“Well, hell.” Jayson McBride raised his Stetson, pushed his fingers through his hair, and plopped his hat back onto his head as he stared at the spectacle that had invaded his ranch. “Never making a bet like this again. Might never make another bet of any kind.”

Jack flashed a grin and nodded in the direction of the intruders in front of Jayson’s barn. “Maybe we’ll meet one of those models with their asses damn near showing.”

Jayson rested his arms on the top rail of the corral. He glared at his fraternal twin who should have sympathized. “Those ladies are at least fifteen years younger than us. I need that like I need a hole in my head.”

“Options, bro.” Jack laughed before adding, “Monty did say the fashion designer herself is a looker and right in our ballpark.”

Just hearing Monty Tinsman’s name caused Jayson to scowl again. “He also said the woman is a witch in high heels.” Jayson sighed. Another part of this ordeal to deal with. “She’s supposed to be here tomorrow.” He glanced at Jack. “Why don’t you show her around?” He wasn’t hopeful, but he gave it a shot.

“Sorry, but I think I’ll be busy.” Jack didn’t look the least bit sorry. “I’m sure you’ll handle her just fine.”

Jayson glanced down at Thor, who sat on his haunches. “What about you? Maybe you could keep her company.”

The Border Collie tilted his head and stared up, his intelligent eyes seeming to say, “Don’t look at me, buddy.”

Jayson shook his head and stared up at the cloudless Arizona sky. He glanced toward the conglomeration of vans, makeup artists, wardrobe stylists, hairstylists, and set designers. Then there was all the camera equipment the photographer and fashion designer had deemed necessary for the shoot, and who knew what else.

Not to forget a meal wagon—the smells of dried-out pizza and overcooked corn dogs actually overpowered the odor of manure. Yeah, that was some nasty crap in that wagon.

At least nine models were supposed to be in and out of the commercial shoot in less than a week’s timeframe. At least that was what Monty said, and Jayson wasn’t sure he could trust the man after this. Nine models and four days to a week of shooting, print and film, for a new clothing line.

Great.

He hoped his ranch would still be in one piece when they all finally cleared out.

He looked up at the clear sky again and wondered if it would stay that way. In central Arizona, during monsoon season, a storm could sweep in before they knew what was happening. Rain was a blessing for a state experiencing a long drought. This was one time Jayson prayed rain would hold off this week so that this circus would be out of town in a hurry.

“Here comes your favorite person.” Amusement rode Jack’s words. “He’s looking mighty proud of himself.”

Bring in the clowns.

Monty Tinsman ambled toward them, his belly bouncing as he walked. The muscles in Jayson’s shoulders knotted.

Thor let out a low rumble. He’d hadn’t liked Monty from the moment the man stepped onto the Flying F.

Jayson should have listened.

The owner of a decent spread at the foot of the Bradshaw Mountains in Prescott, Monty was a part-time Arizona resident who headed to upstate New York in the summer. Apparently, he’d told the designer of a clothing line he’d do her a favor, and she could use Monty’s ranch to do the shoot.

A poker night, a few beers, and a goddamned glorious bet. Now, the whole mess was in Jayson’s front yard.

Monty reached Jayson and Jack, and the bastard grinned. His over-the-top thousand dollar Stetson, two thousand dollar Tony Lama boots, movie star-white teeth, and tanning bed tan didn’t make him look any more like a cowboy than Jayson looked like one of those slick movie stars. Monty seemed to be a good guy, though, unless you counted sticking Jayson with this mess.

“I’m surprised you’d show your face around here.” Jack grasped Monty’s hand. “Good to see you, Mont.”

Jayson grumbled under his breath, “It’s far too soon.”

Monty laughed. “I figured there’d be no problem with the magazine switching locations to your ranch, Jayson.” He appraised their surroundings. “I’ve got a nice piece of property, but yours puts mine to shame.”

“I had a full house, ace high.” Jayson shook his head. “And you beat me with a royal flush.”

“That was some bet.” Jack nodded. “Don’t feel bad, bro. With your hand, I’d have been all over betting a shoot on the ranch against that prize bull of his.”

Monty chuckled.

Jayson wanted a do-over.

But what was done was done. His younger sister Bailey’s voice rang in his mind with one of her favorite sayings, “Suck it up, Buttercup.”

Where’d she get that crap from anyway?

Jayson shook his head. One of the worst things was a sore loser, and he didn’t intend to start down that path. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give a little payback if the opportune time arose.

“I’ve got work to do.” Jayson put his hand on Monty’s big shoulder. “By the way, I hear paybacks are a bitch.”

Jack snorted. “I’d watch your back if I were you, Mont.”

