The sheriff’s SUV pulled in behind Nate’s truck, and a uniformed Lawson Hawk stepped out and slammed the door. The sound echoed over the ranch. If anyone was watching her house, they’d know the sheriff was here.

Second thoughts peppered Whitney’s mind as she stood beside Nate on the porch. Her knees turned to Jell-O. “He said not to call the police.”

“We got this, babe. Be strong. You’re not in this alone.”Nate slipped a reassuring arm across her shoulders as they stepped out to meet the officer.

Nate’s confidence strengthened her. She wasn’t alone anymore. The concept was almost too foreign to receive.

Sheriff Hawk stepped up on the porch, equipment rattling against his side. His glaze flickered over the house, the yard, the animals. He even seemed to note Nate’s arm around her shoulders before his gaze settled on her. Like the bird for which he was named, the sheriff was sharp-eyed, missing little.

“Sounds like you got trouble.” He offered a hand.

Nate shook it. “Thanks for coming, Lawson. Like I told you on the phone, someone is threatening her and the twins.”

Whitney looked up at her cowboy. If he wouldn’t protect himself, she’d do it for him. “And you, too, Nate.”

“Yeah, well.” He shifted uncomfortably. “That’s beside the point. It’s you and the girls I worry about.”

“So tell me what happened. Start at the beginning.”

“Can we go inside the house?” she asked. “Please.” The idea of standing in the open was too scary to consider. She wanted to barricade her babies in a safe room and stay there until this was over.

The men must have heard the fear in her voice because they followed her.

“I don’t want to scare the twins.” Nate perched on the edge of the sofa as if ready to move on a moment’s notice. “Let’s try to stay calm and keep our voices low.”

“Let me look in on them first.” Whitney hurried down the short hall, saw the girls engaged in animated play, and rushed back to where the two men were already deep in conversation. Nate grabbed her hand and tugged her down. His nearness calmed her, assured her that everything would be all right.

The sheriff turned his attention to her. He had a notebook on his lap and a pen in his hand. “Your turn, Whitney. Nate showed me the notes you found. One in the mailbox and one in the barn. Correct?”

“Yes, sir. Saturday night when I came home, I found the first one in the mailbox. Sunday morning the other was tacked to the barn.”

“It’s pretty clear now that the problems you were having on the ranch weren’t accidental.”

Whitney shook her head, relieved that he believed her this time. “That’s right.”

The blue eyed sheriff gave her a long look. He must have seen the anxiety she couldn’t shake. “You’re safe now. Threats are just that, but this first note admits culpability to vandalism and arson. We’ll get him. Start at the beginning. Tell me everything you remember that might have the slightest relevance.”

So, voice shaking, and terrified Ronnie would somehow learn she’d told the police, Whitney shared her story. She told him about the will’s requirements and the distant relative she only knew by sight, and about every incident on the ranch.

“You should have called me immediately.” The sheriff’s face was grim.

“That’s what I told her.”

“I was too afraid. I couldn’t take the chance.” She grappled for Nate’s hand, fingers clammy in the fall air. “And my lawyer said I was doing the right thing, so I thought if I left town—”

“Your lawyer?” The sheriff leaned in, eyes narrowed. “He advised you not to contact the police?”

She nodded. “He was worried for my safety and for my twins. He gave me the paper to sign and said I should get my girls away from here as soon as possible.”

The two men exchanged glances.

“Something about that doesn’t sound right to me,” Nate said. “What about you, sheriff?”

“I thought the same thing,” Whitney said. “It just happened so fast, and I wasn’t sure. That’s why I didn’t sign the papers even after he got upset.”

Next to her, Nate’s body tensed. “He was upset? Because you refused to sign away your inheritance?”

Lawson’s contemplative look sharpened. “I think we should have a talk with your lawyer. What’s his name?”

“Arnold Leach. He’s the one who called me in the first place and told me about the inheritance. His office is on Old Main right across from the dollar store.”

“I know where it is.” Lawson scribbled something on his pad. “If nothing else, he’s a link to this Ronnie Flood person. Leach might have contact information.”

“Check him close, Lawson. I want to know why he’d insist she sign that paper.”

“Will do.” The two men exchanged telling looks.

Did they suspect her attorney? If not for Arnold Leach, she would never have known about the inheritance. He couldn’t be involved. Yet, he’d been insistent, almost threatening, this morning. And hadn’t he visited her ranch the morning the feed was first spilled and the goat escaped?

Now she was getting paranoid.

“Can she bunk over at your place for a few days while we find this guy?” the sheriff was saying.

Nate nodded as he rose with the other man. “I already have orders from Connie and Emily to bring her home. We’ll put some men on round the clock guard duty. She’ll be safe there.”

