Sunday night while she and her babies slept, someone raided the chicken pen, and three hens went missing. Another warning note was tacked inside the barn door. The typed print sent the message loud and clear.

Leave before someone dies.

Chest hurting so badly, she wondered if a woman her age could have a heart attack, Whitney texted Nate and told him not to come over because she had business in town. Unlike his sweet text from last night, she didn’t add her love. He had to believe she’d had second thoughts. That was the only way. Otherwise, he’d do something crazy and get himself hurt.

After locking the twins inside the house, she made the rounds, caring for the animals, tears falling with every butt from the goats and cackle from her comical hens. When ornery Clive snuggled under her arm, she fought back a sob. By the time, she got to the new baby goats, she had to sit down in the stall, hug them to her, and weep.

Back inside the house, she tried to hide her heartache from the twins, but they saw her tears and reacted with worry.

“Mama, don’t cry. ‘Livia loves you.” Tiny arms wrapped around her leg as the baby repeated the phrase Whitney said to her girls any time they got upset. Their compassion and kindness only made the tears fall more freely.

“Sophia, too.” Sophia patted her own chest. “I, Mama. I.”

Olivia tilted her face upward, expression tender and worried. “Did you got a boo-boo?”

Whitney went to her knees and held the girls tightly against her. Sophia patted her back.

Stiffening her resolve with a reminder that the girls were in danger, she sniffed back the tears. “No, baby. Mama’s tired this morning. That’s all.”

Tired of life kicking her in the teeth.

Someone wanted her to fail, and now she was convinced the man she’d seen in the Burger Barn was the other heir to Sally’s ranch—Ronnie Flood. Ronnie was the only one who stood to gain if she walked away from this ranch and Calypso.

She had no idea what kind of man he was, but anyone who would threaten innocent children must be a horrible excuse for a human being. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this. There had to be something she could do to stop him.

She considered the choices. Involve Nate and risk his life. Tell the sheriff and risk her children as well as Nate. Neither was a choice she could live with. Any man who would intentionally set the fire that had nearly burned the Triple C was evil enough to do worse. She could feel it deep in her gut. They were all in danger.

Her only viable option was St. Louis. Go home. To her parents. Where the girls would be safe.

Leaving the ranch meant losing it forever, but what else could she do? Her daughters and Nate were worth more than this ranch. More than anything.

“God has not given me the spirit of fear,” she muttered. But if that was true, why were her hands shaking? Why was she about to run away?

She needed advice and she needed it bad, and the only other person who would understand was her lawyer.

Gritty eyed and muzzy-headed from fatigue, she drove into Calypso. The blue sky and fall foliage, usually a favorite, were lost on her, as was the upbeat music pumping from her radio. She clicked it off. She tried to pray, but her thoughts jumbled and spun, making no sense even to her. God must think she was a real loser.

Running on adrenaline, fear, and a full pot of strong coffee, Whitney scanned the street in front of the law offices of Harold and Leach. Monday morning traffic puttered along the main streets, and car doors slammed as the work week reconvened. A well-dressed woman toting a disposable coffee cup stepped up on the curb next to her and smiled before going inside the bank.

In the crisp autumn breeze, Calypso appeared perfectly normal, perfectly safe. If Ronnie was watching, and he must be to know about her relationship with Nate, he was too smart to show himself.

The idea that he might be lurking nearby at this very moment scared her silly. Shielding the twins with her body, she gripped their hands and cast one last anxious look around before scurrying inside the law office.

A well-groomed receptionist with short, coiffed hair and red earrings removed her reading glasses. “May I help you?”

“I’d like to speak with Mr. Leach, please.” Her voice trembled. She cleared her throat.

Don’t panic. Do what you must.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but tell him Whitney Brookes is here and it’s urgent.”

A professional smile creased the woman’s face. “Have a seat. I’ll see if he’s available.”

While she waited, Whitney jostled a twin on each knee and prayed. Sweat gathered on the back of her neck. Every tick of the clock hanging over the receptionist’s desk made her jump.

She prayed the lawyer would use his expertise to protect her and the Caldwells. Maybe he could find Ronnie and confront him, threaten him with jail or a lawsuit. Attorneys knew how to do that sort of thing, didn’t they?

But she had no idea where Ronnie was or what he was up to. Worse, he had given her no deadline. As long as she lived on the ranch, her children remained in danger. What if he did something diabolical to her car and it exploded? What if he was, even now, lying in wait at the ranch?

