Over the next several weeks, a worrisome thought nagged at Nate and grew in intensity. He’d wrangled and wrestled the problems at Whitney’s ranch every which direction trying to come up with a reasonable explanation but had found none.

Or maybe he was over-thinking the situation, afraid of failing Whitney like he’d failed Alicia. As his ex had reminded him all too often, he could be as dense as the Amazon Forest. Too little, too late, a cowboy with his head stuck in a barn, unable to see the clues and act in time. He didn’t want to be guilty of that with Whitney.

At least once a week since the sheep incident, something went awry at Whitney’s farm. At first, he’d thought the greenhorn city girl was either an absentminded klutz or a too-busy mama who had too much on her plate to look after a hundred animals. But now, he was having second thoughts. And third ones, too. Whitney was conscientious, a hard worker. A real good kisser, too, but he didn’t share that with his brother and Gilbert, both of whom agreed something at Whitney’s place seemed fishy. Was it her? Or was it something else?

The three men and Connie were in the Triple C living room, the TV on mute while the guys talked and sipped after-dinner coffee, and Connie created magic with her knitting needles. Emily had stopped by earlier, but she’d had a meeting tonight. City council or some such. His sister was always busy.

Nate propped his sock feet on the ottoman and sipped at his mug, glad for the warmth. The nights were almost cool enough now to build a fire in the fireplace and toast s’mores. He’d bet his boots the twins would love that. So would Whitney.

“Yesterday, I shut and locked the tack room myself,” he said. “This morning, the door was open, and every chicken on the place was inside.”

He didn’t have to explain the damage a chicken could do to leather. Whitney had nearly cried when she’d stepped inside, but she’d sent his admiration skyrocketing when she hadn’t. With her chin quivering, she’d rounded up the fuzzy-headed chickens and then marched to the house for warm water and rags and gotten busy with the cleanup.

“Did Whitney say if she’d gone back out to the barn last night after you left?” Gilbert asked.

“She hadn’t. Sophia had a stomach virus. Whitney didn’t leave her for a minute.” This morning she had looked as gray as warmed-over gravy, but the toddler had finally been asleep and feeling better.

“Why did she not call me? I would go and help. Emily too. We are her friends.” Connie jabbed a knitting needle at the yarn with particular indignation. “Is the bebe better today?”

“I stopped by her place before I came home for dinner. Baby is up and running. A little fussy but on the mend.”

“Good. Good. But this trouble. That is not good.” Connie’s needled dipped and jabbed through pink yarn. He didn’t need to be a genius to know the garment was for one of the twins.

“Maybe I should give Lawson a call tomorrow.” Lawson Hawk was the county sheriff and a lifelong friend. “He’ll run out and make an assessment. Whitney should get acquainted with him, anyway.”

Gilbert lifted an eyebrow. “Sure you want the sheriff visiting your girl? He’s got a reputation with the ladies.”

“She’s not my girl.” Nate refused to be jealous of a good friend, even one who was every bit as single and a lot better looking.

Gilbert laughed. He had a bad habit of doing that. If he didn’t agree or thought you were being stupid, he didn’t say a word. He just laughed.

Connie looked up from her knitting. “She and the twins must move in with us until this is settled.”

Nate nearly spit his coffee. “What?”

“For her own good. If someone is trying to scare her away, she could get hurt.” Connie nailed him with her black eyes. “I will fix up the two end rooms by yours.”

Nate considered this both the best and worst idea Connie had ever had. “I’m not sure the situation is that serious, Connie. Besides, she wouldn’t accept. She has to live on the property to inherit.”

The year thing still stuck in his craw like a sideways chicken bone, but right now, his concern was for her and the twins. She wanted that ranch, and no one was going to take it from her.

“If she is in danger—”

“We don’t know that, Connie.” Ace leaned up, letting his sock feet drop to the floor. All of them were bootless, knowing to shuck their footwear in the mudroom or face a fiery rebuke, most of which would be in Spanish, but even a man who didn’t speak the language would get her drift. “This may be a case of teenagers playing pranks.”

“Or maybe someone has a crush on Whitney and is trying to get her attention.” Gilbert nodded sagely. “She’s a mighty fine looking woman.”

Nate’s thoughts shot to L.T. Jenkins. He hadn’t come around again, as far as Nate knew. Was he vindictive enough to pay Whitney’s farm nighttime visits to open gates, empty troughs, dump out feed, and bust bales of hay?

