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Cade Coulter's Return
Lois Faye Dyer


Cowboy, Come Home When he left Montana thirteen years ago, Cade Coulter swore he’d never return. But Joseph Coulter’s first-born couldn’t turn his back on the ailing family ranch. Or the woman who’d been given a home there. With his irresistible blend of danger and power, Cade was the quintessential cowboy.But Mariah Jones believed that beneath the loner’s gruff façade was a man who secretly longed to reconnect with his family. Why else would he have come back to Indian Springs? She’d made a promise to Cade’s father – one she intended to keep. And now she was in danger of losing her own heart to the sexy, guarded rancher…










Cade’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking. “You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t,” Mariah said stubbornly. “And you wouldn’t be yelling if this had happened to anyone else on the crew.”

His eyes flared with heat and before Mariah could blink, he wrapped his arms around her, hauled her up against his hard body and took her mouth with his.

The kiss wasn’t sweet, nor cajoling, nor slowly sensual. It was purely carnal and reeked of domination and desperation.

Mariah reeled under the instant surge of heat that flooded her, but she fought the need to give in to the desire to meet lust with lust and struggled to get her hands between them to push at his chest. He was immovable.


Dear Reader,

Like many little girls, I adored horses and cowboys, but I truly fell in love with Montana at the age of five when my family moved onto my great-uncle’s homestead in Butte Creek. I’ve been fascinated by the American West ever since and I was so pleased when Mills & Boon


agreed to let me write another miniseries set in Montana. This first story in the BIG SKY BROTHERS belongs to Cade Coulter—eldest of four sons born to Joseph Coulter. When Joseph dies, Cade is the first to come home to the Triple C Ranch in Indian Springs, Montana, where the brothers grew up. Cade and his brothers must find a way to pay inheritance taxes or they’ll lose the ranch that’s been in their family for generations.

Fortunately Cade has allies—one of whom is beautiful Mariah Jones. Though he questions her motives, he can’t ignore the passion between them.

I hope you enjoy Cade’s story and that you’ll join me soon for the story of the second brother to return to Montana—Zach Coulter, who brings his special brand of expertise to aid in the struggle to save the huge Triple C Ranch he loves.

Warmly,

Lois




About the Author


LOIS FAYE DYER lives in a small town on the shore of beautiful Puget Sound in the Pacific Northwest with her two eccentric and lovable cats, Chloe and Evie. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her c/o Paperbacks Plus, 1618 Bay Street, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA. Visit her on the web at www.LoisDyer.com.






Cade Coulter’s Return

Lois Faye Dyer






















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






With thanks to my brother’s good friends—

Randy and Cathy Brisbane, Denise Johnson, Mike

and Sherie Brisbane, Arline Vanoli and Crist Bass.

Your kindness is deeply appreciated.




Prologue


Cade Coulter leaned against the fender of his old pickup truck, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the closed door of the Triple C ranch house. His younger brother Zach was still inside.

What the hell is taking him so long? Cade glanced impatiently at his wristwatch. It’s seven o’clock.

The June sunshine was already warm on his face. He slipped aviator sunglasses on his nose, turning his head to sweep the ranch yard with a swift, assessing glance. The Triple C was the biggest ranch in northeast Montana. He’d been born and raised here and every day of his twenty-two years had been spent riding over the Coulter Cattle Company’s vast acres, working cattle under the hot sun of summer and the cold wind of winter snows.

But he and his three brothers had made a pact—they’d all sworn to stay on the ranch only until the youngest, Eli, had graduated from high school. And last night, Eli had walked across the stage to collect his diploma. This morning, Cade was leaving the Triple C and Montana for good. He doubted he’d ever be back. He swept a longer, slower glance over the buildings clustered around a central graveled yard. He’d helped paint the big barn, house, bunkhouse and assorted outbuildings more times than he could count.

His gaze reached the grove of trees beyond the barn and halted. Hidden behind the green leaves and sturdy trunks was his mother’s shuttered studio and the creek that flowed past it.

A sharp stab of grief edged with guilt sliced through him. But with the stoicism and relentless control gained over the ten years since his mother’s death, he instantly sealed the emotions away. He’d learned long ago that regrets were useless.

“Cade.”

He turned to see his two youngest brothers, Brodie and Eli, loping down the steps of the bunkhouse before striding toward him across the ranch yard.

“You two ready to go?” he asked as they neared, noting the duffel bags each had slung over their shoulders.

“Yeah.” Eli’s green gaze flicked over the four pickups parked in front of the house. “Where’s Zach?”

“He’s still inside.” Cade saw the swift frown that creased Eli’s brow.

“Let’s go get him.” Brodie’s voice was curt.

Eli nodded and walked through the open gate to the house yard, up the curved sidewalk to the porch.

Cade and Brodie followed him.

“Was Dad drinking when you got in last night?” Cade asked.

“Don’t know,” Brodie replied. “I didn’t get home till after two this morning and I slept in the bunkhouse.” He nodded at Eli’s broad back ahead of them. “So did Eli.”

They jogged up the steps, joining Eli as he opened the door. All three of them stepped over the threshold, Cade first, just as Zach, the oldest of his three younger brothers, came down the stairs, a bulging duffel bag in one hand.

Their father stood across the wide living room next to the fireplace, his big frame rigid. His flushed face was proof enough for Cade that Joseph Coulter had either started drinking whiskey when he left his bed or that he was still drunk from the night before.

“If you leave, don’t come back—not until you get a letter from my lawyer telling you I’m dead.”

The bitter, harsh words rang in the quiet room. Zach halted on the stairs. Beside him, Cade felt Eli and Brodie tense and go still. Cade’s gaze never left his father and he didn’t flinch under Joseph’s fierce stare. For a long moment, his father’s hate and accusation raged between them, though neither spoke. Then Joseph’s gaze flicked past Cade to Brodie.

