Warning you,” Manny said breathlessly as Ross yanked open the door and climbed out to face him. “That house is empty. The dudes inside are long gone. They got a tip, and they hightailed it out of there.”

The warm, humid evening wrapped Ross’s body, and sweat trickled from his temples. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me exactly how you know this.”

Manny’s face was pale in the moonlight. “Let me in the truck,” he said frantically. “Please?”

Ross stared at him a moment then unlocked and opened the rear door. He shoved Manny in, slammed the door, and got himself back into the driver’s seat.

“Hey, Deputy Sanchez,” Manny said.

Sanchez lifted a hand to him, keeping his expression deadpan. “Manny.”

Ross glared at Manny through the grill. “Ten seconds.”

“Don’t ask me,” Manny said with a moan. “I got sources, okay? What I know is the dude who runs the house had a phone call. Next thing I know, he’s telling his crew to disappear. Which they did. Don’t ask me where, because I don’t know.”

Likely he didn’t. Manny sometimes acted as lookout for criminal gangs, but they didn’t trust him further than that. They’d ditch him as soon as they blew town and hire another lookout in their next base.

“In other words, they knew we were coming,” Ross said.

“Looks like.”

Sanchez blew out his breath. “Shit.”

“How?” Ross demanded. They hadn’t broadcast on the police frequency that they were heading up here. Mildred had rounded up Ross via the radio, yes, but a meeting at the sheriff’s office could mean nothing more than a debate about the coffee fund, and the whole county knew it.

“It wasn’t me,” Manny said in a panic. “I didn’t know anything until the boss got the phone call.”

“Damn it.” Ross picked up his radio and hailed McGregor. “They’re gone,” he said. “We missed them.”

“What?” McGregor’s surprised voice came back.

“You heard me.”

“Copy.” McGregor’s disappointment drifted through the radio. He’d probably looked forward to being a hero.

“We should check out the house anyway,” Ross added.

Fear filled Manny’s voice. “No, Ross, don’t go in there.”

“Why not? You just said it was empty.”

“What if they booby-trapped the place? What if they’re lying in wait, guns ready?”

Always a possibility. But the dark house had an abandoned feel to it.

Sanchez answered. “It’s why we go through all the training. Sit tight, kid. We’ll be right out.”

“No, no! Let me go.” Manny banged on the door, which didn’t open from the inside. “You can’t arrest me. I haven’t done anything.”

“Would you calm down?” Ross got out and opened the back door before Manny could bang again. “Get out, but stick close to the truck. And if any guys do rush from the house, run and hide. Don’t get involved. It’s not worth your life.”

Manny gave him a scared look as he slithered from the back seat but nodded.

Ross settled his vest and checked that his gun was secure in its holster, and then he and Sanchez waited until McGregor and Harrison had pulled in on the other side of the house’s driveway. McGregor wanted to go in the front—more glory, Ross supposed, so he and Sanchez slipped around back.

Ross drew his pistol and made sure a bullet was in the chamber before he moved quietly forward, sticking to shadows and avoiding the windows. No shades or curtains blocked the windows facing the backyard, and through them, Ross saw an airy house with a few pieces of furniture in it.

The back door was unlocked. Ross walked right in just as McGregor had Harrison bash in the front door. Ross kept out of the line of fire in case McGregor decided to shoot at anything that moved.

The living room was silent and deserted. Ross, Sanchez, and Harrison searched room to room, while McGregor waited by the front door. Nobody was there.

They found no evidence of drug dealing either. No handy bags of cocaine, blocks of heroin, or jars of meth. Not even a baggy of weed ready to be rolled.

The inhabitants had left no clothing, razors, or even toothbrushes in the bathroom, no laundry in the hampers or the clothes washer. There were dishes in the dishwasher, washed, the “sanitized” light on. The dishes weren’t distinctive—they could be purchased at the local big box store.

Ross heard Hennessy’s outraged tones through McGregor’s radio. He ordered the deputies to scour every inch of the house. “You enjoy yourselves,” Hennessy snapped. “I’m going home.”

“You heard him,” McGregor said after he clicked off his radio. “Every inch.”

“McGregor, you don’t outrank me,” Sanchez said in annoyance.

“So?” McGregor’s light brown eyes widened. “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t obey his orders.”

“I know,” Sanchez growled. “I’m just pointing it out.”

Harrison and Ross exchanged a look, and Ross barely kept his eyes from rolling. McGregor had the habit of trying to take over every mission.

They went over the house with great care but found nothing. That is, until Harrison discovered a cell phone, one of the old style flip phones Ross was surprised still existed.

Harrison held it up in his plastic gloved hands, and McGregor quickly stepped forward with a paper evidence bag. “Put that right in here.”

He was going to take credit for it, Ross thought in disgust. “Good work, Harrison,” he said. “You must have missed that, McGregor.”