Nah. A grown man didn’t have time for that kind of nonsense. Did he?

The TV flickered as programming changed and someone tried to sell him a slicer-dicer for only nineteen dollars and ninety-five cents. Outside, the moon had risen and darkness slouched in, a blanket over the earth.

He removed his cell phone and stared at Whitney’s number, thinking to call her. Better to overreact than to let something happen. “Maybe I should take a run over every night after supper and have a look around.”

The other three exchanged looks.

“Good idea, Nate. Go now.” Connie made a shooing motion with her needles. “Take some cake.”

With a wry smile, he shook his head, but on his way out, he stopped by the kitchen for a giant slice of Connie’s chocolate-cinnamon cake.

Whitney heard a vehicle and put down her pen to look outside. The familiar mahogany GMC rumbled to a stop.

Nate. Her heart lifted. That he’d been here a few hours ago mattered little. She couldn’t wait to see him again.

That was her problem. She’d shot right past the friend label and moved to romance and maybe even love. She was an idiot, one who fell hard and fast and made colossal mistakes. Even now, when she told herself to be cool, to keep an arm’s length, every nerve ending danced to know Nate was headed her direction.

He’d never stopped by this late before. Had he forgotten something? She flashed back to the night of the fire. Had something happened?

She hurried to flip on the light as he stepped up on the porch. Her heart leapt, yearned, and refused to settle. There were regular men and then there were real men. Nate Caldwell was the latter.

“Nate?” She kept her voice low so the girls wouldn’t awaken. “Is everything all right?”

“That’s what I came to ask you.” He removed his hat and stood outside the old-fashioned storm door looking serious. The yellow bug light turned him golden.

“You could have called.” But she was so glad he was here in the flesh. That she could not only hear his voice, she could see his face and touch him. Oh, she longed to touch him, to throw herself into his arms and tell him she didn’t want to be his friend anymore.

“Am I bothering you?”

Not in the way he meant.

“Course not.” She pushed at the screen. “The babies are asleep.”

“Okay.” He stepped quietly inside, filling the room with his presence and the clean scent of outdoors that seemed to cling to his skin and clothes. “You busy?”

“Trying to create better records.” Sally’s haphazard method of recording births, deaths, purchases, and sales hadn’t been too accurate. According to Nate’s wise advice, she needed good records for tax purposes as well as for her own use. “One of the nannies gave birth to twins a bit ago. If you hadn’t told me to look in on her, I would have missed an amazing sight.”

As always, Nate’s assessment had been spot-on. She truly did not know what she would do without him, and the thought of even trying scared her in a way she couldn’t explain. But it was more than his ranching knowledge. It was him. She knew better than to let her heart get involved, but as her family would confirm, when had she ever listened to common sense?

“She had twins?” Nate held his hat by the indented crown and placed the gray Stetson on an end table before he settled on Sally’s saggy old couch. “Did she have any trouble?”

“I would have called you if she had. It was a wonderful experience. I’m still floating on air.”

She’d wanted to call him and share in the moment, but she’d held herself firmly in check. The last thing she wanted was to drive him away with her neediness.

“Pretty special stuff, seeing new life come into the world.”

She stuck her hands in her back pockets and smiled. She’d known Nate would understand. “Want to see them?”

He stood and glanced toward the short hall leading to the bedrooms. “The twins okay?”

“Shouldn’t wake up until morning. They’ve slept well since we moved here.”

“What about you?” He held the door for her, his head tilted to look at her. “How do you like country nights?”

Shorter by several inches, Whitney slipped under the arc of his raised arm, accidentally brushing his body as she passed into the light of the porch. Nate closed the door carefully, gently, so as not to wake the girls.

The air was crisp, a warning of soon coming frost, and Whitney crossed her arms against the cool. “Love the nights now that I’ve gotten used to the noises.”

Darkness lay across the lawn and driveway between the house and barn. Shadowy buildings rose like specters, and white moonlight glinted off metal gates and fences. At first, the noises and darkness and stark aloneness had spooked her, but now, she loved everything about her little ranch. Often, after the babies were in bed, she sat on the porch, awestruck by the glittery night sky, and talked to God.

“Noises?” Nate cocked his head, amused. “Country is quiet.”