Cade’s fingers curled into fists but he didn’t comment. He looked at Zach, gave a slight nod, and turned on this heel to leave the house. He heard his brothers’ boots echo on the porch boards behind him as he strode down the sidewalk and reached his truck, yanking the door open. His muscles were tight with the effort to keep his anger under control, but on some level he was glad to feel its burn. If he focused on the anger, he didn’t have to think about the wrenching pain of leaving the land he loved.

“I’m stopping at the cemetery before I leave.” Zach’s deep voice made Cade hesitate.

“See you there.” He knew his response was barely civil, knew too that Zach would understand his foul mood wasn’t aimed at him or his brothers. He slid behind the wheel and twisted the ignition key.

The four trucks left the Triple C ranch yard single file, heading for Indian Springs, the nearest town.

A half hour later, Cade stood with his three younger brothers, hat in hand, head bowed, at their mother’s graveside in the Indian Springs cemetery.

Cade was the last to say goodbye, bending to lay a bouquet of daisies, Melanie Coulter’s favorite flower, next to her headstone.

“Bye, Mom,” he murmured, fighting back the wave of guilt, regret and sadness that always accompanied thoughts of his mother. He trailed his fingertips over the cool marble headstone and turned away, settling his Stetson on his head as he joined his brothers. His gaze flicked over the other three, struck as always by the family resemblance. They’d inherited their mother’s green eyes, although her sons all had different shades from jade to bright emerald. Their six-foot-plus height, broad shoulders and black hair, however, had clearly been passed on to them by their father.

“I guess this is it,” Cade said. He ignored the lump in his throat and pulled Zach into a hard hug. “You take care. Don’t get yourself killed taking some damn fool risk.”

Zach shook his head, lips curving in a faint smile. “You know me, Cade. I can’t resist a challenge.”

“Yeah, well just make sure some challenge doesn’t end your life.”

“I’m not the one joining the Marines,” Zach reminded him. “Or riding rodeo bulls like Brodie.” He slung one arm over his youngest brother’s shoulders. “Eli and I are the only two planning on having normal jobs—I’m off to college and he’s interning with a silversmith in Santa Fe.” He pointed a finger at Cade. “You and Brodie are far more likely to get yourselves killed than we are.”

“Maybe,” Cade drawled, a rare grin breaking over his face. “But you’ve got Mom’s thrillseeker gene, which means you could get yourself killed any day, anywhere.”

Zach shrugged. He couldn’t deny he loved to take risks.

Cade glanced at his wristwatch. “I’ve got to go or I’ll miss my appointment with the recruiter in Billings. You guys know my cell phone number. I’ll let you know when I’m out of boot camp. We’ll keep in touch.”

He met each of his brothers’ solemn gazes, waiting until each nodded their agreement, acknowledging they were making a promise.

“We’ll keep in touch,” Zach repeated.

Eli and Brodie echoed the words.

Barely five minutes later, Cade drove south, away from Indian Springs, his brothers and the Triple C ranch he loved, away from the father whose grief-stricken descent into alcoholism after their mother’s death had made his life a living hell for the past ten years.

He knew he’d never be back.




Chapter One


Early MarchIndian Springs, Montana

Mariah Jones shoved open the barn door and braced herself for the frigid bite of a March Montana day. The wind swept down from the buttes, carrying the chilly scent of snow, and she tucked her chin deeper into the shelter of her coat collar. Despite the pale sunshine and the protection of her fleece-lined coat, gloves and wool hat, she couldn’t escape the sting of cold.

She walked to the corral and upended a bucket of oats into the metal feeder just inside the pole fence. A longlegged sorrel quarterhorse left the shelter of the cattle shed across the pen and ambled toward her.

“Hey, Sarge,” Mariah crooned. The big gelding eyed her, his liquid brown eyes inquisitive, and she tugged off one glove to stroke her bare palm over his soft muzzle. He nickered, pushing against her hand and snorting softly before he lowered his head to the pile of grain.

Mariah rubbed Sarge’s neck beneath the rough tangle of his dark mane, drawing comfort from the gelding’s easy acceptance and the feel of his solid, warm body beneath her palm. She still had a long list of chores to finish before she could rest, but the familiar crunch of oats between the horse’s strong teeth and the inevitable signs of winter moving toward spring soothed the worry that nagged at her, stilling her for the moment. There was reassurance in the ordinary moments of ranch life—especially now, when the rhythm of life on the Triple C had changed irrevocably only a few months earlier.

She petted Sarge’s neck in absentminded movements, distracted as her gaze moved over the buildings that made up the Triple C headquarters. Across the wide gravel yard, the two-story structure of the main house was silent. There was no trail of smoke drifting skyward from the chimney, no movement behind the drawn curtains. The house looked shuttered and lifeless.

Grief caught her unaware, slicing into her heart with all the power of a razor-sharp knife. Her lips trembled and her vision blurred before she firmed her chin, willing the tears not to fall. Three months had passed since Joseph Coulter, owner of the Triple C, had died of lung cancer. They’d buried him in the small family plot in Indian Springs Cemetery, next to his wife and among the graves of generations of Coulters that had cared for the ranch before him.

“I miss him, Sarge,” she murmured, turning her face away from the deep porch, now so empty without Joseph’s gray-haired, lanky figure. The taciturn sixty-eight-year-old widower had become a father figure to Mariah and his passing had left a deep ache in her heart.

Everything seems quieter, she thought as her gaze slipped over the cluster of outbuildings, corrals and the big barn. She had the strange sense that the Coulter Cattle Company was holding its breath, marking time while waiting for the next generation of Coulter males to arrive and set it in motion once again.

The rumble of an engine broke the quiet. Mariah looked up just as a mud-spattered pickup rattled over the planks of the bridge across the creek. Moments later, the driver pulled up next to the corral and got out to join her at the fence.

“Any news?” she asked hopefully, searching the older ranch hand’s somber features.

Pete Smith shook his head, his weathered face doleful beneath the battered cowboy hat he wore. “Ned says the detective agency hasn’t found them yet.”

