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Big Sky Dynasty
B.J. Daniels
The town of Whitehorse can still claim three eligible Corbett men, but not for long…Dalton Corbett’s secret past had finally caught up with him and taken residence above Whitehorse’s knitting shop – owned by the unsuspecting Georgia. Although Georgia had no reason to mistrust the woman she’d just rented to, Dalton knew how dangerous and deadly she was…just as he knew that Georgia was the type of girl his mother hoped he’d marry.Unwilling to see Georgia hurt, he devoted himself to ensuring her safety – and the more time he spent with her, the more he realised that she could be the woman for him!


“Didn’t mean to startle you again,” the cowboy said in his slight southern drawl.
He held a huge bouquet of roses. Dragging off his Stetson, he added, “I’m Dalton Corbett.”

“Georgia Michaels,” she said, taken off guard. He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve only come in to apologize and give you these as a peace offering.” He held out the flowers. “I am truly sorry for the way I behaved yesterday.” She smiled in spite of herself. “Thank you,” she said, taking the flowers even though she didn’t deserve them.

Dalton Corbett, along with being movie-star handsome with thick dark hair and bright blue eyes, was also gracious and quite charming. Slipping his Stetson back on his head, he tipped his hat to her.

“It was nice meeting you, Georgia Michaels.”

Big Sky Dynasty
By

BJ Daniels



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

About the Author
BJ DANIELS wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. That first book, Odd Man Out, received a 41/2 star review from Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue for that year. Since then she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense and numerous nominations and awards for best book.
Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis. Daniels is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America.

To contact her, write BJ Daniels, P.O. Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, USA, or e-mail her at bjdaniels@mtintouch. net. Check out her web page at: www.bjdaniels.com.
This one is for knitters everywhere,
especially to the newest to the craft, seven-year-old
Miss Teagan Lynn.

Chapter One
“Can you keep a secret?”
Her whisper is husky in the dark.
He breathes her in, the sweaty air around her naked body fragrant with musk and the aroma of sex. Drunk on her, intoxicated by her body, her voice, her smile, he grins to himself in the dark.
A fingertip trails down his chest, the nails long and red as blood. “Can you?”
“Sure,” he whispers back, eyes drooping as if he’s been sedated.
Her lips brush his neck, her long dark hair tickling his bare flesh, her touch dragging him out of his stupor to semiconscious desire. “Could you keep a secret even if you knew it could get you killed?”
Dalton Corbett shot up in bed fighting to catch his breath, the nightmare following him. Rationally, he knew his mind was playing tricks on him, but he could still hear the cry of the gulls, the lap of the water against the side of the gently rocking boat, the soft murmur of her whisper next to him.
Breathing hard, his skin soaked with sweat, he rubbed a hand over his face and dared to look at the other side of the bed.
Empty.
His heart thudded against his ribs. For one terrifying moment, he’d thought he’d find her lying next to him, her body limp, hair wet and lank as seaweed.
Just a nightmare. But so real he swore he could smell her musky perfume and he knew that if he touched her side of the bed, he’d find it still warm. He glanced down at his chest, half expecting to see where her nails had left rivulets of dried blood.
He looked to the window and saw not rolling ocean swells, but undulating vibrant green grasslands as far as the eye could see.
Still the nightmare surrounded him with an ominous dread. He’d thought he’d exorcized Nicci from his life, his thoughts, his dreams. He’d thought he was through catching glimpses of her in passersby on street corners or in cars speeding past.
That was until three months ago when he’d seen her in the back of a taxi in downtown Houston. A week ago it had been on the national television news. Yesterday it had been in Whitehorse, Montana, just miles from the ranch.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Dalton headed for the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Unlike his brothers, he’d been relieved when he’d gotten the call from his father, asking him to come to Montana to discuss some family business.
Trails West Ranch, hours from the nearest town with a commercial airport, couldn’t have been farther away from his former life. He’d found peace here on the north central Montana working cattle ranch his father had recently bought. The closest town was the small western town of Whitehorse, which some people would argue was still far from civilization.
Like the outlaws who’d holed up in this area over a hundred years ago, he’d been happy to hide out here. He’d thought there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d see a soul who resembled Nicci Angeles in this untamed, remote part of the state where the Missouri River carved a deep gorge through the land on its way to the Gulf of Mexico.
He knew it was crazy even thinking he’d seen her in a taxi in Houston or on a national television news program. But crazier still to think he’d glimpsed her driving past in Whitehorse.
The woman he’d seen hadn’t even looked like Nicci. Her hair had been blond and chin-length—not the wild dark mane he remembered from his nightmares.
On the television late-night news she’d been wearing a baseball cap so he hadn’t even gotten a good look at her face. But there had been something about her that caught his eye. It couldn’t have been Nicci being led away by two police officers, so he hadn’t paid attention even where in Tennessee the crime had taken place.
What made him angry with himself was that after nine years, he’d let these random sightings of some stranger set off the nightmares again.
Standing in the bathroom over the sink, he splashed more cold water on his face and was reaching for the towel when his gaze went to the mirror. He froze, heart taking off at a gallop. For just a split second he’d seen Nicci behind him.
His pulse quickened at the memory of her smile—and the knife she held in her hand. He quickly shut off the water, dried his face and hands, and returned to the bedroom to open the window.
Cool summer air blew in on a gentle breeze. The sun had just crested the horizon, golden and warm, its rays fanning out over the prairie to dazzle the dewdrops on the tall green grass.
Taking deep breaths, he soaked in the tranquil scene. After a few minutes, he could no longer feel Nicci in the room. No hint of her scent hung on the air. Nor was he ever going to wake up to find her next to him, he reminded himself. Or worse, standing behind him again with a murderous look in her eyes.
Because Nicci was dead.
He should know. He was the one who’d killed her.