“To you maybe.” She crossed her arms against the chilly air.

“Are you cold?”

“I should have grabbed a sweater.”

“And take away my excuse to do this?” He draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close to his side.

He didn’t need an excuse, but she didn’t tell him that.

She snuggled in, breathed the essence of cotton shirt and shower soap, and felt…valued, womanly. “Forget what I said about the sweater.”

His laugh was soft against her hair. “I’m glad you don’t mind. I was about to die to touch you.”

He was?

“You’re so warm.” A ridiculous thing to say, but his admission flustered her.

“You’re so small.”

She laughed. “Average maybe.”

“You feel small to a man. Holding you makes me feel strong and capable. I like the feeling.”

She liked it too. A lot. Just as she liked him. When he turned her sideways in the moonlight, still sheltering her with his warmth, she was ready for his kiss. Never mind that the imp tapping at the back of her brain warned of impending doom.

Their lips met in a gentle seeking, soft and pleasurable, but a hint of passion lurked around the edges. At some point, one of them took the kiss up a notch, deepening the intensity, melding them. Had it been her?

In his embrace, Whitney’s world, out of control for years, began to center and settle. This, of course, made absolutely no sense. After all the mistakes she’d made, she knew better to let another man into her life. Especially now when she couldn’t afford complications that might interfere with securing a home and a future for the twins.

But for this brief instant, cocooned by this gentle, thoughtful man, she was no longer afraid.

Around them, night pulsed and animals rustled. A dove cooed from the barn loft while they explored this most interesting friendship that had led to more and more kisses each time they met.

He claimed they were friends, but the heart-melting cowboy with his kind ways and warm kisses was coming to mean so much more to Whitney.

Sometimes, like now, she thought they needed to talk. That she needed to get her feelings out into the open. But fear held her back. He’d been hurt, too, and he’d been clear that he only wanted a friend with kissing benefits. Friends who liked to be together, who liked to talk and laugh together. Only friends.

What if he didn’t want anything except these stolen kisses in the moonlight? What if he rejected her now that she’d begin to love him? Could she bear that kind of loss again?

Better to keep him as a friend than lose him altogether.

He was in too deep. He was going to get his heart shredded into coleslaw.

Slowly, Nate untangled his mouth from Whitney’s and, breathing like a race horse at the end of the Derby, kept her close as they went inside the barn to see the new twin goats.

He’d been telling the truth when he said he was dying to touch her. He loved holding her in his arms and kissing her warm, honeyed mouth. He loved the way she made his knees weak. He loved the tremble that shivered through her body.

He loved the rest of her too. Her grit and determination to succeed. Her laughter and the way her nose wrinkled when she encountered a disgusting barnyard odor. The way she mothered her children. The way she’d gone out of her way to sit beside the smelly, shabby homeless man who snuck into the back of the church service last Sunday.

Yeah, that had really gotten him.

He just plain loved Whitney Brookes.

Connie’s matchmaking schemes to bring them together were unnecessary. He couldn’t stay away from Whitney if his life depended on it.

“They’re in the third stall,” she was saying.

Reluctantly, he released his hold to open the stall door. Inside, a pair of spotted kids no bigger than puppies staggered around their black-and-white mother, stiff legs splayed wide for balance.

“They look healthy.” Nate checked over the nanny, running a soothing hand down her back. She butted gently at his leg.

Assured that all was well with the new kids, he remembered his reason for being here and moved on through the barn and out into the back lot. If someone was sneaking in during the night to cause mischief, he wanted to know.

“Nate?” Whitney followed, the barn light glowing around her until she became a shadow like him. “What are you doing?”

“Just looking around.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to scare you.”

“You just did.” She looped her arm through his and leaned in, face lifted toward him. “What’s going on?”

He covered her fingers with his and didn’t answer. Eyesight adjusted to the low light of the moon’s glow, he scanned the fields all the way to the horizon. Nothing. No car lights. No movement.

He squeezed her fingers. “You’ve had too many incidents lately. I worry someone is sneaking in here at night.”

With a sharp inhale, she moved closer. “Is that why you came over?”

His gaze drifted over her face, to her lips. Was there real trouble? Or was he simply looking for an excuse to be with his neighbor?

”Not entirely.” His mouth curved. “Connie sent cake, which I forgot to take out of the truck.”