“Good.” To Whitney, Lawson said, “Pack a few things and go to the Triple C. We’ll have you back in your house in no time.”

As shaken as he could ever remembering being, Nate followed Whitney’s car to the Triple C. She’d been pale as paste, trembling like an earthquake, and he’d worried about her driving, but she’d insisted she was all right.

She wasn’t all right. Neither was he. In fact, he vacillated between an anger hot enough to spark a forest fire and tenderness for a certain redhead strong enough to bring him to his knees. Whitney hadn’t been trying to dump him. She’d been trying to protect him.

And he had every intention of returning the favor.

Connie met them as they parked in the circle drive alongside the steps of the big house. With a spate of Spanish and prayers and assurances that God was their fortress and strong tower, she helped Whitney unload the twins.

Nate believed in prayer. He believed God would help. But sometimes a man had to put his feet to prayers. Slowly, he turned in a three-sixty, surveying the Triple C as far as his eye could see. Someone had torched his land, but they wouldn’t get that close again. Not with Whitney and the girls in the crosshairs.

He bundled the little family into the house and let Connie take over while he hustled into the dining room to meet Ace.

“Got your text, and we’re all here like you asked.” Like the other half dozen trusted cowboys in the room, Ace was on his feet. This wasn’t a time to sit and chat. “What’s going on?”

He told them everything he knew. Around the room the men bristled. One of them snarled like a mad dog. These were men he could depend on when the chips were down.

“I want to hire all of you to guard this ranch and Whitney and her girls. Starting now. Anyone not willing to carry a rifle for us is free to go. No hard feelings.”

Not a man budged.

His throat filled with gratitude. He cleared it. Cowhands weren’t comfortable with compliments, so he simply said, “Thanks. Gilbert will set up shifts. I’m headed to town to meet with the sheriff.”

“I thought you just talked to Lawson,” Ace said.

“Did. But whoever this hombre is threatened those I care about. I want to find him myself.”

There was a general murmur of agreement. Cowboys didn’t take kindly to anyone messing with their families.

“What about you, boss?” Beck rolled a weathered Stetson through his fingers. “The notes threatened you too. Maybe you should stay put, keep an eye on things around here, and let us and the sheriff handle the rest.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Ace shoved his hat down tight. “I’m going with you.”

“Appreciate it. Let’s ride.”

From the upstairs dormer window, Whitney watched Nate’s pickup truck speed away. She hadn’t wanted him out her sight, but the stubborn man had gone anyway. If not for the twins, she’d have gone with him. This was her problem, too. Hers most of all. But her children came first. If staying behind protected them, she would let the sheriff deal with Ronnie Flood.

Tired and nervous, she still wasn’t sure involving the sheriff was the right thing to do, but it was too late now.

She pressed her fingers against her forehead. The headache she’d been fighting all day was now full blown and throbbing. To make matters worse, the twins, feeling the tension in the air, were cranky as two badgers. When Olivia whacked Sophia with a doll, Whitney scolded her. Then both girls wailed.

They needed a nap desperately. After not sleeping much for two nights, Whitney did too. Not that she expected to sleep. Not with Nate out there putting himself in danger. Not until Ronnie was found and this was over.

She pulled the twins onto the big bed and began to sing. At first, they flopped and whined, but soon they settled down. Olivia drifted off first, and Sophia wasn’t far behind. Patting a bottom with each hand, Whitney closed her eyes and continued to hum softly.

She awakened to total darkness and a quiet house. Carefully, Whitney untangled her arms and legs from the twins. They remained asleep, identical behinds in the air. She pulled a corner of the comforter over them and eased off the bed to squeeze the button on her cell phone.

Midnight? They’d slept that long? She and the babies must have been exhausted from the tension. Surely, if there was news, someone would have awakened her.

Going to the window, she tugged the heavy drapes aside. From her room on the second floor, she searched for Nate’s truck. She didn’t see it. Had he parked in the back, or was he still out there somewhere? Searching, guarding?

Security lights chased back the heaviest darkness, illuminating the circle drive and the immediate lawn. Beyond lay pastureland and night as black as ink.

From the corner of her eye, she caught movement. A human shadow stretched across the lawn.

Her stomach tightened. Hair stood up on her neck.

A man with a rifle came into sight. Gilbert. Whitney exhaled. It was only Gilbert. Keeping watch.

For a while, she stood in the window and prayed, and then, confident no harm would come to her babies with the Caldwell men on duty, she went back to bed.

The next three days passed in watchfulness. Nate, she discovered, had camped every night at her ranch, waiting for Ronnie to make his move. And every morning, against his protests, he and Ace escorted her home so she could feed her animals and pick up fresh clothes. They preferred she stayed inside the Triple C, behind locked doors. Yet, Nate put himself in harm’s way day and night.

