Colorado Abduction. Cassie Miles

pivoted and went down the hall toward the kitchen where the family’s housekeeper, Polly Sanchez, was taking a batch of her famous raisin rolls out of the oven. The heat from her baking steamed up the north-facing windows. A mouthwatering aroma filled the huge kitchen.

      “Can I help?” Carolyn asked.

      “Good heavens, no. I’m in a hurry, and I don’t have time to clean up after you.” With an expert flourish, Polly spread gooey icing on top of the rolls. “Soon as I’m done here, I’m heading home to catch a couple of winks before morning.”

      As Carolyn watched the icing melt into rich swirls she realized that she hadn’t eaten for over ten hours, not since noon when she had sushi from the new Japanese fusion restaurant down the street from her Denver office. Lunchtime seemed like decades ago.

      She rested her hand on Polly’s round shoulder. “Thanks for coming over to help out.”

      Beneath her curly gray hair, Polly’s forehead crinkled with worry wrinkles. “You know I’d do anything for your family.”

      For the past twelve years, Polly had worked at the ranch as housekeeper and chief cook. Her husband, Juan, had been a full-time ranch hand—and an expert at repairing machinery—until three years ago when he was stricken with MS. Now, his hands were too weak and unsure to hold a wrench. As soon as she’d learned of his illness, Carolyn authorized payment for a full pension and upped Juan’s medical coverage to pay for treatment. She’d offered to do the same for Polly so she could stay home with Juan, but the buxom little woman insisted that she needed to keep busy.

      During the spring calving and fall roundup when they had a full crew, Polly had two employees working under her. At this time of year, her schedule was less demanding.

      “You need me here,” Polly said in a brisk tone. “Tomorrow morning, Juan and I will move over here to the ranch house, and we’ll stay until Nicole comes home.”

      “That’s really not necessary,” Carolyn said.

      “Honey, you’ve got a houseful of FBI agents and bodyguards. And you can’t hardly boil water without setting the house afire. How did you plan to feed all these hungry men?”

      “I can call for pizza.”

      “Pizza for breakfast?” Polly clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Y’all sit right here at the kitchen table. I’ll bring your coffee and raisin rolls.”

      Taking the seat opposite Burke, Carolyn knew that the time had come to answer his question. “Okay, here’s what happened between me and Sam Logan.”

      “Logan?” Polly set mugs of coffee on the table. “He’s turned into a regular nutcase. He runs that Sons of Freedom bunch over at the Circle M. It’s not all Sons. There are families. The women all wear housedresses and tie their hair back. Same with the kids.”

      Burke turned toward her. “Is it a religious group?”

      “Lord, no.” Polly bustled back to the counter. “Logan doesn’t have a religious bone in his body. Does he, Carolyn?”

      “Not when we were going out.” She remembered Sam Logan as a tall, lean guy with a blond ponytail and a charming smile—handsome enough to cruise by on his looks. She wasn’t surprised that he’d gathered followers.

      “His group,” Polly said, “wants to go back to the pioneer days. They’re against big business, government interference, taxation without representation and all that.”

      Burke shrugged. “Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

      His comment surprised Carolyn. What kind of fed was opposed to government interference? She’d thought FBI agents couldn’t wait to bust down doors and take everybody into custody.

      Polly placed a plate full of raisin rolls on the table. “People around here call them SOF for Sons of Freedom. Or Silly Old Fools. If the only thing they wanted was to go back to the good old days, I wouldn’t have a problem with them. Live and let live, I always say.”

      “But you have a problem,” Burke said. “What is it?”

      She reached behind her back to untie the strings of the gingham apron she wore over her jeans and cotton shirt. “Their back-to-nature ideas don’t extend to alcohol. A couple of the SOF boys drove into Riverdale, drunk as skunks, and raised hell. A local teenager got hurt. The sheriff could tell you more.”

      Carolyn bit into her raisin roll and let the gooey sweetness melt in her mouth.

      “How do they support themselves?”

      “Lord knows where they get their money. But they seem to have plenty. Nate Miller didn’t rent out his land for cheap, that’s for dang sure.”

      Carolyn glanced over at Burke who seemed totally focused on devouring his raisin roll. His dark eyes took on a glaze of contentment. His jaw relaxed as he chewed. The other FBI agent was likewise transported.

      “These are great,” Burke said. “Ma’am, you’ve got to come back tomorrow.”

      Polly pinched his cheek. Actually pinched Burke’s cheek! Carolyn couldn’t believe that Special Agent I’m-In-Charge would stand for such familiarity. Then she remembered his kiss on her forehead. Underneath the tough exterior, he was kind of a marshmallow.

      “I’ll be back in time to throw together some breakfast.” Polly turned to Carolyn. “The guest bedrooms are made up with fresh sheets and towels. Call me if you need anything else tonight. G’night, y’all.”

      She headed out of the kitchen toward the front door.

      “Nice woman,” Burke said. “Must have been good for you to have Polly around while you were growing up. She’s real motherly.”

      “I have a mother,” Carolyn said quickly. “Her name is Andrea. She and my father divorced when I was seven.”

      “Does she live around here?”

      Thinking of her stylish mother choosing to stay in rural Colorado amused Carolyn. “Not hardly. She runs an art gallery in Manhattan where she lives with her second husband and my twelve-year-old half sister.”

      “Big change in lifestyle.”

      “Yeah, she traded in her cowgirl boots for designer stilettos.”

      Carolyn regretted that she hadn’t spent more time with her mom when she was growing up. Andrea had wanted to take her and Dylan with her when she left, but they both chose the ranch. It was their home, their heritage. “I should call Mom and tell her what’s going on.”

      “Tomorrow is soon enough,” Burke said.

      He was probably right. There was nothing her mother could do from New York, and Carolyn had more pressing concerns for tonight. “I need to get on the phone with my financial officers. And my bankers. I’ve got to start putting together the money for the kidnappers. Maybe I should—”

      “Later,” Burke said. “First, I want to know more about Sam Logan.”

      “Like what?” The sugar rush from Polly’s raisin rolls had energized her. The inside of her head churned with dozens of things she needed to handle ASAP. “There’s not much to tell.”

      “When you broke up with him were there hard feelings?”

      “Some,” she admitted. “It was a long time ago, right after grad school. I’d come back to the ranch and I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my pretty new MBA.”

      For lack of any other plan, she’d started dating Logan, who was a great guy to party with—handsome, charming and sexy. When their relationship started to get serious, she was uncomfortable. Her father, who had been ailing, sided with Logan, telling Carolyn it was high time she settled down.

      But she’d just returned from school in New York where she had a chance to watch her career-focused mother. The corporate lifestyle