Thor gave a throaty growl, as if in agreement.

Monty laughed, then took a look at Jayson’s expression. His laugh weakened and faded away. “I know you’re not serious—” His throat worked.

Jack chuckled. “I would take Jayson’s word on this one.” Still grinning, he added, “I best be on my way too. My horses aren’t going to ride themselves.”

He nodded his goodbye to Monty and flashed a quick grin at Jayson before taking off.

Jayson slapped his hand on Monty’s shoulder. “See you around, Mont.”

The man nodded. “Sooner or later.”

“Unfortunately it’s likely sooner.” Jayson headed toward the barn with Thor at his heels, and held back a heavy sigh as he worked his way through the crowd.

All this for a damned clothing line?

“No, no, no, no,” shouted Trevor, the photographer who was no wider than a sheet of paper. As thin as he was, it was a wonder he could hold his monster of a camera.

Trevor braced the camera on his knee and snapped his fingers at the model in front of him.

In the background, several cowhands gawked. Jayson needed to pay them a visit since they seemed to be distracted by a slip of a woman in a skimpy outfit, instead of doing what he paid them to do.

Trevor snapped until he caught the model’s attention. “Mina, pay attention. I don’t want to see you staring at any cowboy asses. Leave that to me.”

The young woman smirked and struck some kind of pose Jayson imagined was supposed to be sexy. The blonde wore skin-tight jeans on her Coke bottle hips and a crazy-ass top that bared her belly. This was what was popular now? Jayson knew nothing about fashion and could care less.

Jayson preferred strong women, and the country girls he knew kicked ass and took names. They did not look like they just walked out of a Scottsdale boutique on their way to a spa treatment.

A lot of the country girls around these parts cleaned up real well and were sexy as hell. All without worrying if they were going to break a nail while rounding up cattle.

That fashion designer hell on heels, who’d be arriving tomorrow, ought to be interesting. No doubt, she’d be one of those women who screamed at the sight of a horsefly and couldn’t figure out what to do with a horse if her life depended on it. He wondered what she’d do if she was told she had to shovel shit for a week to do her damned photoshoot here.

Yeah, that might be fun to see.

Thor stayed close and they dodged a hairstylist and a man from the food wagon before ducking into the cool recesses of the barn. Jayson blinked a few times as his eyes grew used to the dim light.

He’d owned the Flying F since he was in his late twenties. Back then he and his buddies thought it sounded flat out hilarious to name the ranch “I don’t give a Flying Fuck,” only shortened to “the Flying F.”

Shiloh snorted from one corner of the barn. The pregnant mare made the sound in a way that told Jayson the horse was concerned about the commotion going on outside.

“It’s okay, girl.” Jayson reached Shiloh and stroked the brindle mare’s nose. “Sorry about that damned mess out there. I’m going fix it, but it looks like I need to talk with the gal running the show tomorrow.” He traced the star on her forehead with his fingertips. “But if it’s too much for you now, I’ll take you over to Justice’s place, where it’ll just be you and a few of your equine pals.”

Shiloh whickered.

“Yes, I mean it.” Jayson nodded. “I don’t want you upset, girl.

She snorted and bobbed her head.

“Deal.” He patted her neck. He normally would have taken her for a ride. But she was so close to foaling, he wouldn’t ride her hard like he needed right now.

Jayson moved to Starlight’s stall. The chestnut jerked her head up and down. The mare was high strung to begin with, and the noise outside the barn wasn’t helping anything.

“Why don’t you, Thor, and I escape this madhouse and go for a ride?” Jayson slid his fingers down her neck.

Thor barked.

Starlight snorted and bobbed hear head again in sharp movements. Yeah, she was going to be one hell of a ride today.

“Well, then. Let’s do it.” He glanced where his cowhands were too busy staring at the model. “But first I need to have a talk with some of my men who aren’t doing what they should be.”

It wasn’t like them, but they had work to do. With the size of his operation, too much needed to be done to stand around doing nothing but looking at a nearly naked woman.

After Jayson gave his men a good talking to, and they were back to work, he returned to the barn.

The Border collie stayed close to Starlight as Jayson grabbed a bridle, a horse blanket and his saddle. When he’d saddled up the mare, he checked her over to make sure she was ready to go in every sense of the word. He grasped her bridle and led her out the rear entrance of the barn, the opposite direction of the insanity that was currently his ranch.

* * *

“Oh, crap.” Celine Northland knelt on one knee to gather the many pages from a stack of scattered papers. They’d slid out of the handbag she’d just dropped in the middle of the ramp leading from the airplane to a place she’d rather not be. “Just one more fantastic thing to add to this absolutely perfect day.”

