niece.”

      “Will you be staying long?”

      “My stay is open-ended.”

      Jessie pulled her mouth into a polite smile, yet Ellie sensed she was not pleased with the answer. Why?

      Probably because life was easier when the staff had the place to themselves.

      “I hope you enjoy your time here,” Jessie said coolly.

      “I’m sure I will.”

      “There’s no fresh food in the house, but you should be able to find some things in the freezer and pantry.”

      “Thanks.”

      Jessie smiled slightly then started back down the steps.

      “Excuse me,” Ellie called, waiting for the woman to turn back before she said, “How can I get hold of Mr. Feldman?”

      “Walt?” A shadow crossed Jessie’s face. “It’s Sunday.”

      “Yes.”

      “It’s his day off.”

      “I see. And after that?”

      “I’ll have him give you a call. Okay?”

      “Thank you.”

      Ellie had the distinct impression that Jessie wanted to escape and was getting annoyed at the prolonged conversation, but her tone was courteous when she said, “Anything else?”

      I want to meet with the staff.... But she’d pass that along through Mr. Feldman when they got a chance to talk. “Not right now.”

      “Well, have a good one.”

      The woman climbed into the Jeep. It coughed once, then the engine caught and roared to life. Jessie raised a hand then turned the Jeep into a tight U and sped back down the road in the direction from which she’d come.

      Ellie held up the ring of nine keys, frowned a little and then picked one at random. Surprisingly, it slid into the lock and the mechanism clicked open. A bed and a bath awaited.

      Maybe her luck was changing for the better.

      CHAPTER TWO

      RYAN HAD HAD his share of knocks in life, but he was having a hard time recalling a day where he’d had two big emotional wallops back-to-back like this.

      Right now he had no idea where his father was, what he was doing or thinking or planning—although it had better not involve his mother—but he knew exactly where his brother was: lying in a hospital with a career-ending crushed leg. Ryan was more shaken by the accident than he wanted to admit.

      For almost two decades, Matt had been his fiercest roping competition, and for fifteen of those years, he’d known they were half brothers, thanks to a painful heart-to-heart with his mother after that fistfight in the rodeo grounds’ john. That conversation had explained why Matt hated him so much—because he existed.

      Well, Ryan was pissed at the situation himself. They shared a father, but Matt had been the son with a father in residence. Matt had been the son with the fancy horses and trucks and trailers. He’d enjoyed the kind of easy, charmed career that money made possible—right up until a few hours ago when that charmed career had come to a screeching halt, leaving the way wide open for Ryan to take his place in the National Finals.

      Ryan didn’t feel good about that at all. The short visit to his highly doped-up brother in the hospital before he’d started the drive home hadn’t helped. All Matt had been concerned about was that Ryan not call his mother.

      As if.

      He needed a tall beer and about ten hours of sleep. Then maybe he’d be in better condition to deal with all the shit that had gone down today.

      He turned down the two-mile-long driveway leading to the Rocky View Ranch, where he’d lived and worked since graduating high school. At one time, back in his great-grandfather’s day, the ranch had encompassed more than two sections and employed a dozen people. Most of the hands had lived in the bunkhouse, but there were two staff houses with their own corrals and outbuildings located half a mile from the main house, which gave the residents some privacy. The ranch manager and his family had lived in one house and the rural schoolteacher had stayed in the other for nine months out of the year.

      Now the ranch was smaller by a section, the school had been bulldozed thirty years ago, and Ryan’s friends and coworkers, Jessie and Francisco Garcia, lived in the schoolteacher’s house. Walt Feldman, who’d owned the place up until a year ago, lived in the manager’s place next door. Most of the time, he was okay with that.

      Most of the time.

      Ryan still lived in the small three-room homestead house behind the barn on the main ranch that he’d moved into the week after graduating college with his degree in range management. It was hot in summer, cold in winter, way too cramped and right now he wanted to get there like nobody’s business.

      Jessie and Francisco’s place came into view, lit to the max. Walt’s house, an eighth of a mile away, was dark. Ryan had barely registered how much he didn’t like that when Jessie stepped out of her house and waved frantically at him before trotting down the steps as he slowed to a stop.

      “We have a problem,” she said as soon as he rolled the window down. “One of the family is at the house. She came this afternoon. Walt didn’t even tell me until she was already on the property. He called me from town and I was lucky to get the keys down to her.”

      Well, shit.

      “Do