She skipped right past his attempt at humor. “Why would anyone want to cause trouble for me? And who?”

“Don’t know. L.T., maybe? Would you be interested in talking to the sheriff?”

Whitney drew back, expression alarmed. “Do I need to?”

“Yes.” He tugged her close again. “I think you do.”

Sheriff Lawson Hawk was a tall man in a cowboy hat and boots with the thickest black eyelashes and brightest blue eyes Whitney had ever seen on a male.

He arrived the next morning after Nate had come and gone, his sheriff’s badge glinting above a scary looking gun and a belt radio that made frequent squawky noises. She supposed in rural areas a radio was more essential than a cell phone.

Whitney pushed the twins in the stroller around the farm while she explained the rash of strange problems. Today, while he was here, everything was as it should be. Naturally. Every animal in its spot. Every door and gate secured. Every feed sack and barrel safe and sound.

To the sheriff’s credit, he listened with thoughtful respect and filled out a report. There wasn’t much else he could do.

“You’ve seen no one? Had no problems with any of the neighbors?”

Sophia threw her dolly in the dirt for Whitney to retrieve. “The Caldwells are my nearest neighbors. They’ve been great.”

“You can’t think of anyone you’ve gotten crossways with? Someone who might want to stir up trouble for you?”

“I haven’t been here very long, and I don’t think I’ve made any enemies or upset anyone.” Unless she counted the woman Sophia threw up on in the grocery check-out line last week. And the amorous cowboy, L.T., but that had been weeks ago, and she hadn’t seen him since. She mentioned the name anyway.

The sheriff shook his head. “Nate told me about the trouble with L.T., but last I heard, he was headed to Wyoming. I’ll double-check though, just to be sure.”

Whitney rubbed both hands down the thighs of her jeans, as bewildered as the lawman. “Thank you.”

“I wish I could do more to help, but there isn’t much to go on. Random problems could happen on any farm. Unless an actual crime is committed…” The sheriff let her fill in the blanks. An opened gate or spilled feed wasn’t a criminal offense.

Admittedly, she felt a little let down. She’d wasted his time, and he probably pegged her as was one of those hysterical females who call the cops every time they hear a noise or see a shadow. “I understand.”

He stuck his pen in the top of the clip board and began walking toward his vehicle, a white SUV with Calypso County Sheriff emblazed down the side in green lettering.

The stroller wheels rattled as Whitney bumped alongside him. “I’m sorry I wasted your time coming out here.”

She wouldn’t bother him again.

A smile crinkled around those fabulous eyelashes. The sheriff probably had women making false reports all the time to get him to stop in and chat. She hoped he didn’t think that about her.

“No problem. Nate says you’re new at ranching. It’s normal to need some time.”

So he did think she was a silly city girl who’d probably caused her own problems.

At the SUV, he opened the door and turned to her. “No harm in filling out a report. In the future, keep on the look out for tire tracks, footprints, any human activity. If any damage is done, give me a call.”

“What about the fire? Wasn’t that damaging enough?”

“No indication the fire on Caldwell land was connected to your situation or that it was anything other than a careless accident. Unfortunately, the campfire spot was all we had to go on. If someone is intentionally trying to upset you, they’re smart enough not to leave evidence.”

Right. A careless accident. She’d seen a lot of careless accidents lately.

After a few more exchanges, Whitney stood in the driveway and watched him leave. The sheriff was professional. He’d done his job, but she could tell he didn’t believe anything serious was happening. And maybe it wasn’t. She second-guessed herself all the time.

Embarrassed, she pushed the stroller down to the chicken pen for the twins to enjoy their favorite pets. The Polish hens seemed to show off whenever the twins toddled up to the fence and started chattering. Fluffing their feathery crests, the lady chickens raced toward the fence while the rooster she’d named Mick Jagger let rip with a hearty crow. One of the hens stopped in mid-run to stare at Mick as if to say, “What was that?”

Between the chickens and the playful goats, she always had a reason to smile at her menagerie, even on days when she wanted to cry.

The sheriff was right. No one had a reason to bother her. Nate had been sweet and supportive to take her concerns seriously, but he probably knew it, too. She was simply a bad-luck rancher who had no idea what she was doing.

She squatted behind the girls and listened to their chatter. The ranch was a peaceful, happy, healthy place. Anything bad that happened was her fault, and she wasn’t going to say another word to anyone.