She started to shake again.

As tired as she was, the children were equally well-rested. They squirmed and whined to get down and play, and she was about to cave when the other woman returned.

“Mr. Leach can spare a few minutes for you. Go on back.”

The walk down the hall to a door marked, Arnold Leach, Attorney at Law, was long and nerve wracking. Her stomach rolled and she had the awful notion that she might lose three cups of coffee on the gray Berber carpet.

“Whitney.” Mr. Leach stood behind his desk, smiling like an old friend as he adjusted his suit coat. “Come in, my dear, and bring those darling children.”

Whitney wobbled inside, closing the door behind her. She had a vague notion of elegant, sedate décor in shades of gray, but other than the client chairs that faced the desk, she couldn’t have cared less. Without waiting to asked, she collapsed onto one of the seats and pulled the twins onto her lap.

Mr. Leach watched her with interest as he settled into his fancy leather chair. “You seem a bit discomposed this morning, Whitney. Is there something I can help you with? Problems with the inheritance or running the ranch? I do hope you haven’t already gone through all of Sally’s funds.”

Olivia arched her back. “Down, Mommy. I want down now.”

The girls were usually great when she took them out in public. Why today of all days did Olivia have to act up? Was she responding to the turmoil churning inside her mother?

Mr. Leach lifted his telephone receiver. “Perhaps my receptionist could watch your children while we talk.”

“No!” The reply shot out with enough force to startle Olivia into submission. Whitney had startled herself. But she was not letting the twins out of her sight for a minute.

She sucked in a calming, though shaky breath. “They can be a handful sometimes. I prefer to keep them with me.”

“As you wish.” He put the phone down but his lips thinned in disapproval. He probably thought she was a terrible mother. “I have another client soon. So if there is something important we need to discuss….”

The lawyer let the sentence soak in. Whitney got the message. Speak her peace or get out.

“Someone is threatening my family and Nate Caldwell.”

His bushy eyebrows jacked up into his receding hairline. “I beg your pardon?”

She told him about the notes and the strange incidents. “The incidents weren’t because I’m an inept city girl. Someone was intentionally trying to sabotage my efforts so they could steal my inheritance.”

“Who are on earth would do such a thing?”

“Ronnie Flood. Sally’s back-up heir. The one you told me about that was raring to take over if I didn’t want the ranch.”

“Have you spoken to the man?”

“No, but I saw him at the Burger Barn on Saturday.”

“Really?”

Didn’t he believe her? “Mr. Leach, please. You’re the only one I can talk to about this. I’m in danger. My girls are in danger. If Ronnie is to blame, he’s also the one who set the fire that nearly burned out the Caldwell’s ranch. He’s dangerous, a threat to me and my girls.”

The lawyer leaned forward. “Have you called the sheriff?”

“Not yet.” She bit her lip. Did she sound like a hysterical nut? “Like you, he thought I was probably causing my own problems. Besides, according to the note, if I call the police, this note-writing maniac will do something terrible.”

“So you haven’t called?”

“No, of course not!”

“May I see this note? You did bring it with you, didn’t you?”

She tugged the paper from her pocket and handed it across the desk. His scowl deepened as he pursued the message.

“This is serious, indeed. I understand your concern. A call to the sheriff could have deadly repercussions.”

The word deadly shot terror through her body. “I don’t know what to do.”

The man sat back in his black executive chair and stroked his chin, contemplating first her and then the note. Finally, he spoke.

“You did the right thing by coming to me with this. As your lawyer, I am deeply concerned for your well being and that of your little girls.” He shot a hang-dog glance at the twins. “Such precious children, a gift from above. We must protect them at all costs.”

“I agree completely. They’re my life. I cannot let anything happen to them.”

“Then, my dear girl, for their sakes, the solution is clear.”

Whitney batted her eyes, baffled. “It is?”

“You must take them far away, some place where this Ronnie person or whomever is the culprit, can’t find you. Move back to St. Louis, close to your family, where you and your children will be well protected.”

“You know the conditions of the will. Mr. Leach, if I abandon the ranch, I lose it. Can’t you find Ronnie and do something to stop him?”

“Investigations take time, my dear. As much as I’d like to resolve this differently, I fear you have little choice. As your attorney, I am advising you to return to your family in St. Louis immediately.”