GEORGIA MICHAELS moved around the In Stitches yarn shop admiring each of her students’ work. The majority were close to Georgia’s age, in their late twenties. More than half were pregnant. Several were grandmothers or mothers of expectant daughters and granddaughters. That’s why Georgia had been offering so many knitted baby clothing classes.
Today her class was knitting a baby afghan. It was an easy pattern using large needles. Some women simply took to knitting as if it were second nature. Others looked as if they were in a boxing match, fighting the needles every inch of the way.
Georgia stopped to help her friend Rory still her arms, before moving on to help McKenna pick up a dropped stitch. Both friends were great with ranching and horses, but knitting had them bamboozled. Both were pregnant, Rory almost due while McKenna had only just found out the good news a few weeks before.
“You’ll get it,” Georgia encouraged her beginning knitters. “It takes a little while to feel comfortable with the needles. Knitting is a great stress reliever.”
“Sure it is,” McKenna said with a laugh and the others joined in.
Only Agnes Palmer sat quietly in the corner knitting as if born to it. Agnes took every knitting class offered. Georgia suspected the petite, slightly built elderly woman knew more about knitting than Georgia did, but took the classes for the companionship.
Georgia loved the chatter—and the wonderful sound of nothing but the soft clack of knitting needles once class started. These women took their knitting seriously and she could appreciate that.
Knitting was a safe place for Georgia where she loved to return every chance she got. She’d been taught by the woman who’d adopted her, an elderly woman she’d called Nana. Georgia loved the feel of the needles in her hands as the yarn magically turned into some creation of her imagination.
The smooth repetition of movement lulled and comforted her, and just the sight of new yarn filled her with the excitement of all the wonderful possibilities.
Glancing at the clock, she announced, “Okay, ladies, that’s it for today, but you’re welcome to stay and knit if you’d like.”
Usually after an hour, most of her class couldn’t wait to quit, fingers cramped, eyes aching, patience spent. But they would all be back, some with several inches done, others with mistakes to be fixed.
Georgia heard Jim Benson, the local delivery man, come in the back door of the shop and call to her. This morning she’d left both the front and back doors open to get a breeze moving through the shop. It was going to be a warm one.
“See you tomorrow!” Georgia called to her departing class. As she started to turn toward the back of the shop, she saw a woman she hadn’t seen before standing in the front window peering at the Apartment for Rent sign she’d put up just that morning.
“Looks like you’ll be unpacking boxes all day,” Jim said, drawing her attention as he came in through the back door carrying his clipboard. “You want me to stack them up in the storage room or bring them up here for you?”
She gave him a grateful smile as she signed for her shipment. “Up here if you don’t mind. Over near my shelves?”
“No problem.” He smiled. Jim was a nice-looking man only a few years older than Georgia herself. “Just heard on the radio. Some weather’s coming in this afternoon. Talking storm warning. Thunder, lightning and maybe even some hail. Pea-sized or larger.” He shook his head. “The farmers aren’t going to like this one bit.” He turned then and headed for his truck to unload.
When Georgia looked toward the front window again, the woman was gone. Too bad. Georgia had hoped to get the apartment rented. When she’d bought the building for her shop, she’d been excited to find there was a two-bedroom apartment upstairs for her and a one-bedroom rental apartment just across the hall.
Even though yarn sales and the knitting classes were going well, she really could use the additional income from the rental. She’d only recently finished painting, decorating and furnishing it.
Jim brought in all the boxes of knitting material, stacking them in easy reach for her to unpack near her shelves. “That work for you?” he asked.
“Thanks, Jim. I really appreciate it.”
He nodded and seemed to hesitate. She could tell the past few times he came in that he wanted to ask her out, but he was having trouble getting up the nerve. She could have helped him out, but she was too busy trying to get her business going to date right now.
“Well, then, you have a nice day. Watch out for that storm later,” he said, but then something caught his eye.
Georgia turned to follow his gaze. The woman she’d seen earlier was back standing in front of the Apartment for Rent sign. Slim, pretty with chin-length blond hair, she glanced up and smiled. Georgia smiled back and crossed her fingers that the woman was interested in the apartment.

AS DALTON DROVE into Whitehorse, he swore. He hadn’t wanted to go into town and wasn’t the least bit happy about it. As he drove, he rehashed the conversation he’d had that morning at breakfast with his family.
“I need you to go in for feed,” Russell Corbett had said the moment Dalton entered the main house dining room.
The oldest of the five Corbett brothers, Russell had moved up from Texas with the family to help their father run the ranch. The rest of the brothers had come when their father had asked and ended up staying for a while.
Not everyone had been happy about their father’s move to Montana. Mostly because it had come as such a shock. None of them had expected their father to remarry. For years after losing the boys’ mother, Grayson had been too busy raising his sons. By the time the boys had reached their twenties, they just figured he would never marry again.
Then Kate had shown up one day at the ranch in Texas with a box of photographs. Kate had grown up with their mother Rebecca on a ranch in Montana, the Trails West Ranch, and thought Grayson might want the photographs. Kate had lost touch with Rebecca after their lives took different paths.
Grayson had fallen for Kate like a boulder over a bluff. Within months they’d married and he’d sold the ranches in Texas to move to Montana to buy a belated wedding present for Kate—Trails West Ranch, the ranch where she’d grown up. Her father had lost the ranch when she was twenty-two, shortly before his death.
At first, Dalton and his brothers had thought the marriage and move too impulsive. But seeing how happy their father was had changed their minds.
“Give him a chance to eat his breakfast,” his father had said, smiling down the table at Dalton this morning. Grayson loved having his sons in Montana and so far he’d been able to keep them here.
“Everyone else is tied up today,” Russell said, pushing his plate away. “Did you have something else you had to do this morning?”
Dalton had been looking forward to a hard day’s work on the ranch, even if it meant mucking out the horse stalls or stacking hay. After the nightmare, the last thing he wanted to do was go into Whitehorse. He’d be looking over his shoulder the entire time.
“I was just planning to work around here,” he’d said as he’d dropped into an empty chair and helped himself to Juanita’s huevos rancheros, one of her specialties. The smartest thing his father had done was talk their Texas cook into coming to Montana with them.
“Why doesn’t Shane pick up the feed and I’ll do his chores for him?” Dalton had suggested, expecting his older brother to jump at it.
“You’re on,” Shane had said with a grin. “I’d much rather pick up feed from town than drive to Billings with Maddie to attend a wedding extravaganza at the Metra and spend the day planning our nuptials.”
“You’d better not let Maddie hear you talking like that,” Kate joked.
His brothers Jud and Lantry had chuckled but were too busy putting away breakfast to comment.
“I guess I’ll be going into town.” Dalton had finished his breakfast with a lot less enthusiasm as everyone headed in different directions for the day.
The summer day was bright and blue, not a cloud in the sky, making it hard to believe a storm was headed their way. The air smelled of dust and grasses. With his side window down and his arm resting on the ledge, he drove the two-lane dirt road north. The sky seemed vast, as endless as the rolling prairie. It felt good to be on solid ground after years of spending days at a time afloat on the Gulf of Mexico.
Whitehorse was miles from anything else. Its original town had started farther south, nearer the Missouri River Breaks. But when the railroad came through, the town took its name and moved north, leaving behind little more than a few houses in what was now called Old Town Whitehorse.
Dalton dropped the truck off at the store to have the feed loaded and, too antsy to wait around, walked down the tracks the few blocks to the center of town. It was one of those Montana towns that had as many bars as it did churches.
There was a weekly newspaper, the Milk River Examiner, a grocery store, a clothing and a hardware store, an old-timey theater that showed one movie a week and a lumberyard.
Parked along the main street that faced the railroad tracks were always more pickups than cars. This was ranching country and the talk in the cafés and the bars always came back to the price of wheat and beef, the promise of rain, the threat of hail.
Dalton was considering stopping in the Great Northern for a cup of coffee when someone caught his eye. Just up the street a woman stood in front of a shop window. She appeared to be interested in something in the window.
He’d seen Nicci stand like that when she knew she was being watched. Her head was turned away slightly—just as it had been on the late-night television news. Even though she was no longer wearing the baseball cap, he could see that it was the same woman.
Dalton felt himself stagger as if a crushing weight had been dropped onto his chest. Fighting to catch his breath, he stopped under the shade of the hardware store’s awning to get control. The woman wasn’t Nicci. She just reminded him of Nicci enough to take him back to when he was eighteen and thought he knew everything.
Nicci had taught him how little he knew, a lesson that had almost gotten him killed and left him more than a little distrustful of women.
She stood in front of a small shop called In Stitches according to the sign. He’d never paid much attention to the store since it sold yarn.
Determined to get a better look at the woman and put this foolishness to rest, he stepped from under the awning into the morning sun.
As he drew closer, the woman slowly turned her head toward him. Her look said she’d known he’d been watching her the whole time.
She wore a large pair of dark sunglasses that hid part of her face and obscured her eyes. Still he could feel her green-eyed gaze, cold as the Arctic.
Before he could react, she turned and ducked into the yarn shop.

