Wrangled. B.J. Daniels

around signing someone up for a dating service? This made no sense. It had to have been one of his brothers. Or his stepmother, Emma? She had made it clear she thought it was time her six rowdy stepsons settled down. Maybe she was behind this.

      But neither Emma nor his brothers would have come to his house when he wasn’t home, gotten on his computer and then taken one of his checks to pay for the rural dating service. Who then? And why? This was getting stranger by the moment.

      “I need Courtney Baxter’s telephone number,” he told Arlene.

      “According to the service policy you agreed to—”

      “I didn’t agree because I never signed up,” he said, trying not to lose his temper. He caught his reflection in the café window and saw the four scratches down his cheek where someone had definitely clawed him.

      “Zane, what if I call her and make sure it’s all right first? Do you want to hold?”

      He groaned, but agreed to wait.

      She came back on the line moments later. “She’s not answering her cell phone. I left her a message to call me immediately. I’m sorry, Zane, but that’s the best I can do. It’s policy.”

      He swore under his breath. The old Arlene would have handed it over. She would also have asked why he was so anxious to talk to his “date” and the news would have gone on the Whitehorse grapevine two seconds later.

      “The moment you hear from her …”

      “I’ll let you know,” she said.

      Zane didn’t hear anything from Arlene on the long drive back to Whitehorse. He hoped that once he got home there might be a note or something from Courtney.

      Not wanting to drag the loaded horse trailer down the narrow lane to the house, Marshall dropped him off by the mailbox on the county road.

      “You sure you’re going to be all right?” Marshall asked.

      He’d been sick all day and still had a killer headache.

      “You really did tie one on last night,” his brother said, looking concerned. “What were you drinking anyway?”

      “I remember having some champagne.”

      Marshall shook his head. “That all?”

      Zane couldn’t recall if it had been his idea, but he doubted it. Courtney must have suggested it. “And I only had a couple of glasses, I’m sure.”

      His brother lifted a brow. “You sure about that?”

      He wasn’t sure of anything. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” he lied as he climbed out of the Chisholm Cattle Company truck and headed down the narrow dirt road to his house.

      The early summer sun was still up on the western horizon. It warmed his back as he walked. Grass grew bright green around him, the air rich with the sweet scents of new growth. Grasshoppers buzzed and butterflies flitted past. In the distance he could see that there was still snow on the tops of the Little Rocky Mountains.

      As he came over a rise, he slowed. A pickup he didn’t recognize was parked in front of his house. Courtney? Or maybe one of her older brothers here to kick his butt. He quickened his step, anxious to find out exactly what had happened last night—one way or the other.

      Zane was still a good distance from the truck when he saw the woman and realized that it wasn’t Courtney. This woman was dressed in jeans, boots and a yellow-checked Western shirt. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She stood leaning against the truck as if she’d been waiting awhile and wasn’t happy about it.

      When she spotted him, she pushed off the side of the pickup and headed toward him. As she came closer, his gaze settled on her face. He felt the air rush out of him. She was beautiful, but that was only part of what had taken his breath away.

      He’d seen Dakota Lansing only once since she was a kid hanging around the rodeo grounds. She’d been cute as a bug’s ear back then and it had been no secret that she’d had a crush on him. But, five years his junior, she’d been too young and innocent so he’d kept her at arm’s length, treating her like the kid she was.

      The last time he’d seen her he’d happened to run into her at the spring rodeo in Whitehorse. He’d been so surprised to see her—let alone that she’d turned into this beautiful woman—he’d been tongue-tied. She must have thought him a complete fool.

      The whole meeting had been embarrassing, but since she’d moved to New Mexico, he’d thought he would never see her again. And yet here she was standing in his yard.

      “Dakota?” he said, surprised at how pleased he was to see her.

      Smiling, he started toward her, but slowed as he caught her body language. Hands on hips, big brown eyes narrowed, an angry tilt to her head. His brain had been working at a snail’s pace all day. It finally kicked into gear to question what Dakota Lansing was doing here—let alone why she appeared to be upset.

      She closed the distance between them. “Where is my sister?” Those big brown eyes widened, and he knew she’d seen the scratches on his face just seconds before she balled up her fist and slugged him.

      The punch had some power behind it, but it still had less effect on him than her words.

      “Your sister?” he asked, taking a step back as he rubbed his jaw and frowned at her. He’d known Dakota Lansing all his life. She didn’t have a sister.

       Chapter Three

      “Courtney Baxter,” Dakota said. “The woman I know you were out with last night.” She looked as if she wanted to hit him again. Her eyes narrowed. “What did you do to her?”

      He rubbed his jaw, feeling as if he was mentally two steps behind and had been since Courtney Baxter had knocked on his door not twenty-four hours before. “Courtney Baxter is your sister?”

      “My half sister. Where is she?”

      His head ached and now so did his jaw. Dakota had a pretty good right hook. “How do you know I was with her?”

      “She called me sounding terrified. What did you do to her?”

      Taking a step back, he raised both hands. “Hold on a minute. We can figure this out.”

      “What is there to figure out?” she demanded.

      He noticed something he hadn’t earlier. Dakota’s left hand. No wedding ring. No ring at all. The last time he’d seen her, she’d had a nice-size rock on her ring finger. He’d heard she was engaged to some investment manager down in New Mexico.

      She saw him staring at her left hand and stuck her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, her look daring him to say anything about it.

      No chance of that.

      “We should put something on those knuckles,” he said, having noticed before that her right hand was swelling. Hitting him had hurt her more than it had him. Well, physically at least.

      Dakota Lansing. He still couldn’t believe that the freckle-faced tomboy who used to stick her tongue out at him had grown into this amazing-looking woman.

      “Why don’t you come into the house for a minute,” he said, and started for the front porch.

      “Zane, I’m only interested in finding my sister.”

      “So am I.” He left the door open, went into the kitchen and opened the freezer door. By the time he heard her come in he had a tray of ice cubes dumped into a clean dishcloth.

      “What did you do to her?” Dakota demanded again from the kitchen doorway.

      He motioned to a chair at the kitchen table. “Dakota, you know me. You know I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

      She didn’t look convinced, but