“But—”

The attorney folded his arms on the desk and leaned forward, tone ominous. “Are you willing to risk your daughters for a ranch you didn’t know existed a few months ago?”

When put like that, the answer was simple. In a whisper, she replied, “No.”

He nodded, leaning back again. “Then trust me. Relinquishing that little ranch is absolutely the right choice. A novice such as yourself would never be able to make a living there anyway.”

Whitney licked dry lips. Something about this felt all wrong, but she was so tired and scared, she couldn’t think straight. She needed Nate. She needed to hear his advice and wisdom. But she didn’t dare.

Mr. Leach shot her a professionally sympathetic glance. “Not everyone is cut out for the country life, and of course, you want to do what is best for your children. I will have my secretary prepare the proper paper work for your signature. Then all will be well.”

Well? To leave everything she’d worked so hard for? To leave Calypso and Nate and her livelihood? She loved learning to be a rancher. She loved introducing her girls to the small animals and seeing them thrive in the healthy outdoors.

She also loved them too much to take the risk.

While she rung her hands, uncertain but out of good options, the lawyer lifted the telephone and spoke to someone. His secretary, Whitney supposed, because in minutes, a stick thin woman in bright blue pumps entered with a manila folder.

As Mr. Leach took it, his lips stretched in a thin smile. “Thank you, Patrice.”

Patrice nodded and sailed out, shutting the door behind her. The click sounded like a gunshot to Whitney.

Whitney stared at the folder, aware she was about to give up a dream.

Was Mr. Leach correct? Was this really the only solution? Or was she making another colossal mistake?

Whitney’s breath grew short until she feared she’d pass out. Her ears began to buzz, a dozen bees inside her head.

Leave before someone dies.

The message flashed through her mind and scared her senseless all over again. She had no choice. She had to do this.

Mr. Leach pulled a legal-looking sheet from the folder. “Here’s all we need to protect your daughters from this hoodlum. Simply sign on the bottom line, Patrice will notarize, and you’ll be free of that troublesome ranch.”

Troublesome? Yes, but wonderful too. Those cute little creatures had saved her life. They’d given her a home. They’d brought her to Nate.

Tears burned the back of her nose. She sniffed them away. Don’t think about the ranch. Think of Nate and Olivia and Sophia. For them. Just sign the paper.

Mr. Leach turned the sheet in her direction and slid it across the desk. Sweat had beaded on his forehead. Was he that afraid for her? Did he know something horrible about Ronnie that she didn’t?

With trembling hand, she took the pen he offered. Her vision blurred as she tried to read over the legal document. She was so tired. Exhausted. Sleep-deprived. It was hard to know if this was the right thing to do.

“Me, Mommy. I write.” Olivia grabbed for the pen. The movement jarred a long streak of ink down the page.

“Olivia!” Whitney appealed to the lawyer. “I’m sorry. Will this need to be retyped?”

Mr. Leach’s face mottled. His eyes bulged. He looked anything but pleased. “You should have left the children with Patrice. Let me see the paper.”

Whitney pushed the document his way and waited, embarrassed as he glared at the damage.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Leach. The girls aren’t accustomed to sitting still so long.”

His mouth in a thin line, the attorney shoved the form in her direction. “Just sign it.”

Surprised by his harsh tone, Whitney bristled. Why was he being so pushy and rude? She’d done nothing wrong.

Suddenly, her mind cleared and her spine straightened. God had sent her this ranch. Calypso was her home now. Her life was here. She had plans for the ranch, plans for her future. She loved her miniature animals, her new friends, her church, and Calypso. Most of all, she loved Nate Caldwell. There had to be something else she can do.

“I should think about this more. I’ll let you know.” She grabbed the paper along with her daughters’ hands and hurried for the door.

“You’re risking a great deal, my dear.” His voice sounded ominous.

She spun around.

The attorney glared at her. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

She had no idea.

With fear crawling down her back like black-widow spiders, she marched out of the office, muttering under her breath. “God has not given me the spirit of fear. Oh, help me, Jesus.”

Nate stared grimly at the downed barbed wire fence, his hands on his hips as he studied the reason for yesterday’s mass exit of cattle onto a busy roadway.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Gilbert squatted on the burned grass and lifted one end of wire.

“This fence was cut. All five strands.”