GEORGIA HAD JUST OPENED another box of yarn when she heard the click of heels on the floor as someone hurried into the shop.
“Be with you in just a moment,” Georgia called from behind the stacked boxes of yarn. She started toward the counter with a skein of cerulean-blue mohair yarn in her hand. The wool was soft and beautiful. She was smiling, pleased at the quality of her order, when she looked up to see the blond woman rushing toward her.
“Please, help me,” the woman whispered. “There’s a man chasing me.”
Through the open front door, Georgia heard the sound of someone running down the sidewalk in their direction. She took a step around a display table toward the front door, thinking she could reach the door and lock it before—
A tall, broad-shouldered man of about thirty, wearing a gray Stetson, jeans, boots and a Western shirt, rushed in. She’d seen the cowboy before somewhere, but couldn’t place him.
“A blond woman just came in here. Where is she?” he demanded between ragged breaths. He would have been handsome had his face not been twisted in such anguish.
Before Georgia could answer, he spotted the open back door and rushed through the shop to the alley. She held her breath as she looked around the shop and didn’t see the woman anywhere.
The cowboy quickly returned from the alley, looking even more upset as he entered the shop and seemed to sniff the air.
“I know she came in here, so you had to have seen her. Blond, big sunglasses.”
“I’m sorry but I was busy putting away yarn.” Georgia held up the skein in her hand, indicating the stack of boxes piled in the corner against the wall of shelves with cubbyholes that displayed each type and color of yarn.
He glanced at the stack of boxes, then at her. His face was flushed and he was breathing hard. “You had to have seen her. Just tell me which way she went.” He looked as if he wanted to shake the truth out of her.
“I already told you…” Georgia noticed that the man’s big hands were balled into fists. She backed toward the counter where the landline phone sat. “Please, I think you should leave now.”
“You don’t understand. I have to know where she went.” His gaze went to the door leading up to the second floor. “Where does that go?”
“Upstairs, but I keep that door locked. I would have heard if someone had tried to go up there.”
“You wouldn’t lie for a woman you don’t even know, would you?” He moved to the door to the second floor and tried it. Locked.
“If you don’t leave, I’ll have to call the sheriff,” Georgia said, putting down the yarn to pick up the phone. She punched in 911, watching him as she did.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, taking a step toward the front door. “I’m sorry I bothered you.” He turned, gaze scanning the shop again, and left with obvious reluctance.
Georgia hung up the phone before the sheriff’s office answered as the man passed the shop’s front window. She waited a few moments, then went to the front door to peer out. From down the block, he looked back once, but kept going.
She watched until he reached the feed store at the end of the street, went inside and came right back out to climb into a large truck with the words Trails West Ranch printed on the side.
It wasn’t until she saw him drive by and disappear around the corner that she said, “You can come out now.”

Chapter Two
The blonde rose slowly from behind the stack of boxes where she had been crouched. There was high color in her cheeks and her light eyes shone with an unnatural brightness.
“Is he gone?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.
Georgia nodded. “I saw him drive away.”
The woman tentatively stepped out from behind the boxes. She was stunning, the kind of female who made men’s heads turn and women catty with jealousy. She wore strappy sandals with tangerine-orange capri pants and a matching short-sleeved jacket over a crisp white blouse.
Her skin was deeply tanned. Around her neck hung a silver necklace with a tiny sailboat on it and on her slim wrist, three slim silver bracelets that jingled softly.
Everything about the woman seemed exotic.
Georgia stared at her, thinking she should know her because surely the woman was a model or an actress. She definitely wasn’t from Whitehorse, which was small enough that if Georgia didn’t know everyone by name, she knew them by sight.
“I can’t thank you enough,” the woman said. “You saved my life.”
Was she serious? Georgia thought of the cowboy who’d just left. He must work for the Corbetts out on the Trails West Ranch. He’d definitely been upset, but murderous? She wondered what possible connection this obviously sophisticated woman and that rough-edged cowboy might have.
The blonde glanced around the shop before settling her gaze on Georgia. She had the most luminous green eyes that Georgia had ever seen. “I didn’t mean to involve you in my troubles. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course,” Georgia said quickly, trying to place the accent. European? “I’m glad I could help.”
She stepped to Georgia, laid one cool hand on her arm and smiled brightly. “Thank you again. Would you mind if I went out the back way?”
“Of course not. But do you have a place to stay? I saw you looking at the Apartment for Rent sign.”
“I was interested in the apartment.” She bit down on her lower lip, those green eyes filling with tears. “I do need a place to stay and a motel is out of the question since that would be the first place he’d look for me.”
Georgia could only assume she meant the cowboy. “I doubt he would look for you here again.”
“I suppose not.”
“It’s none of my business but—”
“No, you have a right to know why that man was after me. Especially if I rent the apartment.”
“Would you like to see it?” Georgia asked, changing the subject temporarily.
She brightened. “Oh yes, please.”

NICCI WAS ALIVE! Dalton pulled the truck over at the edge of town, got out and threw up his breakfast in the weeds. He was shaking, his mind refusing to admit what his senses knew as truth. Nicci had somehow survived. Not just survived but was now in Whitehorse. And he knew what that meant.
If she was here after nine years of letting him believe she was dead, then he was in serious trouble. As if just crossing paths with Nicci wasn’t trouble enough. His heart hammered at the thought. Knowing Nicci the way he did, he could only assume she’d come to finish what she’d started.
But why, if she’d been alive this whole time, had she waited nine years to come after him?
Shaking his head, he tried to make sense of this and couldn’t. He knew he’d acted like a crazy man back there at the yarn shop. He’d scared that poor young woman so badly she’d been ready to call the sheriff on him—might even have called after he left.
He cursed under his breath. He’d done insane things from the first moment he’d met Nicci nine years ago and it had only gotten worse. Why did he think now would be any different?
He had to get control of himself. But how could he?
Nicci was alive and in Whitehorse and playing some game he knew would only get deadly given their history.
Lightning splintered the sky in an explosion of light that made him jump. The clap of thunder immediately following it reverberated through him, making the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He glanced at the greenish blackness of the clouds moving across the prairie toward him. Hail.
Quickly, he put the truck in gear and looked for the largest tree he could find. The feed was covered with tarps in the back, but the truck itself…Slushy raindrops sounding as hard as hail pelted the hood and roof, drowning out all other sound.
Dalton pulled the truck under a large overhanging limb and cut the engine just as pebble-sized hail began to bounce off the pavement next to him. The hail tore through the thick green leaves of the tree he’d parked under, pinging off the truck and covering the ground in icy white.
He turned his thoughts from Nicci, to the apparent owner of the yarn shop. The young woman was the classic girl next door with her short curly chestnut brown hair, big brown eyes and glowing skin. The kind of woman who would protect another.
He recalled the determination he’d seen in her gaze and cringed remembering how he’d called her a liar. But she had helped the blonde disappear. He wasn’t sure how, just that she had. Understanding why didn’t help given who they were dealing with.
Tomorrow he’d go back to the shop and apologize. Maybe he’d take her some flowers. Anything to get her to tell him where Nicci had gone.
With a start, Dalton came out of his thoughts to silence. As quickly as the hailstorm had begun, it was over, having moved on. He sat for a moment, listening to water drip from what was left of the tree’s leaves onto the truck roof before he pulled out and headed for the ranch, knowing what he had to do. It was something he’d put off far too long.
Dalton hated asking. Grayson Corbett had raised five overly independent sons. All of them would rather chew nails than admit they needed help.
As hard as it was going to be, he dialed his brother’s cell phone number and said without preamble when Lantry answered, “I need a lawyer. I’m in trouble. Serious trouble and I need your help.”

