His Defender. Stella Bagwell

all be history.

      A few minutes later, the mountains opened up and a smattering of barns and buildings begin to appear. Horses and cows were penned in several different spots, while everywhere she looked there seemed to be cowboys and pickup trucks.

      Even though she’d never been on the T Bar K before, she’d heard of the ranch. She supposed everyone in northern New Mexico knew of the place. Over a hundred thousand acres, it boasted some of the best cattle and horses to be bought in all the western states. Plus, old man Ketchum had had a reputation that rivaled some of the state’s more notorious outlaws, like Billy the Kid and “Black Jack Ketchum,” whom Neal had assured her was no relation to Ross or his family.

      Still, she knew firsthand that regular folks in the area liked to make the connection. She could only hope Ross hadn’t followed the outlaw trail his father had supposedly taken.

      Eventually, she made her way up to the ranch house itself, a massive log structure with long wings running from both sides of the main structure. After parking her car, she walked through a small yard gate, then onto a wide porch that ran for at least forty feet along the front of the house.

      A large woman with dark-brown skin and graying black hair answered the door. From the blank look on her face, Isabella surmised she wasn’t expected this morning.

      “Hello,” she said warmly. “I’m Isabella Corrales. I’m here to see Ross.”

      In spite of the wary look in her eyes, the older woman nodded. “I’m Marina. I cook for the Ketchums. Ross isn’t in the house now. He’s down at the barns. You like to come in and wait for him?”

      Isabella glanced at her wristwatch. It was fifteen minutes past the time she was supposed to be here. Normally she wasn’t late for appointments, but she’d not counted on the road to the ranch being so rough. Still, you’d think a man with trouble hanging over his head would be anxious to meet his new defender, she silently reasoned.

      “Do you think he’ll be back to the house soon?”

      The large woman shrugged one shoulder. “He don’t worry about time.”

      Isabella glanced thoughtfully away from the house. The working ranch yard was not that far back down the mountainside. Rather than wait for him to come to her, she’d go find the man.

      “In that case, I think I’ll walk down to the barns.”

      The cook eyed Isabella’s pale beige dress and matching high heels. “It’s dusty down there, señorita,” she warned.

      Isabella smiled at the woman. “A little dust never bothered me. And please, call me Bella. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming days.”

      She could feel the cook’s shrewd gaze on her back as she turned and walked off the porch. As she headed toward the cluster of barns and cattle pens, she wondered how much, if anything, the woman knew about the shooting that had taken place three weeks ago. Not much probably. With a property this massive, comings and goings could occur without anyone here at the ranch house ever knowing. A fact that could be both helpful and harmful to Ross Ketchum.

      “Yippee! Ride ’im, Ross! Don’t let ’im get his head down!”

      “He’s a devil, Ross! Watch out—”

      Following the cowboys’ shouts of encouragement, Isabella walked up to a round pen made of metal fencing just in time to see a big white gelding rearing straight up on his hind legs. In the saddle, a dark-haired man wearing a black cowboy hat and a pair of scarred brown leather chaps was doing his best to hang on.

      “Excuse me,” she quickly said to one of the spectators sitting atop the fence. “Did you call the man out there on the horse Ross?”

      With a disinterested glance at her, the old, rail-thin cowboy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That’s Ross Ketchum.”

      Stunned that the owner of this ranch would be doing such physical work, she stepped closer to the fence and peered out at the battle going on between man and beast.

      “Oh! Oh, no!” she cried suddenly as she watched the horse’s back heels suddenly kick toward the heavens and her client land with a thump in the dirt.

      “Don’t worry, ma’am. He ain’t hurt. Ross is like a cat with nine lives.”

      Isabella glanced in disbelief at the old cowboy, who continued to keep his seat on the fence. “Well, aren’t you going to help him out of there?” she asked in total dismay.

      “No, ma’am. He’s not finished with old Juggler. He’s gotta show him who’s boss around here.”

      Isabella expelled a shocked breath. “You mean he’s going to get back on that killer?”

      For an answer, the ranch hand motioned toward the middle of the pen where Ross had gotten to his feet and was about to climb back into the gelding’s saddle.

      With anxious fascination, she watched the dark-haired cowboy clench a tight rein in his fist, then touch his spurs to the horse’s sides. This time the animal walked obediently forward. After he’d traveled the complete circumference of the circle, Ross urged him into a smooth, short lope.

      On the third lap, Isabella caught his eye and he reined the big horse to a skidding halt a few feet away from her. Chunks of dirt flew up from the animal’s hooves and splattered the front of her dress.

      “Hey, Skinny,” he called, “who’s your new friend?”

      The grizzled old cowboy glanced at Isabella. “Hadn’t had a chance to ask her yet.”

      Isabella’s lips pressed together in disapproval as she looked up at Ross Ketchum. Neal Rankin had warned her to expect a cocky man in his mid-thirties. He hadn’t warned her that the owner/manager of the T Bar K was also devilishly handsome. Six feet of hard, lean muscle, eyes as green as a willow tree, hair the color of rich sable and dimples bracketing a perfectly masculine mouth. His looks were the kind most women swooned over. But not Isabella. She knew his kind all too well.

      Lifting her chin, she said coolly, “I’m certain you know exactly who I am, Mr. Ketchum. You were supposed to have met me at the house thirty minutes ago.”

      He slanted an eye up at the morning sun. Isabella’s gaze zeroed in on his wrists to see he wasn’t wearing a watch. Apparently Marina’s comment that Ross didn’t worry about time was true. But running a place of this size surely forced him to keep up with time and schedules, didn’t it?

      Ross swept off his hat and held it against his heart. “I must apologize, Ms. Corrales. Time gets away from me when I’m having fun.”

      Her brows swept mockingly upward as she watched a wave of thick, dark hair plop onto his tanned forehead. “You call biting the dust having fun?” she asked.

      The grin on his face deepened, as though he found her and the whole morning full of amusement. “Every good cowboy gets thrown from time to time, Ms. Corrales. It goes with the job.” He reached up and affectionately stroked the white gelding’s neck. “And if a horse isn’t strong enough to throw a rider, he’s not strong enough to be in the T Bar K remuda. Juggler here is one of the best.”

      “In other words, a horse has to be part outlaw to work your range,” Isabella replied.

      A full-blown smile spread over his face, rewarding her with a flash of white teeth against his dark skin. Isabella found herself staring, completely mesmerized by his striking appearance.

      “I couldn’t have said it any better, Ms. Corrales.” He swung himself out of the saddle and threw the reins at the old cowboy. “Take care of him, will you, Skinny? Linc will probably want to use him later this morning.”

      “Sure thing, Ross.”

      The cowboy called Skinny climbed off the fence and took charge of the horse. Ross Ketchum ducked his head and climbed through the metal rails. Once he was standing directly in front of Isabella, she was struck by the full potency of