McGregor curled his lip. “You’re adorable, Campbell. I’ll let Harrison engrave his name on it if you want.”

Harrison dropped the phone into the bag without changing expression—he’d worked in a large county with a big sheriff’s department and must have heard ten times the bickering there.

“Well, that’s it,” McGregor said, folding up the bag. “There’s fuck-all here. I bet no one was ever here, and our intel was bad.”

“Happens,” Sanchez said. “At least the paperwork will be easy. One house, empty except for one cell phone. Sign and date, and I go home tonight. I bet we all have something to get back to.” He made sure the others couldn’t see his wink at Ross.

Ross didn’t give him the satisfaction of responding.

He glanced around the living room one last time before he walked out via the front door, looking forward to ditching the vest, which was close in the July heat.

“They were here, Ross, I swear to God.”

Manny materialized from a shadow near the house, and Ross smothered a shout of surprise.

“Manny, what the hell part of wait by the truck did you not understand?”

“No one’s here,” Manny argued. “Like I said. But they were. A big cowboy and a bunch of losers. I don’t know where they went. Their distributors would drive up and take the stuff, leaving the money.”

Ross had pretty much known that from surveillance, though they’d never caught anyone in the act of exchanging, nor had anyone who’d been stopped and searched revealed a thing. These guys knew how to cover their tracks.

“I’m not usually a narc.” Manny folded his arms. “But they were assholes.”

“Stiffed you, did they?” Sanchez asked from behind Ross.

Manny looked chagrined. “Yeah, they did.”

Ross stopped Manny with an intense look. “No, you mean, you have no idea what Sanchez is talking about.”

Manny looked startled, then his eyes widened, and he nodded. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Deputy Sanchez.”

“You just happened to be taking a walk and noticed these guys in the house.”

“Yep. That’s what I did.”

Ross gave him a nod. “That’s what I thought. Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

When he was off duty, he’d grill Manny more about the phone call, but for now, Ross wanted to finish this wasted night and see if he could make it to his apartment before Callie left.

Sanchez rode with them, glum and silent. Back in Riverbend, Ross dropped Manny at the line of trailers that skirted an inlet from the river. Manny insisted on being left at the end of the road, and he jogged off into the darkness. At least he went the direction of the trailer where he lived with his dad.

Ross and Sanchez didn’t say much on the way to the station, Sanchez only stating, “Sucks that you ruined your date night for nothing.”

Ross could only agree.

He tried not to hurry as he wrote up his report and then signed out and walked around the square and across the street to his apartment. The windows were dark, as he figured they would be.

Callie’s car wasn’t in his garage when he let himself in the back way. He’d known she’d be gone, but his heart sank as he climbed the stairs.

The apartment felt doubly empty now that Callie had been in it. Ross locked up his gun, the process automatic. He unbuttoned his shirt and moved to the kitchen, bypassing the coffeemaker for the refrigerator and a beer.

As he twisted the cap from the bottle, he found a paper towel spread out on the counter. The mug Callie had drunk from rested on it, clean. A pen lay next to the paper towel, and with it, she’d written:

Thanks for the coffee.

Callie.

She’d drawn a little heart by her name.

Ross folded the note carefully and carried it across the room to the drawer in the side table where he kept his most treasured keepsakes. There wasn’t much—a pearl-handled jackknife that had belonged to his father, a ribbon he’d won for marksmanship, photos of himself and his brothers from a stunt show they’d done as kids.

Callie’s note nestled among them now. Ross closed the drawer and snapped off the light.

* * *

Callie entered the office of AGCT Enterprises on the opposite side of the square from Ross’s apartment the next morning, keeping a ten o’clock appointment with Karen Marvin.

A receptionist, the younger sister of a girl Callie had known in school, greeted her in a small but pristine foyer softened with potted plants and a gigantic fresh-flower arrangement. Changing that every day or so probably kept the town’s one florist’s shop in business.

Though Callie had only met Karen in passing, she’d heard much about her. Karen, originally from California, had come to Riverbend, during the time Callie had been living in Dallas, to help her ex-husband’s Houston development company buy up land. But Karen had quickly fallen in love with Riverbend and decided instead to assist locals, with the aid of the Campbells, to fend off developers by helping them pay their mortgages or build up small businesses. That she’d destroyed her ex-husband’s plans to turn Riverbend into a cookie-cutter suburban community in the process had been a bonus.

Karen’s office was a mix of big-city sleekness softened by small-town touches, like a polished wood desk and bookcases similar to the ones in Ross’s apartment.

Karen held out a slim hand to shake, a diamond bracelet winking on her wrist. She wore a pale linen suit against the heat and had her blond hair in a French braid. Her smile was businesslike tinged with warmth.

“How are you?” she asked, her accent that of a transplant from another state who’d picked up a slight drawl. “Ross has told me all about you.” She squeezed Callie’s hand before she released it. “The Campbell boys sure are hot, aren’t they?”

