Nate wiped sweat from his brow and looked at the sky, hoping for rain. So far, they’d had the driest September he could remember, and pasture grass begged for moisture.

He dismounted, leaving his buckskin gelding ground tied near the moveable chute they’d set up in the south pasture. Uncle Buck was a fine cutting horse who knew his job was over for the moment. Bawling calves lined the chute as cowboys guided them into the head gate to be wormed and vaccinated.

Carrying the syringe kit he’d pulled from Uncle Buck’s saddle bag, Nate climbed onto one side of the gate. Gilbert rode the other side, while day hands pushed the calves through, separating bulls from heifers as they went.

The Triple C produced top-of-the-line Angus beef, and Nate made sure every animal was in superior condition. The day-to-day grind was dirty, noisy work, but he loved it. Give him the camaraderie with the other cowboys, the animals, and the outdoors over working the books and fretting about the budget, the market, and feed prices any day. He didn’t even mind the hot, sweaty hay season when they put up tons and tons of round bales for winter and filled barns with protein-laden Bermuda for the horses.

Gilbert, dark skin sweating as much as Nate’s, hollered across the gate. “How you doing with our new neighbor?”

The new neighbor. Yeah. As if she was ever far from his thoughts. Whitney had been the talk of the Triple C supper table all week. Once Emily heard about her, she’d rushed right over for an introduction that had turned into an entire evening with the newcomer. His sister liked her. With Connie singing her praises and dropping hints to the single Caldwell men, the talk grew a tad uncomfortable at times.

“She’s all right.”

“Hey boss.” Beck, one of the day hands who looked too pretty to be a working cowboy, grinned at him from inside the chute. “Heard you were cowboying over there.”

Nate shot a look at Gilbert. “You old gossip.”

Gilbert just grinned.

“So it’s true?” Beck guided a frisky calf toward the head gate and shook his head. “Never thought I’d see the day a Caldwell would ride herd on toy cows and horses.”

Every cowboy within earshot guffawed. One of them hollered, “She must be a real looker.”

She was. But that was beside the point. He was doing the woman a kindness, being neighborly. “Cut it out, boys.”

“Ah, Nate, they don’t mean any harm.” Gilbert shot wormer down a calf’s throat while Nate administered the inoculation.

In seconds, Nate released the head gate in a loud clatter of metal, and the calf burst out into the open pasture, bucking, kicking, and bawling for its mama.

“I know they don’t.” He was being oversensitive about Whitney, and he didn’t understand why. Teasing was the cowboy way. If they couldn’t rib each other about something, be it a woman, a horse, a mistake, or their boot size, they weren’t happy. If there was one thing the Triple C prided itself on, it was a congenial work atmosphere.

The atmosphere at Whitney’s place was pretty congenial too. He had no complaints. He still chuckled over the fainting goats. When he’d told Connie, she’d laughed but sympathized, and then bossed him, as usual. “Treat that sweet girl good.”

He knew what Connie was up to, and it wouldn’t work. He liked Whitney, but he was not getting involved. Not in the way Connie had in mind.

Still, Whitney made mighty good omelets from those little bitty chicken eggs, and he’d never known a woman so eager to learn. Dirt, manure, or cantankerous critters, she didn’t back away from anything. When one of the little donkeys had kicked her in the knee, she’d gone down, then popped right back up.

She was gritty. He’d give her that. And those two little girls with their dark ponytails and big eyes were endlessly entertaining.

Less than a week in and he found himself rising earlier and earlier to get to her place. He rationalized that Whitney needed all the time he could give her. His actions had nothing to do with the thoughts Connie put in his head, thoughts that shouldn’t be there.

“Nate! Wake up, man. We got three more calves in the chute.”

At Gilbert’s shout, Nate jerked his attention back to the job, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming. A few of the cowboys snickered as if they suspected where his mind had gone. Not that they could possibly know how often Whitney occupied his thoughts, but he’d better be careful. He didn’t need the whole bunch of bunkhouse bozos giving him a hard time.

He continued through the motions with the vaccinations. He’d given the shots so often, he could properly inject a calf in his sleep.