“Do they have any leads?”

“No.”

Mariah nearly groaned aloud. Ned Anderson, the local attorney representing the Coulter estate, had been unable to locate the heirs. A month ago, he’d hired a Denver detective agency to take over the search but Joseph’s four sons were proving surprisingly difficult to find.

“I realize it’s been more than a dozen years since Joseph had any contact with them but still, how is it possible for four men to disappear so thoroughly?” she said, frustration coloring her tone.

“I don’t know, Mariah.” Pete lifted the worn hat and rubbed gnarled fingers over his close-cropped white hair. Worry furrowed his brow. “I heard gossip over the years that said them boys made a pact. The older ones waited until the youngest was done with high school and they all left the next day. They swore they’d never come back to the Triple C but nobody ever said where they went when they left.”

“I hope they’re found soon.” Mariah’s salary and tips as a waitress at the diner in Indian Springs barely covered food and necessities. The feed store was running a tab for hay and grain but she had no idea how long they would continue to do so. And after months of medical expenses, Joseph’s bank account had been nearly empty when he died.

“Me too, Mariah, me too.” Pete awkwardly patted her shoulder, then clapped his hat on his head and jerked a thumb at the truck. “I’ll carry the groceries in before I get back to work on the tractor.”

The wind picked up and Mariah shivered as the two carried bags to the bunkhouse kitchen. The Triple C had been a haven for all three of them—Pete, fellow ranch hand J.T. and herself—when they each had desperately needed shelter. They’d vowed to remain and care for it until Joseph’s sons returned to take over. She knew all of them privately hoped to stay on. But the ranch belonged to the Coulter heirs—she could only pray they were found soon.

Mid-MarchMexico

The sixteenth day of March was unseasonably hot, even for the arid acres of the Rancho del Oro, located deep in the Mexican state of Chihuahua.

Cade Coulter tossed a roll of barbed wire into the back of the dusty ranch truck and walked to the cab. He reached through the open window and grabbed a thermal jug from the passenger seat. With one easy gesture, he unscrewed the lid and tilted his head back to drink. The cold water washed the dust from his throat and he didn’t stop swallowing until the jug was nearly empty.

It’s too damned hot, he thought as he wiped his forearm across his brow. The aviator sunglasses he wore blocked some of the sun’s rays but not all. He tugged his Stetson lower to further shade his eyes from the sun’s glare and leaned against the truck’s dented fender. A memory of brisk, chilly air in Montana’s early spring intruded but with the ease of long practice, he ignored it, focusing on the present.

A hundred degrees in March. It’s going to be hotter than the hinges of hell by midsummer. He studied the pasture inside the fence break he’d just repaired, assessing the barely visible green in the arid landscape. Under the best of circumstances, the desert-dry land offered scant feed for cattle but the winter had been even drier than usual and the land was showing the effects.

Maybe it was time to head north for the spring and summer—Utah, Idaho, maybe Wyoming, or even Canada. In the three years since he’d left the Marines, he’d worked on a series of ranches, spending summers in northern states and heading south to Mexico for the winter. There was always work for a man who knew his way around cows and horses, especially if he didn’t care whether he spent weeks on the range, far away from towns and the company of other humans.

A plume of dust moved toward him down the dirt track that followed the floor of the cactus-dotted valley and disappeared over a rise several miles away. This was the first time in the two weeks he’d been sleeping at the line camp and riding fence that he’d seen signs of life beyond the occasional steer, jackrabbit or coyote.

The del Oro bordered an area with active bands of rebels—unexpected visitors were always suspect. Cade leaned into the pickup through the open window, set the gallon water jug on the seat and took a loaded rifle from the rack mounted over the back window.

Friend or foe, it paid to be ready for anything. Especially when a man spent his days this far from civilization. Fortunately, he wouldn’t need to use the gun, as the truck drew nearer and he recognized a young employee from ranch headquarters.

“Hey, Cade,” Kenny called as he braked to a stop, dust swirling around the dirty pickup truck with the ranch logo on the door. “I’ve been looking for you since yesterday.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“You got a letter from an attorney in the States. Boss thought it might be important so he sent me out with it.”

Cade cradled the rifle as he took the envelope, glanced at the return address and felt his blood run cold. The last bitter, angry words his father had said to him rang in Cade’s mind as clearly as if Joseph Coulter had uttered them yesterday instead of thirteen years ago. If you leave, don’t come back—not until you get a letter from my lawyer telling you I’m dead.

The words brought an instant memory of his departure from the ranch, the rearview mirror reflecting three pickup trucks following him, each driven by one of his younger brothers.

Did they know Joseph Coulter was dead?

No, Cade thought with instant certainty. He hadn’t heard from any of them in several months and they would have contacted him immediately if they had learned of the news.

“Ain’t you gonna read it?”

Cade realized the young cowhand had stepped out of the truck and was eyeing him expectantly.

He ripped open the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper, swiftly read the short paragraph, then refolded and tucked the brief message back into the envelope.

“Well? Was it important?”

“Yeah.” Cade tucked the letter into his shirt pocket. “I need to pick up my horse and gear at the line camp. Tell the boss I’ll be in late tonight to collect my wages before I head north.”

“Damn, that letter was bad news, wasn’t it?” Kenny seemed genuinely sympathetic.

Cade didn’t do touchy-feely emotional stuff but something about the kid’s worried face made him relent.

“My father passed away.”

“I’m sorry, man. That’s hard.”

Cade shrugged. “It happens.”

“So you have to go back home to take care of stuff for your mom?”

“My mother died when I was a kid.” Cade reached into the truck and slid the rifle into the window rack.

“Damn. I’m sorry.”

“Again, not your problem.” Cade took pity on the kid, who looked as gloomy as if he were personally responsible for Cade’s parents having died. “I appreciate you coming all the way out here to tell me.”

“Sure.”