AGNES PALMER hurried home after her knitting class, praying she could beat the storm. The weather service had updated the forecast and was now calling for hail.
Agnes’s pride and joy was her tomato garden. She was known all around the county for growing the biggest, beefiest and most beautiful tomatoes anyone had ever seen and had been for years.
This year she’d outdone herself. Her tomatoes would win blue ribbons at the fair and have people talking for years, although that wasn’t why she did it. She raised tomatoes because her husband, Norbert, God rest his soul, had loved tomatoes. It was her way of never forgetting the man she had married and loved for more than fifty years.
As she drove up in her yard, she saw the thunderhead at the edge of her field. Ignoring the weatherman’s advice to stay inside and away from windows, she hurried to the back porch for her plastic tubs and hightailed it out to her garden.
She could hear the thunder rumbling. Flashes of lightning lit the darkening sky. The air smelled of rain, which would be bad enough, but hail would destroy her tomato crop and Agnes wasn’t going to let that happen even if it killed her.
Clouds obscured the light, pitching the day into a premature darkness as she began to pick. She’d filled half a tub when a bolt of lightning lit the darkness in a blinding flash of light. Agnes glanced up at the angry sky and considered the danger.
But she still had too many tomatoes to pick. She wasn’t leaving them to this storm. More determined than ever, she began to pick more rapidly, filling one tub after another and dragging them over to the oak tree her grandmother had planted so many years ago.
Her roots ran deep in this part of Montana and she took a certain pride in that just as she did in her tomatoes.
As she scurried back to the garden to save the rest of her precious tomatoes, the first drops of rain slashed down from the dark heavens. Large, heavy and icy, the raindrops hurt as they struck her thin back and shoulders.
She bent her head against them and thought of something pleasurable—her knitting classes. While she enjoyed knitting, it was Georgia Michaels who made the classes so enjoyable. Never having had any children of her own, Agnes thought of the loving, caring woman the way she might have a daughter or granddaughter.
Not that she didn’t find something to like in everyone. She’d gotten that from her mother, who always said, “People are like gardens. While they need sunshine, water and a healthy dose of prayer, grace grows good gardens and people. Mind you remember that.”
Agnes had remembered.
The rain soaked her to the skin, beating her slim back and running in rivulets off the brim of her garden bonnet.
She glanced at her watch. Only a few more tomatoes to go. A bolt of lightning lit the garden in a blaze of white light. The thunderous boom was deafening and directly overhead.
Agnes reached for one perfect, large tomato, perhaps the one that would take the blue ribbon this year. She never saw the lightning bolt that hit her.

GEORGIA PICKED UP her keys for the apartment from where she’d thrown them on the counter earlier before her class and opened the door to the second floor.
Leading the way, she climbed the stairs to the landing and unlocked the one-bedroom apartment door across the hall from her own. Stepping back, she let her prospective renter enter.
“Oh, it’s wonderful,” the blonde exclaimed. “Did you decorate it yourself? Of course you did. I saw how you decorated the shop downstairs. You have a real talent for it.”
The woman moved through the small apartment admiring the things Georgia had done, making her flush with embarrassment and pleasure. She’d hoped to rent the apartment to someone who appreciated what she’d done to make it more comfortable and homey.
Georgia watched the woman step to the front window that looked out over the main street. Directly across the street was a small city park and past that the old train depot next to the tracks. The depot wasn’t open, but you could still catch a passenger train from here that would take you to Seattle or Chicago and all points in between.
The woman stared out at the street for a long moment as if looking for the cowboy, but when she turned back to Georgia, her face was glowing. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m so glad you like it.”
“I love it,” she said excitedly. “You’re sure you won’t mind renting it to me? But you don’t even know me.” She took a step toward Georgia and, smiling, extended her hand. “Forgive me, I should have introduced myself before. I’m Nicci. Nicci Corbett.”
“Georgia Michaels,” she said, taking the woman’s hand, her eyes widening as she recognized the name. “Corbett?”
AGNES PALMER came to lying in the soft dirt, soaked to the skin and staring up at the rain. She blinked and sat up, relieved to see that when she’d fallen, it had been between her tomato rows and she hadn’t hurt either her plants or her tomatoes.
“How odd,” she said as she saw the overturned tub of tomatoes and saw where her body had left an imprint in the freshly turned earth. What had happened?
She glanced at her watch, shocked to see that she couldn’t account for the last twenty-two minutes.
“Strange indeed,” she said as she bent to pick the largest of the tomatoes and felt a little dizzy. Holding the tomato she stared at it, seeing it more clearly than she felt she’d ever seen anything in her life.
Hail began to pelt the cabbage patch, tearing through the leaves before bouncing along the ground toward her.
Agnes quickly righted her tub of tomatoes and lifting it into her arms, skedaddled over to the old oak. She wormed her way back in against the trunk, pulling her tubs of tomatoes with her and sat down, suddenly tired but content.
Smiling to herself, she reached into one of the tubs, took out a fat, juicy tomato and took a bite as she watched hail as big as gumballs ravage her garden.
It wasn’t until later, when the storm passed and she went inside with her tubs of tomatoes that she caught sight of herself in the hall mirror.
Her salt-and-pepper short brown hair was completely white—and curly. She’d stood staring, stunned, then she’d smiled at herself in the mirror. She’d always wanted curly hair.

GEORGIA COULDN’T HIDE her surprise as she shook Nicci’s hand. Everyone in town had heard about the five Corbett brothers. In fact, two of Georgia’s friends had fallen for Corbetts.
“That man who was chasing me was Dalton Corbett,” Nicci said. “He’s my husband. Soon to be ex-husband if I have anything to do with it.”
Instantly Georgia regretted offering the apartment. The last thing she wanted to do was get involved in a squabble between a husband and wife in the middle of a less than amicable divorce. From the look on Dalton Corbett’s face earlier…
Nicci must have seen her doubts. “I love the apartment and appreciate the offer, but I can’t chance that Dalton will come back here under the circumstances and upset you.”
Georgia nodded, relieved, but also feeling a little guilty. “But I thought you said you couldn’t go to a motel?”
“Please, don’t worry about me,” Nicci said. “You’ve already done so much. I never expected to see a friendly face in Whitehorse, not with my husband’s family living here. I wasn’t joking when I said you’d saved my life. I wasn’t looking forward to spending possibly months here waiting for the divorce to go through without even a friend.” She glanced away from Georgia to look wistfully at the apartment.
“I think you should stay here,” Georgia said impulsively.
“Are you sure? I promise I won’t let him know where I’m staying,” Nicci said hastily. “There won’t be any trouble.”
“I’m not worried.” Crazy, yes. Worried, well, maybe that, too. But Georgia felt as if she was doing the right thing. The woman needed help. How could she turn her out onto the street?
“Dalton is harmless. Unless you’re married to him.” She’d looked sad for a moment, but quickly altered her expression to one of delight as she looked around the apartment again. “You won’t be sorry you befriended me.”
Georgia laughed. “Please, I haven’t done anything.”
“Just saved my life, that’s all. You think that is something I’m likely to forget?” Nicci reached into her big leather shoulder bag. “The sign out front said four hundred dollars a month, first and last month’s rent, and two hundred for the security deposit.”
“But you don’t know how long you will be staying,” Georgia said. “I suppose you could pay by the week…”
“I won’t hear of it. You’ve been too kind already.” Nicci counted out ten one hundred dollar bills into Georgia’s hand and smiled jubilantly at her. “What a lucky day it was for me when I ducked into your shop.”