“Hey, Boss, look yonder.”

Nate followed Beck’s line of sight, squinting. A frisson of concern nagged at the back of his brain. “That’s smoke, boys.”

He’d no more than gotten the words out than Ace’s black Ford F-450 came over the horizon and skidded to a stop. Nate’s long-legged brother hit the ground running. Dust and grass swirled into the dry air, and cows and calves scattered like bobwhite quail.

“Looks like fire, men. You about done here?”

Beck slapped the rear of the final calf. “One more.”

“Good. See you there.” Without further conversation, Ace galloped back to his truck and shot off across the pasture, the big Ford bucking and bouncing like a wild bronc.

Nate and Gilbert exchanged knowing looks. Fire was never good. With the air so dry and dozens of new calves and expectant mamas scattered over the massive ranch, they had to act fast. Wildfire was a dangerous business on grasslands.

In minutes, the final calf was worked. Nate hollered to Beck and the other three remaining cowhands. “Leave this. We’ll clean up later.”

He tossed his equipment into Uncle Buck’s bags and leaped into the saddle. The other men mounted up, too, and they raced toward the growing tornado of smoke.

They’d traveled a mile seeing only smoke before the flames came into sight, a sure sign of how massive the fire must be. Through gates and gullies, across creeks and pastures, Nate’s concern grew until his pulse rattled against his collarbone like a rock in a pop can. The smell of smoke circled his head like a gray hat.

“The whole south pasture’s on fire, boss.” Fear laced Beck’s comment, though not for himself. Beck was as fearless as they came. Fear for the animals that even now milled and cried in hoarse, frightened chaos.

“Got to move them. Beck, take these men with you.” He motioned to the other three cowboys. “The fire’s moving north. Start herding the biggest groups west toward the lake. Even if the fire moves that direction, the lake will stop it.”

He didn’t need to say the rest. The houses and barns were north, and Whitney’s ranch was east. Any direction but west was a real danger.

Beck and the boys were gone before he finished talking. He rode close to the fire as sirens wailed through the smoke. The Calypso firefighters would do their best, but they were volunteers on a short budget, and with only one pumper truck. It was up to the men of the Triple C to make up the difference.

The buckskin beneath him fidgeted. Nate patted the dependable animal. “Easy, Unc.”

He dismounted and led the buckskin as close to the fire as possible. Thick, choking smoke stopped his progress long before the flames did.

Ace shouted orders, and men raced along the fire line slapping embers with saddle blankets they’d soaked in a nearby pond.

“I’m going to the house for the crop sprayer,” Nate shouted.

Ace waved him on and went back to fighting the fire. Already, the men’s faces were black with soot. The fire, like a living, breathing dragon, grew brighter and bigger.

Though the main house was three miles away, Uncle Buck, a cutting horse and quick as hiccough, made the trip in record time. He, too, felt the tension, the fear that fire generated in both man and animal.

Connie ran to meet him at the barn, her dark face wreathed in worry. She took Uncle Buck’s reins.

“You be careful. You be careful.” She grabbed Nate around the waist and hugged him hard, a spate of Spanish prayers flowing from her lips.

Nothing terrified Connie more than fire. As a child in Mexico, she’d lost six siblings and her parents in flames that took her home and everything else she held dear. She’d been the only survivor.

“We’ll be all right, Connie.” He worked as he spoke, using a double hose to fill the big crop sprayer with five hundred gallons of water. “Gather all the old saddle blankets and gunny sacks we can spare and toss them in the back of my truck. Buckets, rakes, shovels, anything we can fight with. And call Emily.”

Another worry. His sister lived alone—her choice—a quarter mile from the big house. The fire could easily move in her direction.

The older woman flew around the barn tossing items into the truck bed with a metallic clatter. “I see the flames from the kitchen. I say to Ace, ‘Fire. Ace, there is fire.’ But I can’t see where.”

Nate paused long enough to smile at her. “You’re the hero of the hour, Connie. Far south pasture.”

She handed him a box of leather gloves and another of paper dusk masks they used when handling grain or working large herds in the Oklahoma heat and dust. “Take these.”

