The Rancher's Housekeeper. Rebecca Winters

do was drive her into town and fix her up at a hotel, but he was bushed. At least that was the excuse he was telling himself for keeping her here. She could sleep in Mary’s former quarters down the other hallway.

      Geena had done a lot of dreaming in prison. It had been the only way to escape the bars confining her. But not even her imagination could have conjured the living reality of Colt Brannigan.

      She didn’t know such a man existed outside her fantasies. By the way the men at the Cattlemen’s Store had described him, she’d thought he must have been older to be a legend already. But Geena estimated he was in his mid-thirties. There was no sign or mention of a wife.

      When she’d first seen him beneath the kitchen light, the intelligence in those hazel eyes examining her came close to taking the last breath out of her. She stared back in disbelief at the ruggedly gorgeous male who was without question in total charge of his world. Tall, dark and handsome was a cliché women had used for years, but in her mind he could have been the one who’d inspired the words.

      Yet, putting all of those qualities and attributes aside, it was his kindness to her that made him unique and set him above other men. Instead of throwing her off his property, he’d brought her inside and fed her, given her a beautiful room and bed to sleep in, even after she’d told him she’d just gotten out of prison.

      In a daze over everything that had happened, Geena emerged from the bathroom wearing a clean bathrobe she’d found hanging on the back of the door. Smelling sweet and squeaky clean, she turned out the lights and padded over to the queen-sized bed. She’d taken a bath and a shower, luxuriating in the products he’d provided for her to use.

      All day and evening she’d been doing things unassociated with prison for the first time in over a year. The taste of freedom was indescribable. No more feeling of doom. No more fear that every second of your life from now on would be lived in constant purgatory. No more prison smells, no more sounds during the night of other prisoners being sick, coughing, sobbing, raging or fighting with other inmates through the walls.

      No more claustrophobic gray cell, no more clank of prison bars or guards telling you when, where and how you would live, how you would talk and answer. No more living in a enclave with women who wanted nothing to do with each other, who lived to be on the outside with a man again. If any of them could see Mr. Brannigan …

      While she sat on the side of the bed to finish drying her hair with a fluffy yellow towel, she looked out the tall picture window. It took up close to a whole wall of the spacious bedroom with its cross-beamed ceiling. She’d purposely left the curtains open so she could see the full moon casting its light across the foot of the hand-carved wood bed.

      The room was filled with Sioux artifacts; rugs of the Lakota tribe covered the hardwood floor. On one wall hung a Sioux tapestry in predominantly red colors. Over the bed was an authentic beaded Sioux tobacco bag.

      After her host had accompanied her to the room and left, she’d walked over to study the dozen framed photographs placed on the dresser. They featured a short Lakota woman. In some she was alone, in others she stood surrounded by her native family, all of whom were in ceremonial dress. Whoever she was she held a place of great honor in this wonderful ranch house. Though modernized in parts, it had to have been built at least a hundred and fifty years ago.

      When her hair was dry enough, Geena formed it into a braid that fell over one shoulder. Her last act was to set the clock-radio alarm for four in the morning. Then she was finally able to lie down on two comfy pillows and relax.

      Mr. Brannigan had gone out of his way to feed her and make her comfortable for the night. Geena couldn’t help but think of the man who’d been rescued by the Good Samaritan. His gratitude couldn’t have been any greater than hers for Mr. Brannigan’s goodness. As soon as she could, she would repay him.

      For now her first priority was to get some sleep before she slipped out of the house at first light and pedaled back to Sundance. She’d wanted the housekeeper job here, but since that wasn’t possible, she’d take any job that would give her a roof over her head. If nothing turned up in Sundance, she’d double back to Spearfish, South Dakota, and look there.

      One way or the other she had to stay close to Rapid City, the place where she needed to begin the search for Janice Rigby, the woman who’d once lived with Geena’s brother before disappearing. Before he’d died, he’d told Geena that Janice was expecting. If she’d had the baby, it might be Geena’s only living relative. She ached for the family she’d lost. To have a little nephew or niece … Time was of the essence for Geena to find out.

      Geena could probably get her old job back in Rapid City with FossilMania, but she didn’t dare. For the present she needed to remain invisible to the people who’d known her before she’d been arrested. One of them might see her and alert Janice she was out of prison. For some strange reason, Janice had never liked Geena. She didn’t want to frighten the other woman off before Geena could catch up to her.

      But she’d worry about all that tomorrow. For what was left of the rest of the night she’d dream about Colt Brannigan.

      CHAPTER TWO

      COLT entered the den and patted Titus’s head. “I’m going to keep you company for a while.” After closing the door, he moved over to the desk and sat down at the computer. Too wired to sleep right now, he typed the name Gina Williams in the search engine. She’d been in prison. There might be something about her from some old newspaper and magazine articles.

      Nothing came up but a lot of other females whose profiles were online. He tried a different spelling. More of the same. On a whim he searched for a list of different spellings. Up came Jean, Geenah, Jeenah, Jina, Jeana, Geana, Ginah, Giena, Jiena, Gienah, Geena.

      He tried each one. After putting in the last name on the list, he was ready to call it quits for the night when twenty entries popped up. All of them recounted the brutal slaying of Rupert Brown, an eighty-one-year-old widower of Rapid City, South Dakota. The collector of priceless Old West and Indian artifacts had been attacked and slain by Geena Williams, twenty-six, the tenant living in the basement apartment of his house.

      Colt shot out of the chair, feeling as if he’d been the one stabbed. Geena had committed murder? That murder?

      He rocked back on his cowboy boots, unable to believe it. While his mind and body were reeling, he grabbed the back of the chair until he could get a grip on his emotions, but adrenaline kept him on his feet.

      He remembered hearing about the sensational murder on the evening news. The killer had been a beautiful young single woman. That’s why she’d looked familiar to him.

      Incredulous, he sank back down in the chair, damned if he read the rest, damned if he didn’t. Compelled to finish, he read the entire article. Robbery had been the motive. It had happened soon after Colt’s father had died and their family had been in deep mourning, but the story had been all over the media, so he had heard about it at the time.

      He groaned loudly enough that Titus moved over and sat by him. Again Colt felt as though he’d been the one repeatedly bludgeoned with the Marshalltown trowel she’d plunged into the old man’s chest numerous times.

      Colt knew every human had a dark side, but to imagine that the woman sleeping in Mary’s room had killed an old man in cold blood seemed beyond the realm of possibility to him.

      There was a picture of her after she’d been taken into custody. She’d been fifteen to twenty pounds heavier then with hair to her shoulders. According to one of the reports, she’d been given sixty years. That was as good as a lifetime sentence.

      But she’d served only thirteen months of it…. How could she be out on parole this fast? Had there been a mistrial? Some snag that had freed her because the evidence wasn’t strong enough to hold her?

      There had to be a flaw in Colt that had misread the purity in her eyes. Geena had seemed like a shiny dime gleaming pure silver he’d picked up from the ground. But when he turned it over, he discovered rust had eaten the silver away.