Cowboy Under Siege. Gail Barrett

man,” Bonnie Gene muttered under her breath.

      Bethany took a swallow of coffee. Cole’s father was a piece of work, all right. He’d alienated his wife and children, and had been estranged from his half brother, Donald, for years. Now even his mistresses appeared fed up.

      The soft chimes of a cell phone interrupted her thoughts. Cole reached back, the motion showcasing the impressive definition in his biceps, and pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He frowned at the display. “I’d better take this.”

      He rose and walked a few steps away. His broad shoulders stiffened, and Bethany knew instantly that the news was bad. “How many?” he asked, his deep voice clipped. “All right. I’ll be right there.”

      He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to face them, tension vibrating off his muscled frame. “I’ve got to go. Someone dammed up Rock Creek, just above the northeast pasture, cutting off water to the cows.”

      Bethany’s heart squeezed. Without water, cattle died fast. “Are they—”

      “I don’t know how many we’ve lost yet. No one has checked that pasture since your dad got hurt, so they might have gone without water for several days.” He angled his chin toward the bar. “Sorry to run.”

      “Don’t be silly. You’ve got more important things to do than sit here and talk to me.”

      “Yes, go on,” Bonnie Gene urged him. “Just let us know what we can do to help.”

      He nodded, his mind obviously elsewhere, then strode across the wooden floor to the door. He flung the door open, making the cowbell clank, and stomped across the porch outside.

      Filled with compassion, Bethany watched him go. He’d be torn up about the suffering animals and furious that someone had attacked his ranch—not to mention angry at the financial loss.

      “He’s a good man,” Bonnie Gene said, echoing her thoughts. “And a lonely one. He just needs the right woman to soften him up.”

      Warning bells clanged. Bethany swiveled back to Bonnie Gene, determined to nip that train of thought. “Don’t look at me. Cole and I are old friends, nothing more.”

      “Of course. I know that.” Bonnie Gene gave her an innocent look. She pulled a small photo album from her apron pocket, set it on the bar, and flipped it open, turning it so Bethany could see. “You haven’t seen my granddaughter yet. Eve’s daughter, Patience. My little angel is four months old.”

      A darling, red-haired baby girl smiled up at her, softening Bethany’s heart. “Oh, my. What a doll.” She slowly flipped through the pages, remembering when she’d dreamed of forever with Cole.

      She straightened, shocked at the direction of her thoughts. She had no future with Cole. He’d never marry her, no matter what his aunt believed—a lesson she’d learned years ago.

      And no way could she delude herself—because that would only bring pain. It had taken her years to get over him the first time, years to resign herself to harsh reality and finally move on with her life.

      And no matter how cute Bonnie Gene’s granddaughter was, no matter how much Cole still made her pulse pound, she couldn’t succumb to dreams.

      She was older now. Definitely wiser. And she would only be here for two short weeks. She had to keep her emotional distance, not allow herself to get swept up in Cole’s problems and begin to care.

      Because that was a surefire path to heartbreak—an experience she refused to repeat.

      Determined to hold fast to that resolution, Bethany drove through the towering log entrance to the Bar Lazy K Ranch an hour later and headed to her father’s house. The main ranch buildings were clustered around a large, grassy triangle a quarter mile in from the gate. The barn, workshops and machinery sheds formed one end of the complex. In another corner stood the foreman’s log cabin, where her father currently lived, with the ranch hands’ bunkhouse beyond that. Cole’s house—a lavish, two-story stone building with floor-to-ceiling windows—stood apart from the other buildings, taking advantage of the mountain views.

      She parked the truck beside her father’s cabin, then got out and glanced around. Several men worked near the machinery shed, loading a backhoe onto a flatbed trailer. Others strapped shovels to four-wheelers, preparing to deal with the dammed-up stream. She didn’t see Cole, but his truck was parked by the tractors, so she assumed he was still around.

      She climbed the wooden porch steps, her father’s prescription in hand. Then she hesitated by the porch swing and took another look at the men. Even from a distance she could feel their tension, which was easy to understand. Ranchers worked hard under tough conditions—from winter blizzards reaching forty below to sweltering summer heat. Seeing their work destroyed would infuriate them.

      Troubled, she pulled open the door and went inside. Her father sat reading the newspaper in a recliner near the window, his broken leg propped up, his crutches lying beside him on the braided rug.

      “Hi, Dad.” She bent and kissed his leathered cheek, careful not to bump his bruises and scrapes. “I’ve got your pain medication. Have you had breakfast? You want me to scramble you some eggs?”

      “I can do it,” he grumbled. “I don’t need you to wait on me.”

      “I know that.” She stifled a sigh, remembering Bonnie Gene’s comment about stubborn men. “But since I’m up …”

      “Fine.” He set his paper aside. “But just get me one of the sandwiches Hannah brought by. She put them in the fridge.”

      “All right.” Still thinking about Cole’s cattle, Bethany entered the kitchen and took the medicine out of the bag. Maple Cove had its share of crime—domestic disputes, meth labs, occasional thefts. But to deliberately destroy someone’s livelihood …

      Incredulous, she shook out a pill, then went to the sink to fill a glass from the tap. Above the sink the white lace curtains fluttered around the open window, framing a view of the old-fashioned clothesline in the small backyard. That was Maple Cove—sheets drying in the sunshine, kids playing baseball in their grassy yards—not cold-blooded killings and sabotage.

      Still unable to believe it, she returned to the living room with the pill. “Here you go. Take this while I get your food.”

      He leaned away. “I don’t want to be all drugged up.”

      “It’s only for a couple of days until the worst of the pain is gone. You need to rest,” she added when he opened his mouth to argue. “I heard you thrashing around all night.” She set the glass on the side table and handed him the pill.

      “Since when did you get so bossy?” he muttered but dutifully gulped it down.

      Leaving him to his morning newspaper, she crossed the wooden floor to the kitchen and readied his food. But his comment sparked a sliver of guilt. She didn’t visit her widowed father as often as she should. And he was getting older; his thinning white hair proved that. But she led a busy life in Chicago and could rarely get away.

      Still feeling guilty, she put the sandwich on a plate and carried it out. She rearranged her father’s pillows, making sure he was comfortable, then sat on the adjacent couch. It wasn’t just his advancing age that bothered her, but that she’d lost touch with the everyday happenings in his life—his accident, the trouble on Cole’s ranch …

      “I saw Cole Kelley in town,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me your horse dragged you?”

      Her father swallowed a bite of sandwich. “It wasn’t important.”

      “How can you say that? You could have been killed. Don’t you think I deserved to know?”

      “What was the point? There was nothing you could do about it.” He returned his attention to his food.

      He was right, but she still wished he’d told her. She drummed her fingers on the