He tossed the items onto the seat of his truck and leaped inside. He put the truck in reverse, backed to the spray rig, then got out again. Connie rushed to help hitch the trailer and, in minutes, Nate was ready to roll.

“It may be a long night.” Then more grimly, “Watch the house and barns, call every hand and neighbor we know. And keep praying.”

Whitney smelled smoke as she mucked out Clive’s stall. The feisty stallion was on parole in the fenced barn lot where she could keep an eye on him, and the twins were in the empty stall next to this one. Every few minutes, she peeked over the top to see them happily playing on the bed of clean straw. A stall wasn’t exactly the best play room, but it was the cleanest, safest solution she could think of out here in a barn that demanded her attention.

Confident the twins were safe, she stepped into the open lot and sniffed the air as she turned in a slow circle, searching for the source of smoke.

She’d turned a half moon to the right when she spotted the gray cloud boiling taller and wider by the second. Every piece of grass and dirt beyond her ranch belonged to the Triple C. While the thought settled, heavy as lead, the sirens grew louder until a single fire truck sped past her house.

“The south pasture.” Her pulse clattered in fear.

Nate’s south pasture must be on fire, and he was working out there today. He’d been on his way when he’d left her ranch.

A slow, sinking dread drifted over her. Even a city girl knew grass fires in this dry weather were dangerous. Fire danger had been high since before her arrival. She’d seen the signs all over town and heard the warnings on the radio. A burn ban was in effect.

In seconds, two pickup trucks raced past spewing dust. Neighbors helping neighbors.

She was tempted to phone Nate but knew he would be too busy battling fire to talk. Instead, she found the Triple C number and tapped it.

Connie answered, breathless and worried.

“It’s Whitney. I see the smoke. Is everyone okay?”

“So far, but mija, I worry. The grass is tall and so very dry. Even the woods are dry. And the wind—”

“I know. I’m worried too. Does Emily know?” She cast a glimpse at the darkening sky. Darkening, not from the late hour, but from smoke obliterating the sun.

“She is on her way here.”

“I want to help. What can I do?”

“Come to the ranch. We will cook, we will pray, and we will make ready for a long night.”

As soon as she rang off, Whitney took the girls inside the house for a quick wash-up, filled their backpack, and drove to the Triple C. As she turned under the crossbars emblazoned with three interconnected horse shoes and traveled the half-mile back to the main house, she was reminded of the enormity of the property. She’d barely paid attention before, but miles of fence and yellowed grass extended as far as her eyes could see. Groves of trees and bodies of waters dotted the landscape grazed by large herds of black cattle. Here and there in the distance she spotted a pond or a house and a splash of timber.

The main house, when she reached it, was an older, sprawling two-story with dormers. A flat concrete porch, held up by native and rock pillars, ran the home’s length. Nestled behind two majestic trees, the rock house was surrounded by beds of bright, fall flowers, and big pots of yellow and orange mums stood sentry by the front door, a testament to Connie’s love of flowers and color.

The front door opened before she could ring the bell. Emily, black eyebrows wrinkled in worry, welcomed her inside.

“Any update?” Whitney shifted the backpack to the foyer floor and loosened her death grip on the twins’ hands.

“The fire is bad and spreading fast. We need to plow a fire break around the house and each of the barns. Just in case.”

In case the fire came this far. In case this gorgeous home and ranch went up in flames. Whitney suppressed a frightened shudder. This was no time for hysterics.

Connie appeared from the adjacent room, hands twisting in her apron, her normally dark skin ashen. “Gilbert came to get fresh water. He is worried. Already the men are exhausted.”

“Is Nate okay?” Whitney badly wanted to follow the smoke and make sure Nate was safe. But she’d take her cues from the women. They understood the situation far better than she.

Emily and Connie exchanged not so subtle looks. She didn’t care. She was worried about her ranch hand. And her friend.

“Everyone is safe for now.”

For now sounded ominous. Goosebumps rose on Whitney’s arms. “How can I help?”

“Can you drive a tractor?” Emily shoved her jeans into the tops of cowboy boots. She didn’t look a thing like the professional social worker Whitney had first met.