Not.

Passengers squeezed by to either side of her. Not one person stopped to help her retrieve the sheets of paper.

A child tore by and trampled one of the signature pages of a document she needed to sign and return to Monty, her CFO. The girl left a perfect imprint of a small and very dirty shoe where Celine was supposed to sign.

“Aaaand thank you very much.” Heat crept up Celine’s neck as she looked over her shoulder. “Where the hell are your parents, anyway?” she muttered under her breath.

A young woman holding a naked doll hurried up the ramp. The woman’s hair was slipping from a French braid and red sauce stained her white shirt. She zipped past Celine and trampled another one of Celine’s pages. “Chloe!”

Celine groaned. Question answered.

Kids.

A sheltered only child—of parents who were each only children—Celine had grown up with a series of private tutors and nannies. Celine hadn’t often been around kids her age, or kids of any age for that matter. She wouldn’t know what to do with one of the little monsters if it landed in her lap.

God, help me.

Celine snatched up the soiled papers Monty had scanned and emailed to her, but she hadn’t had a chance to read yet. After she had gathered everything into her arms, she shoved the lot into a folder and stuffed it back into her Louis Vuitton tote with her laptop. She hitched it up on her shoulder, her purse on the other, and headed up the gangway.

Bright sunshine poured in through the massive windows. She’d never been to Arizona, but she’d heard the usual about Phoenix—you could fry an egg on the sidewalk or bake brownies on a dashboard. And she’d heard the constant refrain, “But it’s a dry heat.”

Celine didn’t bother peering out the windows for more than a cursory glance. Airports weren’t generally known for allowing passengers a view of much more than tarmac and the usual building clutter. Airports were such messy things.

She’d been in countless locations around the globe since she was old enough to travel without a nanny. She’d just about seen it all.

Her parents had never wanted to visit Arizona. Too hot, they’d said. If Celine moved to this state, she likely wouldn’t see her parents unless she dropped in on them in their luxury Manhattan condo.

Not seeing her parents. Now there was a benefit to moving to a place like this.

She sighed. What she wouldn’t give for parents who actually cared. Her heart ached and she had to push the thoughts and feelings aside.

Celine didn’t pay much attention to her surroundings, too focused on making her way to baggage claim. Maybe she’d lived in Manhattan for too long. Like every other New Yorker, she kept her eyes focused ahead and didn’t meet a stranger’s gaze.

Like the saying went, Things to do, places to go, people to see.

A breeze came in from the sliding glass doors as she passed them on the lower level, the wind shifting her long silk skirt around her legs. Her outfit was of her design. She wore low heels for comfort, but frequently wore higher heels. She was five-ten, but with three-inch heels she reached six-one, intimidating for most men below that height. But she wasn’t going to stop wearing high heels just to make a man feel good about himself.

When she’d reached baggage claim, she tapped her foot as she waited for her luggage. The way her day had gone, her bags might have ended up in Pittsburgh.

Stay strong. Have hope.

Someday. Someday they’ll be here.

She’d always figured if a person paid for first class then her luggage should be off the plane first. Never seemed to work out that way.

Of course, her two hard shell suitcases came up the conveyor belt last, but at least they’d made it to Phoenix with her. She secured her luggage and headed out to catch a cab.

The airport wasn’t exceptionally busy, and within fifteen minutes she was on her way to the AAA Five Diamond Scottsdale Princess Resort in North Scottsdale. One of Celine’s select few friends, Meredith, had told her she had to go to the Princess when she came to Scottsdale. Meredith knew fine resort living and knew it well.

The sunshine and the warmth didn’t surprise Celine—she’d never been to Arizona, but she’d seen plenty of photographs. What did surprise her was just how much she liked the view. She’d thought the Phoenix desert would be far too barren for her tastes. But what she saw through the cab’s windows, between the airport and the Princess, called to her in a way that mystified her.

Clear blue skies and an endless stretch of land that went on for miles, gave her an aching desire to explore this place, so different from any location she’d been before.

Breathing room. She had none of that in New York City. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to live in a place with so much space.

And it was a dry heat. No humidity to cause her hair to go curly or melt her insanely expensive designer, supposedly un-meltable, makeup.

Bonus points for Arizona.

Celine tapped her fingers on her purse. She needed to focus on the commercial shoot and the print ads. She’d been doing her best to not think about what had become a complete headache. She had to go to a ranch tomorrow, for however long it took to get the commercial done. A ranch somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

And horses. I’ll be near horses.

Her throat ached and she shoved the thought aside.

