Whitney barricaded herself and the twins inside the ranch house and walked the floor, praying like a mad woman.

The only answer she heard was inside her head and her heart. Tell Nate was not a reasonable answer, no matter how much she wanted to do exactly that. The stakes were too high.

Yet, goodbye was the cruelest word in the English language. Could she do that to him? To herself and these girls who’d come to love him so much? Especially after she’d promised to stay in Calypso?

She walked through the little farmhouse that had become home, a real home filled with warmth and love. Over the weeks and months, she’d added a few touches here and there. Framed pictures of the twins, an ivy plant from Connie, a throw rug for the girls to play on, two bright print accent pillows from Emily. Next to Sally’s dated couch, Nate and Gilbert had placed a pair of little rocking chairs for Olivia and Sophia. Early Christmas gifts, they’d said.

The thought of that sweet gesture brought tears.

She tipped the little chairs and watched them rock, imagining the twins there with their baby dolls as they watched Peppa Pig. Going to the window, she gazed out at the ranch in golden autumn and soaked up more things she loved about this place.

The big oak in the front yard had turned a deep red-orange, and squirrels raced each other for the acorns underneath. Out in the pens, the animals looked healthy and well prepared for winter.

Yes, she and the twins had thrived here. She’d grown as a mother, as a woman. Here in Calypso, she’d proven to herself that she was capable and strong, no longer a quitter who ran when life got too hard.

Was that what she was doing now? Running away again?

Giving in and giving up didn’t seem right.

She rubbed a hand over her tight forehead and closed the door, anxious about who might be hiding in the barn or lurking in her fields.

Her fields.

Her cell phone vibrated against her hip. She didn’t have to look to know the caller was Nate. He’d texted and phoned off and on all day. She didn’t know what to say, so she hadn’t replied. Not once. And she wouldn’t now. Not until she knew for certain what to do.

Footsteps sounded outside on the porch. Fear shot up her spine. She spun toward the door and back again. Where were the girls?

“Olivia! Sophia!” She raced down the hall and found the twins in the nursery exactly where she’d left them, playing dress-up. Feet stuck inside Whitney’s rubber boots and a baseball cap falling down over her ears, Sophia was assisting her twin into a tattered old jacket.

They were safe. They were okay. For now. But she couldn’t live like this, worrying every second that someone would hurt them.

Breathing deeply to settle her adrenaline, baseball bat in hand, she squinted through the front door peep hole.

Her heart soared as her stomach fell. Nate stood on her porch.

He knocked again and, steeling her emotions, she put the bat against the wall and opened the door.

Nate held a bouquet of roses. Yellow.

“Hey.” He said through the glass.

“Hi.”

“Everything okay?”

How did she answer that?

Pushing the door open, she said, “You brought flowers.”

A grin inched up his face, and Whitney wanted to hug him so badly, to be held in his arms and forget all about the terrifying notes and the paper she probably should have signed.

He stepped inside, bringing a clean, freshly showered smell and the hint of some woodsy cologne. Instead of his usual work attire, he’d dressed in pressed jeans and a light blue Cinch shirt she’d never seen before. Even his Sunday boots were polished to a brown sheen.

He’d dressed up for her. He’d brought her roses. This gentle cowboy she loved so much.

But if she loved him, wouldn’t she do everything she could to protect him?

The confused voice in her head wouldn’t hush. Tell him. Tell him, it said.

Her eyes dropped shut. Oh, Lord, I don’t know what to do.

To cover her confusion, she buried her nose in the flowers and sniffed. “I love yellow roses.”

“I know.”

Of course he did. Just as she knew he liked picante sauce on everything, even his steak, and that he’d broken his arm jumping out of the barn loft when he was eight. And though he’d have made a great vet, he’d never resented coming home for good when his father died.

In return, she’d told him tales of growing up in the suburbs, of her insurance-salesman father and paralegal mother, of the plays she’d been in and the Spanish teacher she’d had a crush on. She’d even told him of time she’d thrown up on her desk in second grade.

They’d had too little time together and yet, it seemed as if they’d known each other forever.

Nate pushed the roses aside and leaned in for a kiss. Aching inside, afraid for him, and so unsure, she kissed him back, the taste bittersweet as he pulled her close. Whitney leaned into his chest, savoring the moment and the memory in case she had to walk away.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he murmured against her ear.

The man was killing her.

Slowly, she eased away from his solid comfort to memorize his wonderful, rugged face. She gulped back the tidal wave of emotion pressing, pressing against her eyelids.