Cade drove off; a brief glance in the rearview mirror told him the kid was still staring after him before he topped a rise and dropped down the other side, heading for the line camp.

With his customary efficiency, Cade packed, collected his last check and drove north toward the border. The shock of learning his father had died was numbing. But once he was on the road with little to distract him but the empty highway stretching ahead of him, the shock quickly gave way to a riptide of emotions. Anger warred with an unexpected searing regret. He hadn’t seen his father for thirteen years. He shouldn’t care that the man was dead. But a leaden weight pressed on his chest and, despite a gut-deep rejection of the emotion, Cade remembered feeling that same heaviness after his mother died. He had an uneasy suspicion the pressure was caused by grief.

Cade tried to reach his brothers but none of the three answered their cell phones. He left brief messages for each asking them to return his call as soon as they could. He didn’t tell them their father had passed away—he figured he’d wait until he had more information. The attorney’s letter hadn’t listed details, only that Joseph Coulter had died and the law office needed to speak with Cade, in person, as soon as possible. Since it wasn’t likely Joseph Coulter had left any of his assets to either Cade or his brothers, Cade suspected he might be able to resolve any questions from the attorney without Zach, Brodie or Eli having to make the trip home.

He doubted he’d be in Indian Springs more than a few days. He planned to visit the attorney to take care of whatever small bit of business the man needed from him, stop by his mother’s grave, say hello to a couple old friends before leaving town. He’d worked on a ranch near Cody, Wyoming, the year before and the owner had told him when he left that he had a job any time he wanted. Wyoming would be a good place to spend the summer.

He didn’t respond to the attorney’s letter with a phone call or note. Instead, he packed his truck, loaded his horse, Jiggs, into the trailer and headed north. It took almost a week of driving from dawn to dusk before he crossed the Montana state line. The farther north he drove, the chillier the weather grew. Full spring had yet to arrive in northeastern Montana and snow lay deep in coulees, whitened the ruts between plowed black rows in wheat fields, and filled the roadside ditches.

Five days after leaving Del Oro, in midafternoon, he turned off the highway and onto the gravel road that led to the ranch headquarters, driving beneath the familiar welded arch. The graceful curves of ironwork spelled out “Coulter Cattle Company,” the heavy metal frame standing tall and sturdy although the once-bright paint was worn away. The road stretched between fenced pastures where an occasional Hereford steer or a horse with its shaggy winter coat peered at him over the top strand of barbed wire fences.

The road curved around the base of a butte and climbed a rise. From the top, Cade saw the buildings that he’d once called home, clustered at the foot of a flat-topped hill on the far side of the valley.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel after thirteen years but he hadn’t expected to feel numb.

Maybe he’d been gone too long. Maybe the roots that once held him here were well and truly dead.

Or maybe I’ve been driving too long with too little sleep, he thought.

The truck and horse trailer rattled over the old bridge spanning the creek, then climbed the slope to the buildings. Cade pulled up the truck next to the corral and barn and stepped out. Rolling his shoulders to ease the tension of days spent driving, he turned in a slow circle, scanning the buildings.

The house needed a coat of paint and held an air of abandonment, its curtains drawn behind blank windows. The barn with its low cattle shed attached at one end, the granaries and machine shop were all weather-beaten. What little paint remained on the structures was peeling from the gray boards. All the buildings looked down-at-the-heels rough but Cade’s assessing gaze found no sagging rooflines. The structures appeared to be square and solid on their foundations.

Jiggs stamped and shifted, rocking the trailer on its axles and demanding attention.

Cade walked to the back of the trailer, unlocked and swung the gate wide. Jiggs looked over his shoulder and gave an impatient huff.

“Hey, boy.” Cade grinned, entering the trailer and moving past the big stud to untie him. “Little anxious to get out of here?” The horse shifted his weight and nudged Cade’s shoulder with his nose. “I don’t blame you. It’s been a long trip.”

He caught the lead rope at the halter, just under the black’s muzzle. “Back up, big guy.”

Jiggs obeyed, his hooves clattering on the wooden trailer deck. The minute all four feet were on solid ground, he shook himself and danced in a half circle at the end of the lead rope, lifting his head to look around. His ears pricked forward and he whinnied.

Cade looked over his shoulder to see what had caught Jiggs’s interest, turning fully when he saw a young woman standing just outside the open barn door, a bucket of grain in one hand. Silvery blond hair brushed the shoulders of a dark green barn coat and her brown eyes were wide, the surprise on her oval face clearly indicating she hadn’t expected to see him. She wore faded jeans beneath the bulky coat and old boots covered her feet, her walk smooth and graceful as she moved toward him.

His eyes narrowed as he tried to place her and failed. If she was a neighbor, he didn’t remember her.

And I would have remembered, he thought. Even covered by the coat and plain jeans, he could tell her body was slim and curved. Her fair skin glowed with health in the weak afternoon sunlight, her mouth lush below a small, straight nose. And her thick-lashed brown eyes were alive with intelligence, curiosity and a feminine interest mixed with wariness.

Everything male in him noticed—and liked what he saw.

“Hello,” she said, her voice slightly husky. Her gaze was fastened on his face and the small frown that veed the arch of her brows cleared as she drew nearer. “You’re one of Joseph’s sons, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. The conviction in her voice was strong, mixed with the relief reflected on her face.

“I’m Cade Coulter. Who are you?”

Her eyes widened when he gave his name but she didn’t reply with her own. She seemed wholly absorbed in studying him and the open fascination in her deep brown eyes started slow heat simmering through his veins, his muscles tightening as her gaze swept slowly over his face and moved lower.

Mariah stared at the man in front of her. He was tall, easily a few inches over six feet, his shoulders broad beneath a sheepskin-lined tan coat. He wore a gray Stetson over coal-black hair and beneath the brim’s shadow, black lashes framed his deep green eyes. He wasn’t conventionally handsome but there was something essentially male, powerful and vaguely dangerous about him. His face was angular with a firm jaw, strong cheekbones, straight nose and a hard mouth.