“I’m a fast learner.” She might be a city girl but, she was no wimp. Scared, unsure, yes. Wimp, no. “There’s a tractor on my ranch. I need to learn.”

“Good. Connie’s needed here. She mans the phones and keeps the men apprized of updates from the county and each other. I’ll show you what you need to know.”

“I will watch the little ones.” Connie squatted beside the twins for a double hug. The girls must have remembered the ice cream, because they stuck to the Mexican woman like magnets. Connie gazed up with wide, dark eyes.

“Fire frightens me, mija. I know God says to have no fear, but my boys are out there…my familia.” Her voice trailed away. “I cannot lose them, too.”

Pity touched Whitney’s heart. Connie had lost someone to fire. No wonder she was afraid.

She squeezed the older woman’s forearm. With more confidence than she felt, she said, “Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can, and we’ll pray.”

Connie gave a hard nod, chin set. “The cowboys like my chili, and I have a big, big pot. I will cook and make coffee and iced tea. Yes, we will be ready. God will protect them.”

“You sure you don’t mind watching the twins while I help Emily?”

Connie waved her off. “It will be a pleasure. A-how you say?-distraction. Go now. Do what you can.”

The dear little woman, with the twins toddling along on either side, left Emily and Whitney alone in the foyer.

“Ready?” Emily asked.

Ready as she’d ever be. “Let’s go.”

As they crossed the back yard to the huge building Emily termed the tractor shed, they both cast anxious glances toward the south.

Black smoke billowed across a glowing sky. “That’s nasty looking.”

“Fire out here is scary business. Three years ago, we lost two firefighters in a brush fire. And I—” Emily’s lips tightened. She shook her head. “Bad thoughts. Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Connie and I hate fire for similar reasons. We’ve both lost people we loved.”

“I’m sorry.” Whitney wanted to ask for details, but right now, they had a task to do. “Are you sure you can teach this city slicker how to drive a tractor?”

They reached the shed, and Emily twirled the dial on a padlock and elevated the overhead door. Inside were parked four tractors and several large farm implements Whitney didn’t recognize. Emily let the way to the smaller of the tractors.

“It will take both of us to attach the plows. Then I’ll show you the essentials.”

Working together, they connected the required implements, and Whitney listened intently to a crash-course in tractor gears.

“I’ll drive us out, engage the plow and get you started. Then you take the wheel and plow around the hay barns while I plow around the house and horse barn. There are other barns farther out. I’ll check with Ace to see if those are in danger. Got your cell with you?”

Whitney patted her pocket, thankful the pushy cowboy had insisted she take the device. “And your number is already programmed in.”

In far less time than she would like, Whitney was alone for the first time in her life inside the cab of a tractor.

Head whirling with information and not a little fear that she might drive the tractor over a cow or hit a tree, Whitney slowly edged the enormous machine forward.

There were two shifters and, thankfully, Emily had engaged both and told her to leave them be. She’d instructed Whitney to drive in a circle around each barn and make sure the plowed area was wide enough to stop the fire. Thirty feet at least. She could do that.

Praying for Nate and the other firefighters, for the fire to go out, and for herself to do this right, she guided the big machine around the first barn and then the second. An acre away, she saw a spot of bright orange that was Emily’s tractor circling the big house. Farther still, she saw the smoke. She hoped it was her imagination, but the fire seemed to be moving closer.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably less than thirty minutes of circling in the giant machine, Emily directed her to park the tractor. Whitney shut down and hopped out, feeling ridiculously accomplished. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

Emily offered a smile and a high five. “Hopefully, that’s the last for the night. Ace said to leave the other barns.”

“The fire must not be close.”

“Or too close for our safety.”

Whitney shivered at the ominous reminder, then fell in step with the other woman and hurried back to the house, hoping Connie had news from Nate.

Once inside, Whitney lifted her nose in the air. “Something smells good.”

“Connie’s five-alarm chili. Burns your tonsils out but tastes incredible.”

Emily led the way through the house. The rooms looked comfortable and lived in, the couches and chairs well-worn leather. Over the living room fireplace, a pair of crossed rifles bracketed by spurs bore the Triple C brand. They looked antique.