LANTRY CORBETT was waiting for his brother in one of the guest cabins just down the road from the main ranch house. Like his brothers, he’d come home when summoned by their father, Grayson, fearing bad news.
Their sixty-year-old father, it turned out, was just fine. Happily married to Kate and loving the new ranch in Montana. The problem was that after years of being unable to go through his first wife’s things, he’d finally gotten the courage, thanks to Kate.
Grayson had found some letters that his sons’ mother, Rebecca, had written before her death. One had been to him, telling him of her dying wish to have each of her sons marry before the age of thirty to a Montana cowgirl. The other letters were addressed to her five sons. They were to be read on the day of their weddings.
Stunned by this revelation, the brothers had all been caught up in the emotion of this find from the mother they had never really known and had done something crazy. They’d drawn straws to see who would marry first rather than go by age.
Jud had drawn the shortest straw, but he’d managed to weasel out of it by finding the perfect cowgirl, Maddie Cavanaugh, for his brother Shane. Shane, who’d drawn a straw just to shut up his brothers, had drawn the longest one. But fate had stepped in and the next thing he knew he was in love with Maddie and was now engaged and planning their wedding.
In a rare turn of events though, Jud had fallen in love just last month with a true Montana cowgirl, Faith Bailey. They were busy working on starting a stunt riding school on part of Faith’s ranch. Both weddings were pending.
Lantry, who’d drawn the second shortest straw, was next in line to find a Montana cowgirl to marry, but everyone in the family figured he’d try some legal maneuver to get out of it.
“Whoa, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Lantry said, opening the door to Dalton.
Dalton gave a humorless laugh as he stepped into the guest cabin and turned to face his brother. “I wish it had been a ghost.”
“Well, sit down and tell me why the hell you need a lawyer,” Lantry said. “You’ve never asked for my help before. Wait a minute. If this is about getting out of the marriage pact we all made…”
“I’m already married. I got married nine years ago and kept it a secret.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
“Where is your wife?”
“It’s a long story.”
His brother studied him for a moment, then said, “I think you’d better sit down before you pass out.” Lantry stepped to the bar, poured them both a drink and shoved a glass of brandy into Dalton’s hand.
Dalton took a drink, fortifying himself, and sat down. He dreaded this. It would be bad enough admitting the truth to a stranger, but to his brother Lantry?
“I can think of only one reason you’d get married and keep it a secret,” Lantry said as he took the seat opposite his brother. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Dalton took another drink of the brandy. It burned all the way down but it seemed to steady him a little. “She wasn’t pregnant. She drugged me.”
Lantry laughed, thinking he was joking. He sobered and swore. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
“What the hell? The marriage would be invalid if either party was under the influence of alcohol or drugs.”
“And how do propose I prove that after nine years?”
“Not even a justice of the peace would have married you if he thought—”
“You don’t know this woman or what she’s capable of. I have no idea how she pulled it off but she did. I saw the marriage license.”
Lantry shook his head. “So how exactly did you end up drugged and married?”
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“How about the beginning. Where’d you meet this woman?” Lantry asked. He’d put his law practice in Houston on hold for a while. It was clear to all five sons that their father wanted them in Montana to be closer to him and Kate.
It was still unclear what Lantry planned to do since his Houston law practice specializing in divorce was very lucrative. He’d go broke in Whitehorse, Montana, since the population—let alone the divorce rate—was low.
Not that any of them needed the money. Grayson had divided a vast portion of his fortune between them years ago. That was one reason nine years ago, Dalton had been in a bar in Galveston just down from where he kept his sailboat.
“I met Nicci in a bar in Galveston,” Dalton began. “The moment I saw her I was like one of those cobras that comes out of the wicker basket to the sound of the flute. Later, I realized that she was the one who’d come after me.”
Lantry shrugged. “The woman did a number on you.” Clearly he’d heard more than his share of stories like this one as a divorce attorney in Houston. He just hadn’t heard one quite like this, Dalton would bet on that.
“To say Nicci came on strong is like saying getting hit by a freight train hurts.”
“She targeted you, clearly knowing who you were.”
Dalton cut his eyes to his brother. “Damn, I had no idea you were so cynical about women.”
“Not women. Marriage. Come on, this one is a nobrainer. She pretended she’d never heard of Grayson Corbett, right? And the next thing you know you’re married.”
Dalton was shaking his head, although Lantry was right. Nicci had said she’d never heard of the Texas Corbetts and he’d believed her.
“She did come after me, but not for the Corbett money,” he said. “Nicci’s wealthy, the only heir to multibillionaire Nicholas Barron Angeles. Hell, she’s richer than Dad.”
“She told you this, right? And you bought it hook, line and sinker. Damn, Dalton, what were you thinking? Let me guess, you didn’t sign a prenup.”
“I told you, she drugged me. Anyway I was eighteen. I didn’t have much and she was rich. So what would have been the point?”
“The point is that even if she wasn’t lying through her teeth about how rich she was at the time, now it is nine years later. Now you have money and maybe she’s blown all of hers, if she ever had it. The point is you’re screwed.”
Dalton realized Lantry might be right. Nicci could have blown through her fortune by now and was looking to pick up a little cash. That would explain why it had taken her nine years to show up in his life again. But when he thought of that dark, humid night on the water, he doubted Nicci’s thirst for blood was monetary.
“So where has she been the last nine years?” Lantry asked.
Dalton shook his head. “I haven’t seen her since our honeymoon at sea. We parted ways a few days in.”
His brother looked surprised. “And you never heard from her, tried to contact her, thought about divorcing her?”
“I thought she was dead.”
Lantry looked momentarily taken aback. “What made you think she was dead? No, don’t answer that.” He suddenly looked as sick as Dalton felt.
Dalton rose from his chair and stepped to the window to look out. The black clouds of the thunderstorm hung on the horizon. It must still be storming not far from the ranch.
“Do you believe in evil?” When Lantry didn’t answer, Dalton turned to look at him. “Nicci’s evil incarnate and now she’s come to Whitehorse.”
Lantry shook his head. “If she’s in town, she isn’t after your soul.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Chapter Three
An hour after Georgia had closed the shop for the day she glanced up at the sound of a key in the alley door. For an instant, she was startled.
The door swung open, a gust of cool evening air rushing in before the door closed again. For a moment, she’d completely forgotten that she’d rented the apartment.
“Georgia?” Nicci called as she stepped into the shop.
“Over here.” The only light was a small one near the shelves where Georgia was busy finishing unloading the boxes that had arrived that morning.
The day had gotten away from her. She’d called in Miss Thorp, her former spinster teacher, to watch the shop while she helped Nicci bring up her bags from her rental car and then had gotten caught up in visiting and helping Nicci get settled in.
Miss Thorp had been Georgia’s typing teacher in high school. “You’ll never be a typist,” the spinster had told her repeatedly during the course. Georgia still didn’t know Miss Thorp’s first name since the woman refused to be paid for watching the shop.
“Sitting here isn’t all that different from sitting at home,” Miss Thorp had said. “I like the change of scenery.”
As long as Georgia didn’t get Miss Thorp started on the evils of computers, she proved to be the perfect parttime, occasional helper for the shop. Especially since she didn’t mind being called in at the last minute and worked for free.
Since business was often slow between classes, Miss Thorp would sit and read, which was just fine with Georgia. The one time she’d had her help her with a shipment of yarn, the typing teacher had complained about the way Georgia was doing it.
Georgia had enjoyed visiting with her new renter. Normally, she was shy, especially around strangers, but Nicci set her at ease at once by getting her talking about her two favorite subjects, Whitehorse and knitting.
Their conversation had been interspersed with laughter and comfortable silences as Nicci set about moving in. For a woman not planning to stay long she had a lot of summer clothing.
“Thank you for keeping me company,” Nicci had said at one point. “I feel as if I’ve known you forever. Is that odd?”
“No,” Georgia said. “I feel the same way.” And it was as if they’d only been apart and were now just getting reacquainted.
Georgia was thankful when Nicci didn’t ask about the Corbetts. Anyway, she figured Nicci probably knew more about them than she did.
“Still hard at work just as I suspected,” Nicci said now, smiling as she joined her. She carried what appeared to be two takeout containers.
Georgia caught the delicious smell of fried chicken. Her stomach rumbled and she realized she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.
“I brought you some dinner,” Nicci said. “I doubt you got a chance to eat today and it’s all my fault for talking your ear off and not letting you get your work done.”
Before Georgia could be polite and deny it, Nicci rushed on. “I hope you like fried chicken. I was walking by the Great Northern restaurant and I saw they had a chicken special. Chicken, JoJos and coleslaw with sour cream for the potatoes. I couldn’t pass it up.”
Georgia laughed. “My favorite. But there is no way you eat like that all the time and stay as slim as you are.”
“You’d be surprised. I can’t stand depriving myself of anything. It’s one of my tragic flaws,” she said and laughed. “Come on, you can’t let me eat alone.”
Georgia hesitated. She really had wanted to get the yarn all put away before the shop opened in the morning.
“Take a break and eat with me, please,” Nicci pleaded. “I hate eating alone and I refuse to let you starve given how wonderful you’ve been to me.”
Georgia couldn’t have said no under the circumstances even if she hadn’t been hungry. She could eat and finish up afterward.
“You had me at fried chicken,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I’ll take it up. Meet me in my apartment?” Nicci said over her shoulder. “I also got us some wine.”
They ate at the breakfast nook, eating the chicken and potatoes with their fingers, sipping the wine and talking.
It wasn’t until later, feeling a little tipsy, Georgia realized she wasn’t going to get her work done tonight.
Much later, she crossed the hall to her own apartment, smiling to herself. She’d needed this tonight. A workaholic, she was often too serious. Her friend Rory used to make her take breaks from work to do something fun, but since Rory’s pregnancy and marriage—and Georgia’s working on expanding the yarn line at the shop—she had seen little of her best friend except at knitting class and as Rory’s backup at Lamaze class.
Georgia hadn’t realized how much she’d missed girl talk with Rory. Spending time with Nicci today made her all the more aware of how much she’d missed her best friend.
She vowed to make plans to get together with Rory outside of knitting and Lamaze classes.