Callie raised her brows. She agreed, but it wasn’t what she’d expected the manager of a charity to say.

“Don’t mind my frankness, honey,” Karen said, waving her to a seat. “I see no need to hide the truth about men. Those Campbells are gorgeous, and you know it.”

“Well, yes.” Callie flashed a smile and sat, nervous about her upcoming spiel. She wasn’t certain where to begin.

A hard knock sounded on the door, and Tyler Campbell entered. “Hey, Callie,” he said. “I asked Karen if I could sit in. I want to know all about this ranch idea.”

Tyler, a year older than Callie, had been considered the wildest Campbell. Right after high school his longtime girlfriend had been killed, and he’d gone through a series of short-term affairs, gaining him the reputation as a skirt chaser. Callie had figured that much of his recklessness with women came from grief.

Recently, he’d married a young woman from Dallas who’d already had a kid, and now Jess was expecting Tyler’s child, any day now. The change in Tyler was amazing—the wildness had turned into a deep happiness, Callie could see from his warm smile and calm gaze.

Tyler, whose easygoing ways appealed to everyone, did the PR work for the Circle C training ranch and kept happy those hiring the brothers as stunt riders. Callie understood from his mother that Tyler now did the same for AGCT Enterprises, their new nonprofit.

Callie felt shy outlining her dream, but Tyler’s interested questions put her at her ease. She had to admire the teamwork—Karen all business, Tyler all charm.

She handed them the folder she’d put together when she and Nicole had agreed on the idea to move the rehab ranch to Riverbend. Expenses, income, funding from charitable organizations and fundraisers, employees, volunteers, the horses’ needs, insurance, and a host of other details.

“I talked with Dr. Anna, the vet my father uses, and she’s willing to donate some hours and supplies,” Callie finished. “She thinks it’s a great idea.”

“Yeah, we know Anna,” Tyler said. “You can’t have horses around here and not know her. Glad she’s on board.”

Karen cleared her throat, the sound deflating Callie’s optimism. Tyler was the enthusiasm, she decided, Karen the practical side.

“Animals are notoriously costly,” Karen said. “And you’re talking about horses that will need a lot of medical attention, not to mention feed. Have you considered the reality of the expense? Of the work?”

“Yes.” Callie answered without hesitation, sure of her ground. “I’ve taken care of horses all my life—cows too, by the way. I’ve helped bring in foals and set a horse’s leg. I can dose them, get them on their feet, walk them, trailer them … you name it. I’ll be working just as hard as Nicole and the volunteers. We figure we’ll need a couple of paid employees for bookkeeping and stable management, then volunteers who love horses to care for them and find them homes.”

“Well, I think you’re a little crazy,” Karen said, “though I like the idea. Tyler tells me your father is one of the best businessmen in cattle ranching. I admit I don’t know a lot about it, but I figure if he hasn’t gone broke, he must know what he’s doing. He’ll back you?”

“He’s said so, yes. My dad likes a profit, but he also enjoys helping people—and horses.”

The three of them were being so polite. Callie refrained from crossing her fingers. Tyler could smile all he wanted, but Callie had the feeling that if Karen said no, that would be it.

Tyler’s cell phone jangled, and he gave them an apologetic look. “Sorry.” He frowned at the readout then turned his back and answered. “Ross? What’s up?”

Callie couldn’t hide her start. The previous night flooded back to her—Ross’s warmth on top of her, their bare bodies sliding together, his kisses on her skin. Ross smiling at her in the dark, touching her with slow fingers.

The sight of him coming out of the shower, naked and dripping, had imprinted itself on her brain and wouldn’t go away.

Karen noticed Callie’s sudden flush, and the woman’s coral-shaded lips quirked.

Tyler turned around, his face gray. Karen’s amusement turned to concern. “Tyler, you all right?”

Callie rose. “Is it your wife?”

Tyler nodded numbly. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again.

“Tyler?” Ross’s voice came over the phone. “You still there?”

Tyler continued to stand wordlessly, and Callie went quickly to him and took the phone.

“Ross? It’s Callie. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Unless you count Jess’s water breaking in the kitchen, and Grace running around like crazy, and Faith and Dominic squealing until my eardrums are ready to pop. I’m taking Jess to the clinic. Tell Tyler to meet us there. If you can make him understand you.”

Callie glanced at Tyler, who looked poleaxed. Karen had leapt to her feet and was trying to shove a steaming coffee cup at him. Tyler only stared at it as though he’d never seen coffee before.

“I’d better drive him,” Callie said. “I don’t think he can move on his own.”

“That’d be great, sweetheart.” Ross’s voice rumbled over her with pleasant fieriness.

He clicked off, and Callie handed the phone back to Tyler.

“Come on,” she said, excitement brimming. “Your wife’s having a baby.”