They passed through the dining room, a long, rectangular space sporting a wall of windows that looked out over the massive back range from whence they’d just come. The Triple C made her ranch seem miniscule.

From somewhere she heard baby chatter. She found the twins playing happily inside the kitchen. They ran to her, and she bent for a hug.

Connie turned from her spot at a counter. “You do it? You drive the tractor?”

A proud grin spread Whitney’s lips. “Emily’s a good teacher.”

“My Emily. She is smart. You, I think, are smart too.”

Emily kissed Connie’s check. “She is. She caught on right away. If the fire comes close, the house and nearest outbuildings should be safe.”

“Unless the fire is too wild or the wind too high.”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Connie.”

Connie waved expressive hands. “I know. I know. My faith is weak tonight for some reason.”

“For good reason.”

“You too, mija.”The older woman patted Emily’s cheeks. “You are too warm. I will get some iced tea for you.”

“I’ll get it.”

“Were the babies good, Connie?” Whitney took the glass Emily passed to her from an overhead cabinet and filled it with iced tea.

“Muy bueno. So good, I would not mind having them live in this house. I would be a bueno abuela, a grandmamma.”

Whitney caught Emily’s glance. The social worker grinned. “She’s an unapologetic matchmaker, Whitney. You might as well marry one of my brothers and get it over with.”

Whitney nearly choked on her tea. “After the fiasco with the twins’ father, I’m out of the romance market for good.”

Emily offered a fist bump. “You and me both, sister. Jessica—that’s my best friend. You met at her church. She and her husband Scott are expecting their first baby, and she keeps making noises about me getting married again.”

“Again?”

“I’m a widow.”

“Sí. A widow for almost six years. I try to find her a man, but she is never happy.”

“I am happy, Connie, with my job, my house, my friends, and my church. I don’t need another husband.”

Connie sniffed. “But no babies. How I gonna be abuela if none of you stubborn Caldwells get married?” She waved a long butcher knife toward Whitney. “But you like our Nate, and he likes you. I am his heart mama. I know. Yes?”

Emily laughed out loud.

Connie could say more in one breath than her adopted son said all day.

Heat, hot as the grass fire, rose in Whitney’s cheeks. “Nate has been a real lifesaver.”

“His wife was no good, you know, but it is not my place to say.” Connie frowned and chopped a stack of chili peppers with enough vehemence to send a clear message. Don’t mess with Connie’s kids.

Whitney stepped to the stove and stirred the frying meat. The smell was spicy and mouth-watering. “I’ve wondered.”

Emily took a large block of cheese from the refrigerator. “Alicia was a spoiled brat who ran Nate in circles.”

“You didn’t like her.”

Emily shrugged. “We all tried, but she thought we were country bumpkins, and she was some kind of princess. The fact that Nate treated her like one made things worse.”

“Not that it’s my business, but he seems like such a nice, solid guy.”

“Yes, exactamente.” Connie pointed the huge butcher knife again. “But now, you are here.”

“We’re only neighbors, Connie. He’s helping me out. That’s all.” That’s all it could be. She needed his help too much to mess up their relationship with romance.

Connie waved away her denial as if it didn’t count while Emily grated cheese into a huge bowl. The twins toddled around the kitchen banging on plastic bowls and lids and singing indecipherable songs. Once in a while, one of them stopped in front of Connie and jabbered something. The Mexican woman replied in Spanish and offered them a grape.

After one such episode, Connie wiped her hands on the apron and went to the window.

“How’s it look?” Whitney asked.

“Bad.”

Whitney’s pulse jumped. She gave the meat a quick stir before going to the window to see for herself. Connie hadn’t exaggerated. The smoke grew thicker and the darkening sky glowed with an eerie brightness.

Emily joined her. A quick intake of breath confirmed her fears. This was bad. Very bad.

“I wish someone would let us know what’s happening,” Whitney said. She hoped Nate and the others were safe. She wished he’d come to the house. She wished he wasn’t out there at all.