THE NEXT MORNING, waking up a little hungover from the wine she wasn’t used to drinking, Georgia realized with chagrin how much she’d told her new renter about herself.
After a few glasses of wine, Georgia had shared practically her entire life history. She blamed the alcohol and the fact that Nicci had a way of drawing her out, making her so comfortable, that she wasn’t hesitant to talk about herself.
“The woman would make a great interrogator,” Rory said when Georgia called her to tell her about her new renter and her embarrassment over last night.
“She’s just so easy to talk to.”
“So what did you learn about her?”
Georgia thought back and was even more embarrassed to realize Nicci had said little about herself. “I was so busy talking about myself apparently…”
Rory laughed. “That is so not like you.”
“I know. It’s weird. But you’ll see what I mean once you meet her. She’s really fun. You can’t help opening up to her. It’s like I have always known her.”
“How long is she staying in town?” Was that jealousy she heard in her best friend’s tone?
“I don’t know. She’s rented the apartment for a month. I guess it will just depend on how long her business here takes.”
Even though Rory was her best friend and they told each other everything, Georgia didn’t feel it was her place to discuss her renter’s personal business.
“This amazing woman has business in Whitehorse?” Definitely jealousy. “I can’t believe you don’t know where’s she from, what she does for a living, what she’s doing in town,” Rory said.
“I got the feeling she’s been living abroad. I don’t know that she does anything. She seems to have a lot of money.”
“Didn’t you look at the check she gave you for the apartment? That would at least give you an idea where she banks anyway.”
“She paid in cash.”
“A thousand dollars? Don’t you find that a little unusual?”
“No, obviously she’d seen the sign and knew how much she needed to rent the apartment,” Georgia said, getting annoyed. “She probably thought I wouldn’t take an out-of-town check.”
“Sounds like the woman at least didn’t just stumble in off the street,” Rory said. “She had to be planning to rent the apartment if she had the money ready. I suppose that’s good news. Still, you have to wonder what a woman like that is doing in Whitehorse.”
Nicci had kind of stumbled into the shop, Georgia thought. But only because she’d been outside looking at the For Rent sign. And a woman like Nicci Corbett probably wouldn’t think a thing about carrying around a thousand dollars in cash.
Rory was just jealous.
Once Rory met Nicci, she would like her and stop this.
“I’d better get busy,” Georgia said, a little irritated with Rory. She’d called her friend to see about getting together, but now let it go. “See you at knitting class later?”
“Are you kidding? I can’t wait. I have to meet your new renter.”

MORNINGS WERE USUALLY slow at the shop and Georgia was thankful for it today. The summer day got remarkably hot fast. Just as she had yesterday, Georgia had opened both the front and back doors and had fans going. Few people in Montana had air conditioning since it was needed for such a short period of time each year.
But this morning with all the work she had to do, she would have loved the convenience. Her biggest problem though was that she couldn’t get her conversation with Rory out of her mind.
What bothered her most was that Rory was right. Georgia didn’t know anything about the woman she’d rented the apartment to. She had an application form that she’d planned to use for any interested renter, but she’d forgotten to get Nicci to fill it out. Now she felt funny about asking her to do it since Nicci had already moved in and wouldn’t be staying long anyway.
Georgia was bent over one of the bins of yarn when she heard someone behind her. Straightening as she turned, she was shocked to see who.
“Didn’t mean to startle you again,” the cowboy said in his slight Southern drawl. He held a huge bouquet of roses. Dragging off his Stetson, he added, “I’m Dalton Corbett.”
“Georgia Michaels,” she said, taken off guard.
He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve only come in to apologize and give you these as a peace offering.” He held out the flowers. “I truly am sorry for the way I behaved yesterday.”
She smiled in spite of herself as she rose to her feet. He looked genuinely apologetic and she felt horribly guilty. He’d accused her of lying yesterday—and had been right.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the flowers even though she didn’t deserve them. “This really wasn’t necessary.”
“It was and if there is anything else I can do, I’d be most happy to do it,” he said. “My behavior was inexcusable yesterday. I was upset. I thought I saw someone…someone I knew but didn’t expect to see here in town.”
She felt a wave of sympathy for him. No man got as upset as he had yesterday unless he loved his wife. That made Georgia feel even worse since she knew Nicci had come to Whitehorse only to divorce the poor man.
“Please, don’t give it another thought, and the flowers were very thoughtful.” Georgia could see what Nicci had seen in the man. Dalton Corbett, along with being movie-star handsome with thick dark hair and bright blue eyes, was also gracious and quite charming.
Yesterday Georgia had found his height and muscled arms and broad shoulders intimidating. Is that why Nicci had been afraid of him?
He certainly didn’t seem dangerous now. If anything Georgia found him gentle. But then Nicci had said he wasn’t dangerous to anyone except her.
Georgia couldn’t help but notice also that his hands were callused and his skin tanned dark from the sun. This was a hardworking man, not an idle rich one as she’d assumed when she heard about the Corbetts and their wealth and land.
“Apology accepted then?”
“Apology accepted,” Georgia said.
He smiled so broadly that she felt as if the entire room had lit up. “Thank you.” His gaze locked with hers for a moment, then acting almost embarrassed, he’d glanced around the shop. “So you sell yarn.”
She laughed. “I also teach knitting and crocheting and embroidery.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“And I’ve had one or two men attend my classes.”
He looked uncomfortable. “I appreciate you for accepting my apology and not making me learn to knit as payback.”
“I wish I’d thought of it. You might have found knitting relaxing.” She laughed as she tried to imagine knitting needles in his big callused hands. “I can’t really see you knitting.”
He laughed then too, a warm, natural sound that made her soften even more toward him.
“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” he said, backing toward the door. Slipping his Stetson back on his head, he tipped his hat to her. “It was nice meeting you, Georgia Michaels.”
She smiled and sniffed the bouquet he’d given her as he left, thinking how nice he’d been and wondering what had gone wrong with his marriage to Nicci. They were both gorgeous and both probably rich. But Georgia doubted Nicci had worked a day in her life. Still maybe there was a chance they would reconcile if Nicci stayed around long enough.
Georgia hoped that was possible for Dalton Corbett’s sake. He really seemed like a nice man, a man who would take his vows to love, honor and cherish very seriously. Not a man who would ever hurt his wife.