He swept a slow, assessing look from the crown of her head to her boots and back up again. She caught her breath, awareness prickling her skin at the male heat that blazed for a brief moment in his darkened eyes before they were once again unreadable.

She realized that he’d asked her a question but she hadn’t answered, too busy drinking in his dark good looks while shivers of excitement raced over her skin. Self-conscious heat warmed her cheeks and she struggled to conceal her reaction to him.

“I’m Mariah Jones,” she told him. “I work here.”

He stared at her for a moment, those green eyes unblinking. Then he looked away, sweeping the area with a quick glance. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”

“There are only three of us—Pete Smith, J. T. Butler and me.”

“Three of you?” His voice was harsh, incredulous. “For how long?”

“I’ve been here four years,” she replied. “And J.T. about two. I’m not sure how long Pete worked for Joseph. He was here when I arrived.”

Cade let his gaze sweep over the run-down buildings once again. “No wonder this place looks like hell.”

“There aren’t enough hours in the day to keep up with everything,” she said evenly, trying to tamp down the spurt of anger caused by his comment.

He glanced at her, lifting a brow as if surprised at the thread of defensiveness in her voice. “I didn’t say there were. But this is a big ranch. Three people aren’t enough manpower to do more than barely keep this place running.” He flicked another glance over the buildings. “Where are the other two?”

“Pete went to town for mail and groceries. J.T. isn’t due home from school for another couple of hours.”

“School? How old is he?”

“Seventeen.”

He swore under his breath and glared at her.

“How old is Smith?”

“Sixty-five.”

“A kid, a guy on Social Security and a girl. What the hell was the old man thinking?”

“If you’re referring to your father, I suspect he was doing the best he could with what he had,” she said, an unmistakable snap in her tone.

He gave her another dark, unreadable look. “Yeah, I expect he was.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through thick black hair, raking it from his forehead in a frustrated gesture.

Mariah had seen Joseph make that same gesture a hundred times, and the likeness between father and son was suddenly sharpened.

Cade turned away and led the big horse to the corral. Yanking the lock bar free, he swung open the gate and walked the horse in, unsnapping the lead rope to set the animal loose. The stallion immediately trotted to the water trough and hay rack on the far side of the enclosure.

“I’m heading into town to talk to the attorney,” Cade told her as he unhitched the horse trailer from the dusty truck. “I should be back in a couple of hours.” He yanked open the pickup door and paused. “I’ve been on the road for days and I’m tired of restaurant food. Does anyone cook around here?”

“We take turns. Supper’s on the table in the bunkhouse at six. Tonight it’s chili.”

“I’ll be here.” The engine turned over and the pickup rolled forward, swinging in a U-turn.

Moments later, Mariah stood alone next to the empty horse trailer, watching a plume of dust rise behind the truck’s wheels as it sped down the gravel lane toward the highway.

So that’s Joseph’s oldest son. Mariah wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected but the hard-eyed, dangerous-looking man bore only a passing resemblance to the laughing ten-year-old boy in the family portrait hanging on Joseph’s wall.

And when his green eyes had briefly flickered with heat after that first slow, assessing stare, she’d burned. The brush of his gaze was as physically arousing as if he’d reached out and slowly trailed his fingers over her bare skin, from her chin to her toes and back again.

She hadn’t expected to be attracted to Cade Coulter.

It was a complication she didn’t want. And it was sure to cause trouble, she thought with conviction. She’d simply have to set aside her attraction, she told herself, and focus on her promise to Joseph that she would do everything she could to encourage his sons to remain on the Triple C. She was determined to fulfill her vow and see Joseph’s last wish come true.

With renewed determination, she turned on her heel and walked toward the bunkhouse. She needed to start the chili simmering. She had only a few short hours until dinner—and Cade’s return.




Chapter Two


A half hour after driving away from the Triple C, a beaming receptionist ushered Cade into Ned Anderson’s office. The attorney rose and leaned over the gleaming surface of his desk to shake Cade’s hand.

“I don’t mind saying I’m damn glad to see you, Cade.” The attorney waved him to a seat in one of the leather armchairs facing the desk and dropped back into his own chair. “I was beginning to wonder whether we’d be able to locate you and your brothers.”

“How long have you been looking?” Cade asked, curious.

“Ever since Joseph passed away.” Anderson peered at Cade over the tops of reading glasses, his eyes shrewd. “I assumed he had current addresses for all of you but discovered too late that he didn’t. Do you have any up-to-date contact information for your brothers?”

“Yes.” Cade took his cell phone from his coat pocket. “I can give you their cell phone numbers and last known addresses.”

The attorney jotted notes on a pad as Cade read off Zach, Eli and Brodie’s information. “Excellent,” he said with satisfaction when Cade finished. “I’ll pass this on to the investigator immediately. Hopefully he’ll be able to talk to them all within a day or two.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I left messages on all their cell phones as soon as I got your letter. That was five days ago and none of them have checked in.”

Anderson frowned. “Why not?”

Cade shrugged. “Hard to say. It’s not unusual to wait awhile for an answer.”

“How long is ‘awhile’?”

“Depends on where everyone is.” Cade noted the attorney’s lack of comprehension. “None of us spends a lot of time in one place,” he explained. “Brodie’s a champion bull rider and follows the rodeo circuit—usually rents an apartment in a different place each year after the season ends. Eli’s a silversmith—sometimes he rents a studio but often apprentices with another artist. When he’s studying, he might spend a year or more living near the master teacher’s studio. And Zach …” Cade paused, a half-smile curving his lips. “Actually, Zach’s the one we use to keep in touch. He works for a company in San Francisco and bought a condo there years ago. He travels a lot for his job, though, and since I haven’t heard from him, I’m guessing he’s not in San Francisco right now.”

“So you have no idea how long it may take to reach them?”