Connie chopped a pile of onions and tossed them into the meat. Whitney returned to her station at the stove.

“Maybe I should drive down and check on them, ”Emily said. “Take fresh water or tea. They may need our help out there.”

Connie shook her head. “You phoned Ace, no? He said stay put. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s getting late.” Emily continued to stare out the window. “They must be starved. Surely, they’ll come soon.”

“If they can.” Connie’s tone was ominous as the smell of smoke seeped into the house.

Time seemed to drag. With each passing moment, Whitney grew more antsy. She thought about phoning Nate, but what if he was close to the flames and a call put him in jeopardy? Besides, what would she say? “I like you too much, and I’m scared something might happen to you?”

No, better to take her cues from the Caldwell women, who kept busy with food preparations, radio reports, and updates from the country sheriff and emergency management. Twice, Ace phoned Emily, but he never mentioned Nate.

Connie continually paced to the window to mutter in Spanish. Prayers, Whitney thought, and she was saying plenty of her own.

When the evening lengthened, she fed and bathed the twins while Connie formed a makeshift bed between two padded arm chairs. Finally, the girls were asleep.

Whitney was about to head back into the kitchen when she heard a car engine outside. She peeked out the front window, and her heart leaped as the shadowy forms of three men slammed out of the truck and tramped, bedraggled and filthy, into the kitchen.

Nate was not among them.

“Where’s Nate?” she blurted. “Is he okay? Is the fire out?”

Three raccoon-eyed males looked at her. Ace, a tall, handsome cowboy with Nate’s dark coloring flashed a grin, startling white against the soot-covered face.

Emily shoved a glass of iced tea into his hand, and he took a long drink. The other men stumbled to the counter where Emily passed out more tall, full glasses of sweet iced tea.

“Not yet.” Ace said. “Had some reinforcements come in from the Rock Spring’s Fire Department so we could take a break. Nate headed over to check on your place.”

Nate was okay. Thank you, Lord. Right behind the relief came a swell of gratitude. Nate was concerned about her animals, her property.

Then reality struck her. He wouldn’t drive to her house without a reason. “Is the fire close to my ranch? Is my house in danger?”

Ace exchanged glances with an older Native American man. Gilbert. “The fire came from that direction. Does Nate know you’re here?”

“No.” Now she wished she’d followed her instinct and called him.

“That explains it.”

Explained what? “Should I text him?”

“Won’t do any good. He’ll be back soon. He’s determined to make sure your animals are safe. Said he has an investment in their well-being.”

Oh. So that was it. The animals. Still, she was thankful he’d thought of them.

The cowboy Emily called Beck moved to the stove and moaned his appreciation. “That smells better than Mama’s fried chicken right now.”

Connie flipped bother hands at him. “Shoo. We will put food on the table while you clean up.”

The men traipsed dutifully away, talking in low tones about the cattle and the dangers. While they were gone, she and Connie dished up chili and set out more tea and a red box of saltines next to the bowl of grated cheddar.

At last Nate stomped through the back door. Whitney’s pulse jumped as if she’d swallowed a kangaroo. He saw her first thing, and something akin to relief shifted over his features. “You’re here.”

“Ace said you went to my ranch.”

If anything, he looked dirtier and more exhausted than any of the others. How could a smoke- and soot-coated man look so appealing and make her so happy?

“The fire made it to the back fence and stopped.”

Her shoulders tensed. She pressed a hand to her heart. “My animals?”

“Restless. Nervous.” He shot her a tired grin. “Two of the nannies fainted when I shined a light in their pen.”

She returned the grin, so very glad to see him. “That’s my nanny girls.”

“Where are the twins?” He crossed to the sink and drew a big glass of water, gulping it down in four deep swallows. A few drops sprang free and slid down his chin and neck, slicing a trail through the smoke and dust.

“They’re asleep. Connie made a bed out of two chairs in the den.”

His head bobbed once, and he released a long breath. “Good. I’m glad you’re all here. Stay put until this is over.”

He said the words as though he expected her and the twins to be in jeopardy. Had the fire gotten that close to her house?

“I’ll dish your chili while you wash up.”