DALTON HOPED he’d handled the situation with Georgia Michaels the right way. If it had been any other woman than the yarn shop owner, he might have tried to persuade her into telling him what had happened to Nicci after he’d left the shop yesterday. He might even have offered a bribe.
But one good look into Georgia Michael’s pretty, sweet, girl-next-door face and he knew he would be wasting his time. Kindheartedness radiated from the woman the way greed radiated from other women he’d met.
Even at the threat of death, Georgia Michaels would cover for another woman who she believed to be in danger. And that, Dalton thought, would be her downfall.
He parked up the street in sight of the shop and now all he could do was wait. If he knew Nicci, which even in their short intense time together, he did, then she would take advantage of a woman like Georgia.
Georgia Michaels was everything Nicci was not, and Nicci would use that to her advantage. Which meant it was just a matter of time before Nicci returned to the yarn shop. She had found a sympathetic woman who’d already helped her. Getting Georgia to help her again would be child’s play for a woman like Nicci.
He had to assume from the way Georgia had acted at the shop yesterday that Nicci had brought in an Academy Award winning role as the helpless woman in need. Even if Nicci did return to the shop, he couldn’t go in there demanding she talk to him.
Georgia Michaels had already proven she wouldn’t hesitate to call the sheriff. Nicci would be counting on that having gained the shop owner’s trust.
A little before nine, women began to enter the knitting shop one after another. None of them was Nicci, though. Each woman carried a bag, probably going to one of those classes, Georgia had mentioned. While he had no idea what Nicci had been doing the last nine years, he knew she hadn’t taken up knitting.
So how would she ingratiate herself into the shop owner’s life and exploit that relationship? Just Georgia Michaels’s luck that Nicci had chosen her shop to duck into yesterday. Or had Nicci planned it that way all along?
Dalton grew impatient, anxious to ask Nicci where she’d been all this time and even more to the point what she was doing alive.
Still no sign of Nicci, Dalton started the engine and drove down past the yarn shop. He glanced toward the front window, but the glare of the sun off the glass made it impossible to see inside.
What he did see though stopped his heart cold. Yesterday there’d been an Apartment for Rent sign in the front window. He hadn’t noticed it earlier when he’d gone into the shop.
But now there was no mistaking.
The sign was gone.

“AGNES?” Georgia exclaimed when the elderly woman arrived for knitting class.
The last one to come in the door, Agnes stopped and struck a pose. “Like my new ’do? I decided to go à la natural.”
“It’s cute. I didn’t realize you had naturally curly hair.”
“Neither did I,” Agnes said with a chuckle. “Who knew?”
As Georgia helped her knitting class, she could hear Nicci upstairs moving around. It seemed odd since that apartment had been empty from the time Georgia bought the building and started her shop.
But the sound of life upstairs was also reassuring. She hadn’t realized how alone she’d been for some time. It would be nice having someone around—even temporarily.
She was especially anxious for Nicci to come down so she could meet everyone. Georgia wanted Rory to like Nicci and noticed that Rory had been watching the door to the apartments ever since she’d arrived.
“Hello everyone!” Nicci said a few minutes later. She stepped into the class area wearing navy capri pants and a navy-and-white-striped shirt, sandals and the same silver jewelry she’d been wearing the day before.
“Nicci, come join us. I want you to meet my friends.”
Georgia introduced them all, doing as Nicci had advised, introducing her by what she had said was her maiden name, Nicci Angeles instead of Corbett.
“That way I won’t have to answer a lot of awkward questions,” Nicci had said. “You don’t mind doing that, do you?”
It was a little white lie of omission. Georgia was happy to do it if it made things easier for Nicci.
As each person was introduced, Nicci complimented the knitting and choice of colors. She especially liked the baby blanket Rory was making and asked when her baby was due.
“The end of the month,” Rory said.
“I was thinking Georgia and I should go to a movie tonight at that old fashioned theater I saw in town,” Nicci said impulsively. “Rory, I hope you’re free and can come with us. I’ve heard so much about you I feel as if I already know you. Georgia is so lucky to have such a good friend.”

AGNES HAD BEEN ANXIOUS to meet the young woman renting the apartment upstairs. She figured Georgia could use the extra income and renting to a young woman close to her own age seemed ideal. Georgia had spoken so highly of the woman this morning before class. Agnes knew she was going to like her.
As Nicci made her way around the class, Agnes began to feel an uncomfortable pressure in her chest. She was suddenly struck by the strangest feeling. Dread. And even more stranger and alien to her, fear.
She felt her smile slip as Nicci now approached her. Why would this slim, attractive young woman fill her with such dread and fear?
Agnes quickly looked down at her knitting, afraid the woman had noticed her reaction, one so foreign to Agnes that she was at a loss to explain it. She was a woman who didn’t hold grudges and didn’t make enemies and yet—
Nicci stopped in front of her. As Agnes looked up and into the woman’s green eyes, she felt a chill rattle through her as if someone had just walked over her grave. For an instant, her gaze locked with the young woman’s. Her heart began to pound erratically.
“This is my most faithful knitter,” Georgia said by way of introduction. “And,” she added lowering her voice, “my favorite.”
“I heard that,” Rory said and everyone laughed.
“This is Agnes Palmer. Meet Nicci Angeles, my new tenant.”
“And new friend,” Nicci added as she reached for Agnes’s hand, flinching a little as their fingers touched, her gaze also startled as their eyes locked once again.
Agnes would remember little after that. The moment her fingers touched Nicci’s hand, she could recall only the woman’s bloodless touch, the soft jingle of the silver bracelets, the murmur of voices around her and the feeling of being out of her body.
Images flashed behind her eyes. A boat rocking in rough seas. Angry voices. Blood. She pulled back her hand as quickly as she could and saw something ugly flicker across the woman’s face.
“It is very nice to meet you, Agnes,” Nicci said, her green eyes as cold as her touch. “I can see why you are such a special student to Georgia. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
Agnes heard what she knew was a threat and shuddered inwardly as she forced a smile and murmured, “Nice to meet—” The lie stuck in her throat.
Her fingers, as if of their own accord, began knitting again. She put a smile on her face and pretended to listen to the others, thankful only when the renter excused herself and left them alone.
Only then did Agnes feel as if she could breathe.