“Whitney?” A crease appeared between his eyes as his expression shifted from affection to concern. “What’s wrong? You look like your puppy got run over.”

She licked her lips, tasting him there. “We need to talk.”

But what would she say? The truth? Or a lie to protect him?

“I suspected something was wrong.” He shifted his stance, wary now. “I’m listening.”

Tears threatened. She batted her eyes against the impending flow.

“The flowers,” she said quickly.

To hide the tears and her terrible, terrible worry, she hurried into the kitchen. Once there, she floundered. She didn’t own a vase and if Sally did, she’d never seen it.

Not that a vase mattered at this moment.

Roses in hand, she stood at the sink, staring out the kitchen window. Was someone out there even now, aware she was here with Nate?

“Whit?” Nate followed, stopping at the scarred little table. “What’s going on?”

“I—I” Slowly, she turned to face him, the roses forgotten.

Her heart stuttered. Nate stared down at the paper she’d left on the table. The paper Lawyer Leach had advised her to sign.

“Help me out here. What’s happening?” He picked up the document. “What is this?”

“I think I should give up the ranch and go back to St. Louis.”

“You what? What are you talking about?” His face grew incredulous. “That’s crazy. You can’t. You said…”

She waved a limp hand. “I think it’s for the best.”

“Best for who?”

“You. Me. The twins.”

He stepped closer. She backed away.

“You’re not making sense,” he said. “Two nights ago, we made plans. You said you liked it here.”

“I do. I love this ranch. I love Calypso.” And you.

She pressed shaky fingers to her big mouth. She’d said too much.

Nate raised his hands in a timeout sign. “Whoa. Now, you’re making even less sense. You love it here, but you’re going back to St. Louis.” He shook his head. “No sense at all. Two days ago, you said you loved—”

He put clenched fists on his hips and glanced to the side. The hurt in his brown eyes nearly took her to the floor. “I caused this, didn’t I? You’re leaving because of me. Because I spoke too soon, pushed our relationship too far too fast.”

“No. No!” Her fingers twisted against her T-shirt. She was hurting him when she only wanted to protect him. “That’s not true.”

Those honest brown eyes came back to her and held on, seeking to understand, seeking the truth.

“Then talk to me, Whit,” he said softly, voice aching. “Please. You’re killing me. Explain what this is all about.”

Everything in her yearned to do exactly that. But if she told him about the threats, was she risking his life? And that of her daughters?

The twins apparently had heard the voice of their hero and came stumbling into the room in their oversize play clothes. “Nate, Nate!”

Each girl grabbed one of his knees and wrapped her legs around his shin. It was a game they played. The twins latched on like baby monkeys and the strong cowboy walked them around the room, as stiff-legged as Frankenstein.

Now was not a good time. “Girls, go play. Leave Nate alone. Get down.”

Three sets of brown eyes stared at her. One was so confused, she had to look away. When Nate began to march the twins around the kitchen, the tears she’d kept inside trickled onto her cheeks.

The twins giggled and she cried. A headache throbbed behind her eyes.

Her baby girls needed this wonderful man who’d been a father to them. They needed his gentle roughness, his manly way of doing things. So did she.

While she watched, he walked them down the hall and through the nursery door. She heard the rumble of his voice and more giggles before he returned without them.

“You’re crying.” Nate touched his rough fingertips to her cheek. “I hate seeing you cry. Tell me what’s wrong. If it’s me, if I messed up, if you don’t want me in your life, say so, and I’ll go. But if you love this ranch, don’t give it up. You’ve worked too hard.”

The tears turned to a flood. Leave it to Nate to shoulder the blame and think of her. No wonder she loved him so much.

“I’m afraid.”

“Me, too, darling. We’ve both been hurt.” Completely misunderstanding her fear, his rancher’s hands gently gripped her upper arms and drew her closer. “But with God’s help—”

Whitney placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “That’s not what I mean, Nate. He said he’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt my babies unless I sign over the ranch.”

Nate stiffened. His fingers tightened against her arms.

With a steel fury in his voice she’d never heard before, he ground out, “Someone threatened you? Is that what this is about?”

The awful trembling returned. “I shouldn’t have told you. Now something terrible will happen.”

“Who was it?” His eyes narrowed. A cheek muscle twitched. “Give me a name.”

“I don’t know for sure. He left notes, one in the mailbox and another stuck on the barn door this morning.”

“Show me.”

Whitney retrieved the notes and watched, trembling, as Nate read each one. When he’d finished, the most dangerous expression she’d ever seen hardened his face.

“Nobody will ever hurt you or those babies. Not on my watch. This ends today.”