He started through to the dining area. “Sounds good. Not much time.”

“You’re going back out?” Whitney followed him, surprised. “I thought another fire department came to help.”

“They’re working the fire. Someone has to take care of the stock. The way the fire is spreading, we’ve got to ride the fences, make sure none are down, and check the first calving heifers. This much excitement could bring on a rash of births.” He scrubbed a hand over his face as his brother and the other cowboys returned and scooted past her into the kitchen.

“We’ll split up and take sections.” Ace scraped a chair away from the giant table and sat, his back straight and tall, the way a seasoned cowboy sits a horse. “Gilbert and Beck will head west. Emily and I will push the calves farther north. Nate, you ride the section closest to Whitney’s ranch. Give Scott Donley a call. See if he’ll ride over and go with you. None of us should be out there alone tonight.”

The brothers traded long stares as if silently communicating something she wasn’t allowed to know. The notion that they might be keeping something from her ratcheted her anxiety.

Whitney stepped closer to the table. “I’ll ride with Nate.”

Connie came to the door, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “And I will babysit la niñas.”

Nate hadn’t taken his eyes off Whitney. “You ride?”

“Don’t look so doubtful.” She gave a little sniff. “Even city girls learn to ride horses. I rode dressage.” At summer camp. When she was fifteen.

“Fancy eastern riding?”

Beck muttered, “Sidesaddle.”

The other men guffawed. Whitney laughed too. “When was the last time you watched English riding?”

“Uh, never?” Beck’s friendly grin was contagious.

“Figures.” She flicked an eyebrow at him for good measure. “I can ride.” One of her camp counselors had even said she showed promise.

“She will be good company. She is a smart one.” Connie caught Gilbert’s attention, clearly urging him to join her point of view.

The Native American’s expression softened every time he looked at Connie, so it was no surprise when he said, “Let her go, Nate.”

One of the other men cleared his throat. Nate glared at him.

“We need all hands on deck.” Ace spooned in a huge bite of chili. “Scott has property of his own to protect and a pregnant wife. He’s not a sure thing.”

“If she’s up for it, take her along.” Gilbert reached for the cracker box. “We got plenty of good horses.”

“She’s up for it.” Emily patted Whitney’s back. “She drove the John Deere and plowed around two of the barns. This girl can do anything.”

Nate’s eyes found hers. “You did?”

Pride flashed through Whitney. “Emily’s a good teacher.”

“Maybe, but you did what had to be done.” Emily shot a challenge toward Nate. “Which means she can ride pasture with you.”

A dozen emotions flickered over Nate’s fire-darkened face.

“I’ll think about it.” He turned on his dusty boot heel and headed down the hall.

“Don’t pay him no mind, Whitney.” Gilbert winked over a chili bowl piled high with crushed saltines. “He’s relieved you and those little ones are safe. He’s been fretting like an old lady.”

He had? “Exactly how close to my house did the fire come?”

“Can’t say for sure, but Triple C land was scorched all the way to the road.”

Her eyes widened. “My road?”

A scowling Nate re-entered the room. He’d washed away the worst of the grime and combed his hair. “Don’t scare her, Gilbert.”

“Scare me? About what?”

Nate settled at the table next to the blond, whiskered Beck. Whitney slid a thick bowl filled with chili in front of him. Between the four men, the dining room smelled like a barbecue pit.

Whitney didn’t take their silence as a good sign. “Is something wrong that I don’t know about?”

The cowboys shoveled food into their faces for a few bites while she fumed and wondered what was going on.

“Might as well tell her, Nate.” Gilbert pointed a spoon at the scowling cowboy. “She’ll find out sooner or later.”

Whitney slapped both palms onto the table top. Beck jumped. “You guys are starting to make me mad. Find out what?”

Tension, like tightly strung barbed wire, radiated across the room and landed right between Whitney’s shoulder blades.

Finally, Nate huffed out an aggravated noise and said, “Looks like the fire started near your place.”

“My place? But how?”

All four men locked eyes on her while Connie stood near the table, hands twisting in her apron.

Nate’s answer was grim. “That’s what we’d all like to know.”