Why couldn’t Rod have found a place in North Scottsdale instead of going for Monty’s lame rustic ranch idea? From everything she’d read, Scottsdale was much more civilized than Prescott. But she’d only get to spend the one night here, and then off to the Arizona wilds—or so she imagined.

Celine leaned back in her seat and sighed. To top it off, the location had ended up being selected on a bet, and she’d heard the cowboy who owned the ranch was none too happy to have them. Well, she certainly wasn’t happy about the situation, either.

She pictured the owner. What was his name? Something like Jack? Jerry? No, it was Jayson. Likely the man was an old, weatherworn cowboy with skin as tough as leather and wrinkles like sand dunes. Probably walked bow-legged on top of that.

At least Trevor, her photographer, loved the ranch. He had visited the original location and said this one was superb—far better with more opportunities for a great photoshoot and commercial.

The models had complained about the smell of cow manure until Trevor had threatened to take shots with the models shoveling shit. Celine smiled to herself. Apparently that had shut them up.

Damn, but she loved Trevor. He was a complete pain in the ass, but he was sharp, knowledgeable, artistic, and just flat out the best in the business. He was worth every damned penny she paid him. And yes, he had assured her, he did shit gold bricks with perfect edges.

She braced her elbow on the cab windowsill, put her head in her hand, and stared out without seeing.

Celine wasn’t sure how she was going to do on the ranch. It had been a long time since she’d been close to horses. Her belly took a dive and the wine and cheese she’d had in first class curdled. It would soon come back up.

It had happened so long ago. How could the pain still be so deep? She should be over it now.

She should have forgiven herself, but she never had.

Do I deserve to be free of that guilt?

She didn’t think she ever could be. Or if she even wanted to be free.

Celine reclined on her hotel bed and idly stared into a glass of Chardonnay that reflected the bedside light. The stack of papers from Monty lay scattered on the comforter beside her. She’d been putting off looking at them.

No doubt, more money out than in.

She needed another drink.

Celine idly played with the soft material of her burnt sienna dress. She loved silk, and she loved the soft flowy outfit she had designed. One benefit of her career—she could create whatever she wanted to wear.

Her phone rang and she picked it up from the nightstand. Monty lit up the screen.

She sighed. Lately hearing from Monty meant more bad news than good. She wanted to answer with “What now?” but settled for, “Hi, Monty.”

“Bad news.” He sounded dead serious.

Then she did say, “What now?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve listened to the news today?” he said.

She frowned. “No time. Why?”

He sounded genuinely agitated. “Big ransom malware attack all over the damned globe.”

Her brow furrowed. “Speak English.”

“A hacker syndicate sends out a ‘bug’ that takes over a company’s computer systems and encrypts all their data. They demand money to give you back control of your own computers. That’s why they call it ransomware.”

Her heart nearly stopped beating. “And you’re telling me this because…”

“You got hit with it, Celine,” he said. “Twenty thousand.”

She almost didn’t dare to ask. “Twenty thousand what?”

“Dollars,” Monty said. “They’ve ransomed every bit of computer access to your financial records as well as all of your designs. If we don’t pay them, they’ll delete everything.”

“No.” The word came out on a moan. “Don’t tell me that.”

“I’m sorry, kid.”

Celine banged the phone against her forehead. Not now.

Her head hurt when she brought the phone back to her ear. “What do you recommend?”

“You don’t have a choice,” he said. “But I’ll make sure you won’t ever get hit again. I’ll get you the best computer protection money can buy.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Do it.”

“I’ll take care of everything,” Monty said.

Celine hung up. The Bearer of Bad News kept giving her more bad news all the time. She should have thought to ask what “the best computer protection money can buy” would cost her.

“This sucks,” she said and dropped the phone onto the mattress. Now she couldn’t decide if she should review the papers Monty had given her, to get the bad news out of the way all at once—or ignore them in favor of drinking more wine.

The wine won.

She took a long swallow. Screw sipping.

What about my bank accounts? Business and personal? She frowned. Could they have been attacked, too?

Celine slid her laptop out of the tote beside her on the bed, then booted it up. Maybe she wasn’t the most tech savvy person, but she could find her way around a computer pretty well.

First, she checked her personal and business bank accounts. Her business account looked a little low, but then she’d had to spend money for one thing after another—necessary expenses per Monty.

Next, she did a Google search for software that would protect personal computers from outside attack. Multiple links popped up and she chose the most promising. When that company proved useless, she made her way through three more before she found one that could potentially work.

She never mixed her personal accounts with her business accounts. Monty had said he would be happy to take care of both, but she had declined. She needed to have control of something.

When she finished, she shoved the laptop into her tote and sagged against the pillows again.

Hopefully she’d protected her personal accounts. But she was out the door already on the twenty thousand ransomed from her business accounts.