“Makes a man wonder about that fire.” Gilbert tossed the wire aside in disgust. “Was it intentional too?”

He’d been thinking the same thing for a long time. “But why? Who would cut our fence and let fifty head of cattle out on the highway where they could cause an accident?”

“We’ve never had any trouble before.” Gilbert dusted his hands on his pant legs, sending up a puff of dust and soot, leftovers of the fire. “You or Ace riled anybody lately?”

Nate removed his hat and wiped a hand across his forehead. Though the day was cool, his mood was hot. “Not that I know of.”

Not unless he counted Whitney, who had suddenly stopped communicating with him. She hadn’t even answered his latest text.

Something was wrong.

He’d tried calling her after the odd “don’t come over” text, but she hadn’t picked up.

A bad feeling nagged at him. Had she changed her mind about him? About them? Was she trying to let him down easy?

He shouldn’t have texted his love. Pretty dumb move. He should have told her in person. Was she upset about that? Or was she upset because he’d said it in the first place?

One thing he knew, after he’d laid his heart out on the line, Whitney had gone silent.

Even a dumb cowboy like him knew that was not a good sign.

“Cows aren’t going to fix this fence,” Gilbert said. “Might as well get to it.”

Nate slapped his hat back on his head. He didn’t want to work fence. He wanted to talk to Whitney, to clear things up, to be sure he hadn’t blown his chance. But responsibility came before pleasure.

Together he and the foreman unloaded and settled in to the job.

“We should reinforce this road frontage all at once,” Gilbert said as he unrolled a length of wire. “We brought plenty of supplies.”

The last thing he wanted to hear. More work. A longer day.

Nate plucked the top wire on the next section like a guitar string and watched it sag. Gilbert was right. As usual.

With a resigned sign, Nate said, “The posts are good but this wire is getting old and the fire stretched it pretty badly.”

In an hour they’d worked their way along the fence line, repairing and replacing. All the while Nate’s mind raced and his gut gnawed. If worrying about Whitney wasn’t enough, he had his own property to worry about. Somebody had cut his fence and maybe set the fire that had destroyed acres of prime winter pasture.

Somebody had also messed with Whitney’s livestock, too.

He had no real evidence of that except for the little annoying problems that kept popping up, but he’d watched Whitney with the animals. Even though she was green to ranching, she was conscientious. He didn’t believe she could be responsible for that many mishaps.

But after the sheriff had come out and looked around, the problems had stopped. Either that, or Whitney wasn’t sharing her trouble with him.

Wire in hand, he paused to stare off in the direction of her house.

If she was hiding problems, what else was she keeping from him? Why hadn’t she returned his calls? Why had she blown him off this morning?

“You’re kind of spacey today, son.” Gilbert unwound a length of barbed wire and offered one end to Nate. “Fretting about who did this?”

“A little.” Nate shook the cobwebs out, worked the wire around the T-post, and tied it off with his pliers. “I’m worried about Whitney.”

“She sick?”

“Not that I know of. She had to go into town this morning. Told me not to come over.”

Leaning his full body weight, he stretched the wire to the next post and held it in place while Gilbert applied the stretchers. The Triple C prided itself on excellent fences and very few cattle on the loose. Last night had been the exception. A major exception he didn’t want to happen again. Cattle on a roadway were a huge liability.

“So what’s the problem?”

He hadn’t seen her since Saturday night. That was the problem. One of them.

“I’ve been going to Whitney’s place every morning since we met, and suddenly she doesn’t want me there. She didn’t come to church yesterday either. Something’s wrong.”

Gilbert laughed, his dark face crinkling in humor. “Son, you’ve got it bad. Did you have a fight?”

“No. Just the opposite.” They’d had a great time on Saturday at the pumpkin patch, and the evening had gotten better and better, ending with the sweetest words anyone could say. Or text.

He yanked hard on the wire and stomped toward the next post. “I keep having flashbacks of Alicia walking out on me, and I wonder if Whitney will do the same.”

Gilbert sobered. “Stands to reason you’d be gun-shy after what Alicia did, but Whitney’s different.”

“I thought so too, but…”

“I can work on this.” Gilbert nudged his chin toward the end of the fence row. “Go on over and talk to her. If she’s not there, wait ‘til she is.”

Though Nate appreciated his friend’s words, the ranch was his responsibility. “I finish what I start.”

But as soon as they reached the end, he was out of here.