High Country Hideout. Elle James

      Angus had showed up out of nowhere. She knew nothing about him other than he was sensitive about his limp and didn’t want her asking questions. What did he have to hide?

      A little hand touched hers. “Does it hurt much, Mamma?”

      She opened her eyes and smiled at Tad. “No, sweetie. I just didn’t want to get anything in my eyes.”

      “All cleaned up. It’s your turn, Tad. Remember to be careful not to get your fingers all over the white part.” Angus leaned over him. “Here, let me show you.” With his big hands, he helped the boy’s little fingers open the individually wrapped package, peel the paper strips from the sticky adhesive and hold it out.

      Together, they placed the bandage over the cut on Reggie’s forehead. When the bandage was in place, she carefully felt the bruised lump.

      “Well done.” Angus stuck out his hand to shake Tad’s.

      Tad stood tall, his shoulders back, a serious expression on his young face. Then her son turned and hugged her. “Is it all better?”

      “Yes, baby.” Reggie returned the hug, her chest swelling with pride and an appreciation for the ranch hand who could have just done it all himself. Instead, he’d chosen to treat the event as a learning opportunity for her son.

      Okay, so the man wasn’t just an annoying addition to her ranch. He might come in handy. Tad could use more strong, male role models, since his father wasn’t there to teach him certain things. Such as how to treat a lady.

      Having shouldered most of the burden typically considered man’s work, she hadn’t really had the opportunity to teach her young son how to behave toward women. And he’d need those lessons in life as much as he’d need to know how to be strong, work hard and be accountable.

      Angus backed away. “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’m going to check things out around the barn.”

      She nodded. “Be careful. I don’t want you, uh—” her gaze shot to Tad “—bumping your head like I did.”

      He nodded and left the room.

      As soon as she heard the sound of the back door closing, Reggie rose from the couch. “Come on, it’s time for your bath and bed.”

      “Ah, Mamma. Can’t I stay up?”

      “You have school tomorrow and we have another chapter to read in your book about the ranch dog.”

      She held out her hand and Tad slipped his into hers. “When can I have a dog? Angus has one.”

      “When you’re old enough to take care of one all by yourself.”

      “I’m old enough. I took care of you,” he pointed out.

      She ruffled his hair. “Yes, you did. I’ll think about it.”

      He skipped along beside her. “Can I name the dog Ranger?”

      “We haven’t got one yet. Besides, Angus’s dog is named Ranger. Don’t you think you should give a dog his very own name?”

      The conversation continued as it usually did, with Tad asking questions and making observations that surprised her at his level of maturity for a five-year old.

      Reggie herded Tad through his bath, allowing him to play for a while before bundling him in a warm towel and clean pajamas. After he brushed his teeth, he climbed into his little bed and waited for her to read to him. This was one thing she’d always insisted on, even after Ted’s passing. Some things had to remain consistent to keep Tad on track with growing up normal and well-adjusted.

      She settled on the edge of his bed, opened the book to the chapter she’d stopped at the previous night and read.

      * * *

      ANGUS TOOK RANGER outside with him and spent time circling the barn, searching for some indication of who had been inside and hit Reggie in the head. If he hadn’t been sure before, he was certain now. Someone was targeting Reggie. She needed protection. Perhaps he wasn’t the one to provide it. Why had Hank insisted he was the man for the job?

      As he shone the flashlight at the ground around the exterior of the barn, phantom pain burst like a firecracker, shooting up his leg and throughout his body. He stopped for a moment and clenched his jaw until the pain eased.

      Pushing aside the residual pain, he concentrated on the ground, searching for footprints. The ground was hard-packed except near the rear of the barn, where he’d hosed out the wheelbarrow earlier. Footprints made inch-deep wells in the mud. He set off in the direction they were heading and found a couple more. They were smaller than his own, but then, he was a big guy.

      The trail led over the top of a small hill and down to a gravel road on the other side. It was not much more than a dirt path. He followed it to where it connected with the road leading up to the ranch. At the junction, he could see fresh tire tracks in the loose dirt. They were narrow and knobby, like those of a four-wheeler, and the direction they were heading was back toward town. Near the tracks, almost hidden by a bush, he found a four-foot length of weathered two-by-four with a smear of blood on it. His gut knotted as he lifted the board out of the brush.

      Following the road much farther wouldn’t gain him anything. The best he could hope for was to make a trip to Fool’s Fortune the next day and do some nosing around. He wished he had the ability to lift prints from the board. Perhaps whoever had hit Reggie was in some criminal database. Hank might have connections.

      In the meantime he needed to get back to the house and stay close to the family he was there to protect, in case Reggie’s attacker decided to return in the middle of the night.

      Once inside, he shed his jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall beside the kitchen door. Though his leg ached and he needed to elevate it, he couldn’t until he felt confident Reggie and her son were okay. He spent time checking door and window locks and shooting the dead bolts home. They might have felt comfortable leaving doors unlocked in the past, but times had changed.

      Reassured all the locks were in place, Angus headed down the hallway to his bedroom. As he passed an open door, he heard Reggie’s voice speaking softly.

      He paused, liking this gentle side of the woman who’d been tough as nails since he’d arrived. Curious, he leaned through the doorway.

      Reggie sat on the side of a twin-size bed covered with a quilt decorated with pictures of cowboy hats, cowboy boots, lassos and spurs. Tad lay beneath it, his head resting against the pillow, his eyes half closed.

      “‘Poke, the ranch dog, barked at the bull, until the bull backed away from the boy.’”

      “Poke wasn’t afraid, was he?” Tad mumbled sleepily.

      “No, he wasn’t. He protected his boy from the bull.”

      “When I get my dog, I’ll name him Poke.” Tad yawned and rolled onto his side, tucking his hand beneath his chin. “Until I get my own dog, do you think Angus would let me pet Ranger?”

      “You need to ask Angus. Ranger was an army dog. He might not be used to little kids.”

      “I’ll ask Angus in the morning.” Tad yawned again and closed his eyes. “Will you tell him to tuck me in when he comes back in?”

      “I read you a book, but you’d rather have Angus tuck you in?” Reggie leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll tell him. I love you, baby.”

      “I love you, too.” Tad’s voice faded as he nestled into the blanket.

      Reggie pulled the quilt up beneath his chin and stared down at the boy a few moments longer, love shining from her eyes.

      Angus backed away from the doorway as quietly as he could and walked toward the kitchen, feeling as though he’d violated a private moment between Reggie and her son. But he wasn’t sorry he had.

      The image of the tough ranch owner tucking her kid in like any loving