Cade shook his head. “No.”

The attorney sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. His chair squeaked as he leaned back. “That complicates matters.”

“Why?” Cade asked bluntly.

“Because the Triple C is barely holding on by its fingertips and only you four Coulters can save it.”

Cade’s gaze narrowed as he straightened in his chair. “I don’t understand.”

The attorney sat forward, took a thick file from a stack on the corner of his desk and flipped it open. He sifted through documents before sliding a sheaf of papers across the desk. “This is a copy of your father’s last will and testament. You’ll want to read it carefully, but briefly I can tell you that, with one exception, Joseph left everything he owned to you and your three brothers.”

Stunned, Cade stared at Anderson for a moment before picking up the document.

“You’ll notice on page three,” Anderson continued, “that Joseph left the Triple C to all of you in one-fourth shares. He also left each of you control of individual aspects of the ranch. In your case, he left you all the cattle and any other livestock. You have the power to sell any of them you want. But you can’t sell the land. None of you can sell any of the Triple C acres without express consent, in writing, of the other three.”

If Cade didn’t have the will in front of him, he wouldn’t have believed Anderson. But the document was clear. He scanned the typed pages quickly, stopping abruptly when he reached page five.

“He left my grandparents’ cabin and three acres to Mariah Jones?” The quick flash of anger echoed in his words.

“Yes.” Anderson didn’t flinch from Cade’s hard stare. “Joseph died of cancer. Mariah Jones took care of him, and it was my observation that he viewed her as a daughter.”

“I’ll bet he did.” Cade’s growled response held sarcasm. He didn’t believe any man, even one Joseph’s age, could look at the blonde and not see a beautiful, sexy woman. He tossed the will onto the desk in front of him. “That cabin sits within yards of the barn and is part of Triple C headquarters, plus it’s landlocked and surrounded by Coulter land. Is there a way to break the will and keep it part of the ranch?”

“No,” Anderson replied. “A clause provides any heir challenging any part of the will shall have their portion of the estate gifted to the State of Montana’s park system.”

Cade frowned, silently considering the problem before deciding to shelve it for the moment. Not that he believed there wasn’t a way to keep the cabin in Coulter hands, nor that Mariah Jones hadn’t somehow manipulated Joseph to convince him to leave her the valuable property. The cabin was important not only because of its location—his grandfather had built it with his own hands. It was part of Coulter history and he’d find a way to reclaim it. “You said the ranch is hanging on by its fingertips. What do you mean?” he asked, returning to the larger issue of the Triple C.

“There are no cash assets. Joseph was increasingly ill for several years and medical bills ate up what cash he had. The ranch itself has been maintained but not at optimum level.”

Cade nodded. “I went to the Triple C before coming here. I’ve seen the buildings though I haven’t closely assessed them.”

“Then you have some idea of what you’re up against,” Ned replied. He slid another document across the desktop to Cade. “This is information about the inheritance taxes. As you can see, they’re substantial and are the most pressing problem you and your brothers will have. Unless any of you are independently wealthy and have the means to pay them?” he added, a hopeful note in his voice.

The total tax dollars owed was staggering.

“No,” Cade replied. “We’re all solvent but I doubt any of us has that kind of money.”

“Then you’ll have to work together to find a way to make the ranch earn enough to pay the taxes.” Ned eyed Cade.

“It’ll take a damned miracle,” Cade told him.

“Perhaps.” The attorney replied.

“Is there anything else I need to know right now?” Cade asked.

“I think you have the basics.”

“Then I’ll head back to the ranch.” Cade stood and held out his hand, shaking the attorney’s as he stood. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Good. And Cade …”

Cade paused at the doorway to look back at Anderson.

“Welcome home.”

Cade nodded and left the office.

Barely two hours after he’d left Mariah in the ranch yard, Cade drove out of Indian Springs and headed back to the Triple C. His discussion with the attorney about the details of his father’s estate had raised more questions than answers.

Given the long estrangement between Cade, his brothers and their father, Cade hadn’t expected any of them to receive much, if anything, from his estate. To his surprise, Joseph Coulter had left nearly everything he owned to his four sons in approximately equal shares.

But the Triple C had barely been making ends meet before Joseph’s death, Cade thought grimly, and there was a good chance his sons would lose the vast acres to taxes and debt.

And just to add to the complicated mess his father had left for his sons to sort out, Joseph had given his grandparents’ cabin to Mariah Jones. The house and its acre of surrounding land edged the creek bank and sat within view of the main ranch house, just beyond the barn and outbuildings. The blonde also had a legal right to use the lane to the highway.

Unless he could find a way to break that part of his father’s will, Cade was stuck with having Mariah living on the ranch permanently.

It was almost six o’clock and full dark when he reached the Triple C. His headlights arced over the corral and barn before he parked in front of the bunkhouse where warm lamplight poured through the windows. At the main house across the ranch yard, only the solitary porch light glowed, throwing the ends of the deep porch into shadow.

Cade climbed the shallow steps to the bunkhouse and entered without knocking.

The three people seated at the table in the kitchen area all looked up. Two men, one older and one kid, sat with Mariah, whose hair gleamed silver in the light. Her brown eyes widened before her expression shuttered.

“Evening,” Cade said, hanging his hat on a hook next to the door and shrugging out of his coat.

“Hello.” Mariah pushed back her chair and walked to the stove. She picked up potholders, pausing to look over her shoulder. “J.T., Pete, this is Cade Coulter.”

The two stood as Cade joined them.

“Evenin’, boss.” The elderly cowboy was lean and rangy, shoulders slightly stooped. A white shock of hair covered his head and bright blue eyes were shrewd under heavy eyebrows. His lined face with its craggy nose and strong chin held character and gave testimony to a lifetime of working outside in Montana weather.

