Secluded with the Cowboy. Cassie Miles

here,” he said coldly. His mother had divorced Dylan’s father and moved to Manhattan when Dylan was only five years old. “I didn’t invite her.”

      No surprise. He’d never forgiven his mother for leaving, despite the obvious fact that Andrea was a city woman. And she was happy in New York. Years ago she’d remarried and had another child—a half sister that Dylan had never met. “Why is she here?”

      “Carolyn called and told her you’d been kidnapped. Andrea took it upon herself to come out here. A waste of time.”

      “Don’t be hard on her. She wanted to offer support.”

      “Too late for that.”

      Nicole recognized certain unfortunate parallels between Dylan’s mother and herself. They both had married strong-willed ranchers. Dylan’s father, Sterling Carlisle, had a reputation for being tough, demanding and ambitious. In the late 1980s he’d changed his ranching methods to organic before that became the thing to do. Sterling had established a family empire that had grown into a multimillion-dollar business. But there had been a personal cost. He’d made a lot of enemies. And his intense focus on the ranch might have left Andrea feeling isolated and abandoned. Nicole knew how it felt to be ignored while Dylan tended to business.

      “I’m glad your mother is here,” she said. “The only other time I’ve seen her was at our wedding, but I’ve kept in touch. You know, with Christmas cards and e-mails. Family is important, Dylan.”

      “I know.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and she guessed that he was holding back a hostile comment about his mother.

      “I still miss my parents.” She’d been an only child, adopted by parents who were older, both in their late forties when she was an infant. Both had passed away before her twenty-first birthday. “I never had any other relatives.”

      “You’ve got me.” He stood by the rocking chair and took her hand. “You’re everything to me. My family. My partner. My friend. My lover.”

      In spite of her aches and pains, she wanted to be in his arms, to replace her memories of captivity with sweet intimacy. She wanted his kisses, wanted to feel…wanted. Yet, when he leaned closer, she pushed him away. “Not yet. I’m too gross. I need to take my bath.”

      “I can wait.”

      She rose from the rocking chair, grabbed another energy bar and moved toward the bathroom. “This might take a long time.”

      “Need any help?”

      His offer was tempting, but she refused. Her plan was to shower first and wash her hair, four or five times. Then she’d soak until every pore of her body was clean.

      He stood in the bathroom doorway. “I’ll be waiting out here until you’re done.”

      She started the shower. After she stripped off the clothes she’d worn for so many days, she opened the door and tossed them out. “I never want to see these again.”

      “They’re gone,” Dylan said.

      She closed the door again, grateful to be home and in control of her life. Naked, she stepped into the shower. The hot water sluiced down her body, washing away the top layer of grime. With a washcloth she scrubbed hard, hoping to erase the horror and humiliation. Will I ever be clean again?

      Nate had forced her to do things she never wanted to do—to look at her husband in the eye and tell him she wanted a divorce. She’d had no choice. If she’d disobeyed, they would both be dead.

      Dylan understood. He didn’t blame her for what she’d done. Her tears mingled with the pelting water of the shower. She needed more time to forgive herself.

      A FEW HOURS LATER, Dylan woke from the best sleep he’d had in seven days with Nicole snuggled up beside him on the bed. After her soak in the tub, her skin smelled like spring flowers. Her blond hair was still damp. When he nestled her small body against him, his heart swelled. She’d come back to him, back to where she belonged.

      He hadn’t planned to fall asleep on their bed while she was in the bathroom, but once he’d stretched out on top of the covers, he faded fast. During the whole time she’d been kidnapped, he hadn’t once slept in their bed. He couldn’t. Not until she was beside him.

      “Nicole,” he whispered. “Darlin’, are you awake?”

      Her breathing was slow and steady, indicating the kind of deep sleep that came from sheer exhaustion.

      He noticed that she’d left the bedside lamp burning, which was odd. Usually she blocked out every glimmer of light before going to bed. Being held in that dank root cellar must have made her think differently about the darkness.

      Her fingers curled loosely below her chin. He noticed the bruises at her wrists where the handcuffs had been. Seeing those marks infuriated him. He eased the sleeve of her nightgown higher up her arm, revealing more black and blue skin. Damn Nate Miller. The son of a bitch had escaped.

      Dylan glanced at the bedside clock. It was only a few minutes past eleven o’clock. While Nicole was sleeping, he could slip downstairs and find out what was happening with the ongoing investigation into Nate’s whereabouts.

      Leaving the bed, he tucked the covers up to her chin. She didn’t stir. Not a bit. Not even when he kissed the tip of her nose. His wife was an angel from heaven. And Nate deserved the tortures of hell for what he’d done to her.

      Downstairs, he found his sister and FBI agent J. D. Burke sitting side by side at the dining-room table, staring at a computer screen. Burke had been the first federal agent on the scene when Carolyn called in the FBI to investigate the kidnapping. The rest of the FBI team had left after the ransom was paid, but he’d stayed—mostly because of his unexpected relationship with Carolyn. Burke wanted to marry her, God help him.

      Carolyn stood. “How’s Nicole?”

      “Sleeping. She doesn’t seem to be in bad shape, but it’s hard to tell.” He thought of the bruises and winced. “She’s never been a whiner.”

      “I’m telling you,” Carolyn said. “She needs to be checked out by a doctor.”

      “And if that’s what Nicole wants, I’ll drive her to the hospital.” He looked toward Burke. “What happened with Nate?”

      “He’s gone.” Burke stood and stretched. He was a big man—a bit taller than Dylan and a lot heavier, all of it solid muscle. “When I’m done with this case, I will never again undertake another investigation in the mountains. People disappear around here like thistles on the wind.”

      “You’re exaggerating,” Carolyn said. “People can hide in the city, too.”

      “But cities have surveillance cameras. And other people who can give information.” He glowered. “The only eyewitnesses around here are the nighthawks and the cattle.”

      “I want him found,” Dylan said. “I won’t rest easy until Nate Miller is either dead or behind bars.”

      Burke turned the computer toward him. On the screen was a map of the area. “We’ve been trying to figure out where to look. Sheriff Trainer and his men are keeping an eye on Nate’s little house in Riverton. And a couple of other deputies are posted at the Circle M in case he returns there.”

      “We should get the FBI back here,” Dylan said. “With surveillance choppers and sniffer dogs.”

      “We tried that when we were first looking for Nicole,” Burke pointed out. “Not a real successful tactic.”

      Though Dylan had grown up at the ranch and was familiar with this land, they were dealing with thousands of acres—much of it heavily forested. “Seems like the only person who’s had any luck with tracking is Jesse Longbridge.”

      “Luck is what we need,” Carolyn said. “The forecast for tomorrow is snow.”

      Snowfall and freezing