This sucks.

Her mobile rang again.

“Go away,” she wailed.

She glared at the screen, then relaxed when she saw Meredith.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” she said in way of answering.

“You hadn’t even heard it yet.”

“I don’t care,” Celine said. “You could just breathe and I’d be happy.”

Meredith laughed. “What’s going on? Homesick?”

Celine didn’t know what it was like to be homesick. She shook her head. “Long day, that’s all.”

Meredith knew about Celine’s business and about a lot of the people in it, but Celine never shared financial issues. She never talked business with friends.

Not that she had many friends. A handful, if that.

“Come home and let Rod, Trevor, and Monty handle this commercial thing.” Meredith’s voice pressed into Celine’s head, forcing her to pay attention.

Celine sipped from the glass. “Liquid courage,” some said. Celine simply considered it to be a fluid way to deal with crap or just plain forget.

Meredith’s voice tugged Celine to the present. “I saw a gorgeous new pair of earrings at Tiffany’s.”

“I have to stay.” She wanted to cry at the thought of all the money she had to pay out, not counting the ransomware blackmailing thing. Instead, she swallowed the rest of her drink, then raised her empty glass. “Apparently, I need more wine.”

Meredith groaned. “Celine, what’s going on?”

“I’m okay.” Celine had never had a female friend like Meredith. She had made her way into Celine’s life until she had to admit that Meredith was a special person, and one of the best things that had happened in her life. “This is my career and I need to take care of business.”

Meredith’s sigh was audible over the phone. “I suppose you’re right. I just worry about you.”

“I know.” Celine smiled. “You’re a wonderful friend and I love you for it.” She set her wine glass on the nightstand. “I’m tired and I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Meredith yawned. “I didn’t realize it’s so late. It’s nearly midnight here.”

Celine laughed. “You knew exactly what time it is. You just wanted to check on me.”

“Busted.” Meredith’s grin was clear in her voice. “Good night, Celine. I’ll talk with you tomorrow. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Celine’s smile lasted until she said, “Good night,” and disconnected the call.

She looked at the wall across the bed while she sipped wine. She really didn’t know if she’d be able to sleep.

Maybe she needed to start going to a shrink. Mother had always thought therapists and psychiatrists, and the best possible meds, were the answer to everything. Mother would have been livid if she had known Celine spit out the meds they had forced her to take for so-called depression.

Celine had not been depressed. She’d been hurt, sad, in pain, and heartbroken…but mostly filled with devastating guilt. That didn’t mean she needed drugs. Some people did, and that was okay. But she hadn’t.

However, her mother had seen to it the psychiatrist prescribed some designer antidepressant that had cost a ridiculous amount every month.

And her mother’s voice—it rang in her head, as if she was in the room, with her correcting, criticizing, ordering, demanding.

Take your medicine, Celine. It’s for your own good.

Be calm and act like a lady.

Ladies do not cry.

Do what you’re told or you will regret crossing me.

Don’t wear that. You look fat in it.

A kindergartner could put on makeup better than that.

Celine gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Stop it. Stop the mom-voice before it really gets up to speed. Her arm ached to throw her glass in the cold fireplace.

She took a deep, calming breath and let herself relax. She imagined tension leaving every part of her body.

In spite of brick walls she’d had to break through, she had started her own business from scratch and broke into a tough industry during a financial downturn. The success of her business had been amazing.

Now she needed to take amazing and boost it into incredible. She needed everyone’s eyes on her designs. With a successful launch of her latest line, her designs would be in stores across the country.

She smiled. She’d worked her butt off to get here without using the checking account Mother and Father had set up for her when she was young. She had taken what money she had used for college and repaid every cent back into that account, including interest.

It had been so important to pay her way, create, and become successful on her own.

And that was exactly what she’d done.

Celine set the wine glass on the nightstand and sank into her pillows. Part of her need for success was to be able to donate to a cause that meant more to her than anything. A charity that brought Arabian horses and underprivileged teenagers together.

She didn’t know a lot about kids, but she did remember what it was like to be a teenager, and how healing a relationship with a horse could be.

Her heart constricted as she thought about Sky. What an amazing horse she’d been. Her best friend, her confidant. And then she was gone…and it had been Celine’s fault.

In the future, she wanted to own a ranch that used horses for therapy with teens. She wanted kids to experience what she had when Sky was alive. And she wanted them to learn from her mistake.

Celine didn’t drift off for a long time. Eventually she slipped into a fitful sleep. She dreamt of Sky galloping in an open field, before darkness fell. In the black of night, the only thing she saw was the word Merf, scratched into a wall.