“Evening, boss.” The kid’s greeting copied the older man’s right down to the inflection and polite neutrality. He was equally tall and rangy except his shoulders were square, straight with youth. His dark blond hair was a shade too long and brushed his collar in back, his navy blue eyes cool and unreadable as they met Cade’s. He wore faded jeans, cowboy boots and a ripped but clean plaid flannel shirt that hung unbuttoned over a black T-shirt. The tee had a faded rock band logo with the words “hell-raiser” centered on his chest.

The three men shook hands, murmured polite hellos, before they all sat down. Cade caught a glimpse of a tattoo just beneath the edge of the shirt’s worn neckline as J.T. sat.

The kid’s got attitude, Cade thought. I wonder if he’s any good at working on a ranch.

“Corn bread is on the plate, under the cover.” Mariah set a steaming bowl of chili in front of Cade, nodding at the red gingham covered dish in the center of the table.

“Thanks.” Cade breathed in a faint floral scent as she leaned closer to lower the bowl before she moved away. He felt his muscles tighten and he had to restrain the urge to watch the sway of her hips encased in faded jeans. She wore a sweater with a high neck, her hair a spill of silvery blond against the bright red wool. She was covered from head to toe in boots, jeans and wool sweater yet she drew his attention like a magnet.

“Careful, the bowl’s hot,” she commented before she returned to her seat across the table.

They ate in silence, emptying their bowls and the plate of corn bread. Pete carried his china and utensils to the sink and returned with a thermal carafe of coffee, gnarled fingers holding the handles of four mugs. He poured and passed around filled mugs without saying a word.

“Thanks.” Cade sipped his coffee and leaned back in the wooden chair. “Suppose you all bring me up-to-date on what’s been happening here.” He glanced around the table. “Who’s in charge of the cattle?”

“I guess that would be me,” Pete said in his gravelly voice. “Though we all pitch in with fixing fences or moving a herd when necessary.”

“How many cow-calf pairs was Dad running? How many steers? And how many did you lose over the winter?”

Pete quoted numbers that surprised Cade. “That’s more cattle than I’d expected, especially with just three full-time hands.”

“Two full-time hands,” Pete corrected him. “Mariah only works here part-time.”

Cade’s eyes narrowed over the slender female. She met his gaze without comment. He couldn’t help wondering why Joseph had left a valuable house to a part-time employee. Cynicism told him there had to be a reason and more than likely, the answer wouldn’t make him happy or reflect favorably on the pretty blonde. He shifted in his seat, annoyed that he was attracted to the woman who may have conned and used his father.

“And Mariah is most likely the reason we’ve got such a low loss rate,” Pete said with pride. “She keeps track of the baby calves and makes sure they survive the first few weeks. She usually ropes J.T. into helping her so I guess he deserves some of the credit, too.”

“My thanks to you both.” Cade’s words only brought a nod of acceptance from Mariah but the teenager shifted in his seat, faint streaks of red marking his cheekbones, clearly uncomfortable with both Pete’s praise and Cade’s thanks.

“What about other livestock?” Cade queried.

“There’s not much,” Pete told him. “A few saddle horses, a mule or two, and some chickens Joseph kept for the eggs.”

Cade considered the news. “So what you’re telling me is that the ranch is running cattle, but not much else?”

Pete exchanged glances with Mariah and J.T., then nodded.

“What about field crops? I noticed alfalfa bales stacked and tarped in the flat next to the creek this afternoon. Was Dad planting oats or rye in the fields bordering the highway?”

“Joseph stopped planting anything but alfalfa several years ago,” Pete told him. “Said he just couldn’t keep up with the work and he’d rather raise cattle.”

Cade wondered how long the old man had been sick but didn’t ask. “And the Kigers? Are they still on Tunk Mountain?”

Pete, J.T. and Mariah all wore identical expressions of blank confusion.

“The Kigers?” J.T. repeated, stressing the last word rhyming with tiger as if the word were part of a foreign language. “What are Kigers?”

“Mustangs,” Cade said. “My mother bred and raised them.”

Pete shrugged. “I never heard Joseph mention them. Ain’t never been to Tunk Mountain, either. We kept the cattle closer to home.” He frowned. “Don’t remember chasing cattle on Tunk Mountain for roundup, either, come to think of it.” His shrewd blue eyes fixed on Cade. “If Joseph had a herd of horses on the mountain, he kept it a secret.”

Cade shrugged. “Maybe he sold them years ago.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, boss,” Pete began, “we were wondering what plans you have for the Triple C?”

“I’ll try to hold it together and pay the bills until my brothers are located and can get here,” he said brusquely, his tone grim. He hadn’t missed the tension that instantly gripped all three when Pete asked his question. He wasn’t going to lie or sugarcoat the truth. They’d stayed on the ranch without wages when they could have sought work elsewhere and they deserved nothing less than his honesty. “From what the attorney told me about the ranch’s financial situation, that won’t be easy.”

“And what happens when your brothers arrive?” Mariah asked.

“I guess we’ll decide if we’re going to sell out or try to hold the Triple C permanently.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll check on Jiggs and head up to the house.”

“If Jiggs is the black, I fed and watered him, then put him in a stall in the barn,” J.T. told him. “He’s not a quarterhorse, is he?”

“He’s Andalusian,” Cade explained. “I brought him home with me from Spain.” The look on the kid’s face told Cade that he was burning to ask questions, probably lots of questions, but Cade wasn’t in the mood to give him answers. He shoved back his chair and stood, carrying his bowl and utensils to the sink before recrossing the room to collect his hat and coat.

“The attorney told me the estate hasn’t paid salaries since the old man died,” Cade said as he shrugged into his coat. “I’ll have to look at the books before paying you whatever salary you’re owed but if anyone needs an advance for the next few days, I have cash.”

Relief lit the two men’s expressions.

“I’m almost out of pipe tobacco. I could use fifty,” Pete told him.

“Me, too,” J.T. added.

“I can wait until you’ve had time to review the payroll accounts,” Mariah said. “They’re on Joseph’s desk in his office.”