She felt like she was holding her breath, waiting for something to happen.

To keep her mind off the worry, Whitney and Connie made plans for the ranch rodeo, baked and froze a dozen pies, and cleaned the ranch house top to bottom. It was the least she could do to repay their hospitality.

Emily, too, had been convinced to bunk at the main house for a few days and spent evenings teaching Whitney how to design a basic website. All the while, men with rifles and cell phones patrolled the house and the perimeter of the Triple C. To no avail.

No sightings. No threats. No problems of any kind.

Early into the second week, everyone, especially Whitney, grew restless. Ronnie Flood seemed to have disappeared, and Arnold Leach claimed he was only trying to protect his client. Otherwise, he knew nothing useful.

Except for one patrolling guard, Ace decided to put the cowboys back to work. Nate was reluctant but he agreed. The Triple C couldn’t run itself.

Slowly, Whitney relaxed. The worst must be over. If Ronnie knew the police were onto him, he would back off. Anyway, that was the sheriff’s theory. And no one could force her into forfeiting her ranch.

For two nights, she’d slept soundly, and today she awoke antsy to be busy, to get back home and begin preparations for the farm’s very first Christmas event.

Olivia handed her a pair of Legos, which she snapped together before returning to the conversation with Nate. Sophia sat on the area rug nearby quietly turning the blocks this way and that, trying to discover for herself what her twin was too impatient to learn.

“Stay a few more days.” Her rugged cowboy leaned in the doorway of the family room, weariness hanging on him like a wet blanket. He hadn’t shaved in days. His eyes were bloodshot, and if not for a sharp rebuke from Connie, he’d have lived on nothing but portable coffee and sandwiches.

She pushed off the floor, went to him, and laid a hand on the side of his whiskery face. His tired smile barely reached his eyes.

That’s when she made up her mind. Yes, being cherished and protected felt amazing, but not at the cost of Nate’s well-being. Protection cut both directions. Like the sheriff, she was beginning to believe Ronnie had run like a scared rabbit the moment he’d learned she had back-up in the Caldwells.

“You’ve exhausted yourself, Nate, and for nothing. Go upstairs and get some rest. I’ll go home.” When he started to protest, she pressed a finger to his lips. “If I hear a twig snap or get a weird feeling, anything at all that hints at trouble, I’ll call you.”

He kissed her finger and pulled it down to his chest. “I don’t think you should leave just yet.”

“Even Sheriff Hawk thinks Ronnie’s backed off and we’re probably safe now. Cowards often bolt when confronted.”

“Probably isn’t convincing enough.”

She persisted. Granted, she was a little anxious about returning home with Ronnie’s whereabouts still unknown, but fair was fair. “You need your life back.”

He propped the ever-present rifle against the wall and glowered. “You and the twins are my life. As long as there is the slightest risk, I’ll be watching.”

“Exactly. You’re watching. You have a guard on patrol day and night.”

“If you go home, I’ll have one at your house, too. Probably me.”

“I’d like that—after you sleep eight hours.”

He shook his head. “We need more time. Another day. Maybe two. Tomorrow I’ll take you and the twins to OKC for the day. Get away from here, relax. What do you say? Stay with us a little longer. If you go home, I won’t sleep. I’ll worry.”

Whitney leaned her forehead against his strong chest. To be loved like this was all she’d ever wanted. How could she say no?

“Okay. A few more days.” She gave him a gentle push. “Now, upstairs, mister. Turn off that cell phone, lock the door, and sleep.”

Taking the rifle, he did as she asked and trudged toward the staircase. She watched him, so full of love she wondered if a heart could explode with the emotion.

He paused halfway up the stairs to look back at her. Faking her meanest look, she pointed upward. He chuckled, gave her a wink,and disappeared into the upstairs.

With Nate resting and the twins playing happily, Whitney searched for something to do to stay busy. Connie had gone into town for groceries, and Emily was at work as usual. She and the twins had the big house all to themselves.

Feeling like a total freeloader, she schlepped into the kitchen. The window over the sink was smudged, so she grabbed the Windex and spritzed it.

“Looks like window cleaning is the project for the day.” Anything to be useful to Connie and the other Caldwells.

The house was big, and with Nate asleep, she’d save the upstairs for later. She worked her way through the downstairs with frequent detours into the family room to play with the twins.

The room dubbed the office was at the back of the house and looked out over the barns and rows and rows of round hay bales. Standing on a chair, she was spraying the top window when something caught her eye.

She leaned closer, squinted. Was that Gilbert?