“WELL?” GEORGIA ASKED when she and Rory were alone after the class. “You liked her, didn’t you?”
“I saw her for only a few minutes,” Rory said noncommittally.
Georgia couldn’t hide her disappointment. “I thought for sure the two of you would hit it off.”
Rory touched her friend’s arm. “I have to be truthful with you, Georgia. There is something about her I don’t trust. Did you see the way she got you to go to the show with her tonight by putting you on the spot in front of us all?”
“Come on, it was just a spur-of-the-moment invite.”
“You don’t know anything about her and she’s living across the hall from you and for all you know she could be dangerous.”
Georgia groaned. “I’m pretty sure she’s not an ax murderer since I helped her unpack and didn’t see an ax.”
“But you don’t know that for sure. It might be one of those folding axes,” Rory joked, clearing the air a little. “Seriously, there’s something about her. She makes me uneasy.”
“I think you’re jealous,” Georgia said. “And I think it’s ridiculous. You’re still my best friend.”
“Jealous?” Rory started to protest then sighed. “Okay, maybe I’m a little jealous, all right? I miss you and this pregnancy makes me a little weird…” She laid a hand on her swollen belly. “But Georgia, I’m not the only one who doesn’t trust her. I saw Agnes’s reaction to Nicci.”
“Oh, please, Agnes likes everyone.”
“Exactly. Agnes didn’t like her. And I saw Nicci’s face when she shook Agnes’s hand. She didn’t like Agnes either. It was spooky.” Rory shivered. “Agnes almost looked afraid of her.”
Georgia laughed. “Do you hear yourself?”
“I know. I sound crazy,” Rory admitted. “But look at the way this woman has insinuated herself into your life.”
“If this is about the movie tonight, come with us,” Georgia said. “You can spend some time around her and see if you still feel the same way.”
“I’ll think about it.”
A horn honked in front of the shop. Georgia waved to Rory’s husband. “She’ll be right out!” she called to Devlin.
Rory took both of her friend’s hands in hers, drawing her attention back. “Honey, just be careful. Promise me you’ll try to find out more about her.”
Georgia nodded and gave her a hug and then stood back and watched her leave. Maybe Rory was right. What did she really know about Nicci Angeles Corbett?
As she turned, she was startled to find Nicci standing at the back of the shop. From the look on her face, she’d heard everything.

Chapter Four
Dalton pulled over once he was around the block from the knitting shop. He tried to convince himself that Nicci wouldn’t have rented an apartment in the shop where he’d seen her yesterday for fear he’d come back.
But he knew that’s exactly what Nicci would do—and no doubt had because she’d found an ally in Georgia Michaels.
Georgia had no idea what kind of woman she’d taken in. And trying to warn her, he feared would be a waste of time. He could only imagine what Nicci had told the shop owner to get Georgia to lie and cover for her.
Dalton knew he had two choices. He could wait around until Nicci decided to let him in on what she was up to. Or he could stir the pot. He wasn’t good at sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He hadn’t paid any attention to what kind of vehicle she’d been driving when he thought he’d seen her the other day. But with the closest airport three hours away, that meant she had a rental car parked around here somewhere.
Whitehorse consisted of only a ten-block square, so finding the car shouldn’t be that difficult. Even if it didn’t have a rental sticker or plate, he should be able to spot it in a town that was ninety-percent pickups.
He took off on foot, determined he would cover the entire town if that’s what it took.
His cell phone vibrated.
“So what’s going on?” Lantry wanted to know.
Dalton filled him in as he widened his search for Nicci’s rental car.
“You gave the woman who owns the yarn shop flowers and apologized to her?” Lantry said, scoffing. “If you suspect this woman lied to you yesterday and is harboring Nicci, why the hell didn’t you call her on it? I thought you went into town to find Nicci and demand to know what she wanted.”
“You don’t know anything about women, do you?” Dalton said.
“Excuse me? I didn’t marry evil incarnate,” Lantry snapped.
“I did, and thanks to Nicci I was provided with a lifetime of learning in a very short while.” Ahead, he noticed a nondescript white car. Most people in isolated parts of Montana didn’t buy white cars. A white car in a blizzard was dangerous. If you went off the road in a blizzard, white cars weren’t easy to spot and you could be stranded for days down a snow-filled gully.
“Not all women are like Nicci.”
“Exactly,” Dalton agreed. “Georgia Michaels for one. That’s why she didn’t rat Nicci out yesterday. I’m sure that’s also why she would rent the apartment to Nicci. She feels sorry for her and wants to help her.”
“Okay, but wouldn’t it have made more sense to lay your cards on the table and tell her the truth?”
Dalton chuckled at that. His own brother wasn’t going to like the truth when he finally heard it. A complete stranger, a woman who saved other women in distress? Yeah, sure.
“I can imagine how that would have gone over,” he said. “How are you coming on getting the information you need to file for the divorce?”
“I’m trying to get a copy of your marriage license. You’re sure you were married in Galveston?”
Dalton frowned. “I assumed so.” Was there a chance Nicci had lied about that, too? Maybe the marriage license she’d showed him was a fake. He should be so lucky.
“Nicci Angeles, right? She couldn’t have used another name?”
“She showed me a copy of the marriage license the next morning, but truthfully, I didn’t notice what name she used.”
“She really did drug you?”
“Oh, yeah. She said I drank too much and that’s why I couldn’t remember getting married. I believed her until I discovered the drug she used on me.”
Lantry swore. “What the hell kind of woman did you get tangled up with?”
“A very dangerous one as it turned out.”

“I WASN’T EAVESDROPPING, I forgot my purse.” Nicci walked over to the counter, picked up a white leather bag and swung it over her shoulder.
“I hope you didn’t—”
“Your friend Rory is right,” Nicci said, smiling ruefully. “You don’t know me. Maybe we did become friends too quickly. I have a tendency to come on a little too strong when I really like someone. I’m big on first impressions, but sometimes I’m wrong about a person.” She shrugged. “If you want to cancel the show tonight…”
“No,” Georgia said. “Rory’s been my best friend since we were kids. I think she’s feeling a little left out, that’s all.”
“Well I can understand that. And being pregnant, I’m sure she feels vulnerable as well.” Nicci smiled. “I enjoyed meeting your class and your friend Rory. You wait, we’re all going to be great friends. I need to run a few errands. Can I get you anything while I’m out?”
“No, but thank you. And thank you for being so understanding about Rory.”
“No problem. I know how friends are,” Nicci said with a laugh. “See you later.”
Georgia tried to work. She’d hoped to get it done before the movie tonight with Nicci. But she couldn’t forget what Rory had said about her renter. Nor forget how nice Nicci had been about it. The woman was so gracious.
It was Rory’s pregnancy and jealousy, that was all. It made her imagine things. Like Agnes’s alleged adverse reaction to Nicci. Why would Agnes of all people dislike Nicci, let alone be afraid of her?
Georgia knew she wouldn’t be able to get any work done until she talked to Rory.

“WHY DO I get the feeling there’s more to the story?” Lantry said on the other end of the line.
“Because you’re my brother. I have to go.” Dalton hung up as he reached the white car and glanced inside. Too clean for this part of Montana where there were more dirt roads than paved. Dust boiled up miles away in the summer, letting residents see if someone was coming long before they arrived.
If he was right, this was Nicci’s rental car. It wasn’t as if there were a bunch of rental cars in Whitehorse. He hesitated, considering why Nicci hadn’t gone with an expensive one. She’d gone cheap and nondescript. That alone made him suspicious.
Maybe Lantry was right. Maybe she was broke and that’s what this was about. Or maybe she just hadn’t wanted to stand out. Which in itself was amusing since the woman herself would have a hell of a time blending into a crowd—let alone blending in with the locals in Whitehorse.
A thought hit him like a brick to the forehead. If Nicci had come here to end things, she hadn’t come alone. She would have brought Ambrose.
Dalton scanned the nearly empty street as he thought of the name he’d heard Nicci screaming that night on the boat. Kill him, Ambrose, kill him!
Ambrose was no doubt the same man he’d caught her talking to that day on her cell phone at the hotel before they set sail. He’d definitely been in the large motorboat Dalton had seen following them.
Dalton still couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been and now he had no doubt that Nicci had brought Ambrose with her to Whitehorse. Unfortunately, Dalton hadn’t gotten a good look at Ambrose that night at sea. But he’d bet money the guy would stand out in Whitehorse—just as Nicci had. So where was she hiding him until she needed him?
He shuddered at the thought. Ambrose did whatever Nicci told him to do apparently. Even commit murder for her.
Dalton considered what it would take to bring Ambrose out of hiding. He needed to know what he was up against.
Glancing around, he pulled out his pocket knife, then bent down and stuck the blade into the rear tire. Then he did the same thing to the front tire before walking back to his pickup to wait.

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