Blue liquid slithered down the pane and inhibited her view. She swiped at it with a paper towel.

“That’s not Gilbert. Who—?” She stepped off the chair and set the Windex on the floor. Suddenly, flames erupted from a barn window. “Oh, no!”

She spun, stumbled over the Windex and slammed her ribcage against the chair. All the breath whooshed from her.

Fueled by adrenaline, she shook off the pain, jerked the cell phone from her back pocket, and shot Nate a text.

Then she ran for the barn.

“Gilbert! Ace!” Whitney looked wildly around for the ranch crew and saw no one. They had all gotten back to business today and could be anywhere on this eleven thousand acres. Even the patrol guard was absent.

That was wrong. Where was he?

With no time to spare, she raced to the water faucet and dragged the hose toward the barn. Smoldering smoke wafted in feathery tails from the window. No more flames. Yet.

Good. She’d gotten here in time.

She stuck the hose through the window and let it hang inside while she entered the barn in search of the source.

As she moved, she whipped the phone out. No response from Nate. She dialed his number. No answer.

Then she remembered. She’d insisted he shut off his phone.

She left a message and then pressed in Ace’s number. It went to voice mail.

Frustrated, she shot texts to everyone she knew, including the sheriff.

Then she moved deeper into the barn. She owed the Caldwells. This was their winter hay. They’d already last a thousand acres of forage. She couldn’t let this burn.

Whitney had learned enough to know wet hay could smolder for days and self-combust. Perhaps wet hay was the fire’s source. She walked down the long center aisle, observing, seeking answers. The barn was quiet, dim, and smelled of smoke and chemicals.

As if a fist had reached into her chest and clamped down, her heart clutched.

Chemicals?

On alert, blood rushing through her head like Niagara Falls, she began backing toward the door.

Her back connected with something solid. Something human.

An elbow crooked around her neck. Strong arms locked hers against her sides.

A man whispered, “Keep quiet.”

She struggled against him, trying to get a look at his face. He smelled of sweat and cologne…and chemicals. “Who are you? What do you want?”

She knew. Oh, she knew. Ronnie Flood had found her.

“You were warned. Why didn’t you leave?” He tightened his forearm, narrowing her air supply. “Now, I’m forced to take matters into my own hands. And I do hate getting my hands dirty.”

Whitney coughed. Her head started to spin. “I’ll leave. I promise. Just let me go. The barn is on fire.”

He laughed softly, fiendishly. Again the harsh whisper. “I warned you. Now you get to play the hero.” He shoved her forward, his bigger, stronger body walking hers deeper into the barn. “Poor Whitney died trying to save her lover’s barn. Which means you won’t be able to inherit Sally’s ranch after all. And no one will ever know I was here.”

She stabbed her feet into the dirt floor. Her shoes skidded, slowing them down.

The elbow tightened on her throat. A rough shove propelled her forward. “Move.”

Little gray dots danced before Whitney’s eyes. She turned her head left then right, fighting the choke hold. The smoke thickened.

Her eyes streamed. Thought faded.

Help me. Jesus.

“Whitney!” Nate’s voice ripped through her terror. “Are you in there?”

The man jerked her head back. “Keep quiet and I won’t kill him.”

She could barely breathe, much less speak. She wrestled against her captor, but he was too strong. With a powerful thrust, he shoved her toward the burning hay. She landed on the floor in a heap, gasping for air. Smoke billowed around her. She couldn’t see. All she knew for sure was that her attacker was gone.

Staying low, she crawled forward, coughing, tears pouring from her eyes.

“Nate.” The word sounded weak, raspy. “Nate. No. Get away.”

A hulking shadow entered the room. She shrank closer to the floor, thrusting a hand out in search of a weapon. She braced herself to fight, to bite and scratch and claw. She would not let him choke her again, and she wouldn’t let him get to Nate or her babies.

Finding no weapon, she grabbed a handful of dirt and crouched, ready to spring and catch him off guard.

Boots appeared before her streaming eyes. Roper boots. Nate’s boots.

“Whitney. Oh, baby.” Strong arms lifted her against his chest and carried her out of the barn.

When he’d set her on the ground and knelt beside her, she waved him away. “Stop the fire. Get Ronnie. It was him.”

Nate’s head whipped toward the driveway. “Ronnie Flood? He was here? But how?”

Whitney had no idea. She nodded, too breathless to say much. “The babies?”

“Connie’s with them. Help is on the way.” He kissed her tear-drenched face. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. The barn.”

At her reassurance, he texted something and then raced toward the barn. After a few gulps of beautiful fresh air, Whitney struggled to her feet and went to help.

Nate was her cowboy. He wasn’t going in there alone.