Cade nodded and took out his wallet, counting out bills before handing them to Pete and J.T.

“Who’s been doing the bookkeeping?” he asked, sweeping a glance over the three.

“Mariah,” Pete answered, gesturing at her. “She’s better at math than I am.”

“Better than me, too,” J.T. put in.

Mariah tucked her hair behind her ear and didn’t comment. Cade’s face had tightened at the other men’s comments and she didn’t have to be a mind reader to guess that her new boss wasn’t happy she’d been the one keeping track of the ranch’s financial records.

“Come up to the house tomorrow morning,” Cade told her. “You can explain the system to me.”

“I’m at the café until eleven but I should be home by noon.”

He frowned. “You’re eating breakfast in town?”

“No, I have the early shift tomorrow.”

“You’re working in town and here—holding down two jobs?” His stare was piercing.

She nodded but didn’t elaborate further. She wasn’t going to explain that without her waitress job, the three of them—her, Pete and J.T.—would have gone hungry over the last few months.

Fortunately, Cade didn’t ask any more questions.

“All right, stop in when you get back,” he said tersely.

She swallowed a sigh of relief. “Sounds good. If there’s nothing else you need me for tonight, I’ll head for home. I have to be up at four o’clock.”

“No,” he said brusquely. “There’s nothing else.”

She said good-night and slipped into her coat, tugging on gloves as she stepped outside and halted on the porch to pull on a knit hat. To her surprise, Cade joined her, pulling the door closed behind him, shutting Pete and J.T. inside.

Mariah glanced up at him, his face shadowy beneath the brim of his hat. “I turned up the heat in the ranch house earlier. We’ve kept the furnace set on low so the pipes wouldn’t freeze but it wasn’t enough to keep the rooms warm enough to be comfortable. And I put clean sheets on the bed in the front corner room upstairs,” she added.

Cade glanced at her sharply. “Thanks,” he said.

Her brown eyes searched his. “You’re upset that Joseph left me the house by the creek,” she said with calm certainty.

Anger flared over the hard lines of his face but quickly disappeared.

“I’m more interested in why he left it to you. It’s surrounded by Coulter acres and essentially landlocked.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I have to drive past your house to get to the highway. Joseph said he was going to give it to me so I’d always have a home.” Because Joseph had known how badly she needed a place to belong, she thought. She’d drifted without an anchor in the years after her father died, the home of her childhood sold to pay medical bills long before his death.

“And what did you do for him that earned you a house?” His voice was toneless yet Mariah felt his cynicism.

She stiffened. “I rode fence, cared for newborn calves, cooked meals and valued his friendship. Joseph Coulter was a second father to me. He treated me with kindness, respect and consideration.” Her voice was cool but a thread of anger ran beneath her words.

“Good to know he was a kind father to somebody.”

The implication that Joseph hadn’t been one to his own sons was obvious.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t feel the same about him,” she said stiffly.

“I didn’t.” Cade was blunt. “He was a mean drunk who took his misery out on his sons. He started drinking after my mother died and got worse with each year that passed. As soon as Eli finished high school, we all left home to get away from him. So, no, it’s fair to say Joseph Coulter never treated me or my brothers with kindness or respect.”

Mariah caught her breath, stunned by the harsh words. She was more shocked, however, by the lack of emotion in Cade’s voice. He was as casual as if he were telling her his favorite food was a cheeseburger and fries. “That’s not the Joseph Coulter I knew,” she said softly. “He never drank during the years I worked here. I’m sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry—it wasn’t your fault.” He waved a hand at the two shallow steps. “I’ll walk you to the cabin.”

“You don’t have to,” she protested. “I walk home every night on my own.”

“Well, now I’m here and you don’t have to walk alone.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Very well.” Mariah gave in and moved down the steps ahead of him. As they followed the gravel road past the barn toward the creek and the cabin tucked into the trees, she was vividly aware of the big man prowling beside her. “Where did Ned Anderson finally locate you?” she asked, curious.

“Mexico,” he replied, turning his head to look at her.

“Really?” She met his gaze with surprise before her mouth curved in amusement. “I’m guessing you weren’t happy about leaving the warmth of Mexico for a chilly March in Montana.”

“It was already getting hot there,” he said. “Too hot.”

“What part of Mexico were you in?”

“Chihuahua. I was working on a ranch—riding fence, working cattle.” He glanced around them, his gaze sweeping the moonlit pasture beyond the creek. “It’s a relief to be farther north with weather cold enough that I’ll need a jacket.”

Mariah couldn’t help but smile at the satisfaction behind his words. “I hope that means you’ll stay here in Montana, on the ranch.”

“I was born and raised here.” He turned his head, his gaze sweeping the horizon. “I’d like to stay on this land—maybe see my nieces or nephews grow up here.”

“Nephews or nieces?” Curious, she searched his profile, etched by moonlight against the darker shadows of night. “Not your own son or daughter?”

“I’ll never have kids.”

His flat statement surprised her. “You sound very sure,” she replied, curious. “I am.”

She stared at him. “You don’t like children?”

He shrugged. “I like kids. But given who my father was, I’m not taking any chances I might turn out like him.” He caught her arm when she stumbled.

“Careful.”

His big hand cupped her elbow but he released her as soon as she steadied. She wished he hadn’t—the contact was electric and exhilarating, distracting her from his comment about Joseph. They reached the cabin and she climbed the steps, pausing at the door to turn and face him.

“Thanks for walking me home.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “My pleasure.”

Mariah felt the faintly gravelly tones of his drawl shiver over her skin and for a moment, she thought, hoped, he would say more. But then he turned and strode down the steps.

“Good night,” she called. He didn’t turn, merely lifted a hand in response and kept walking. His tall, broad-shouldered figure was a dark silhouette against the paler gravel until the road curved to the left and Cade disappeared in the deeper shadow cast by the barn.

Mariah sighed unconsciously and entered the house. She’d spent only an hour or so in his company yet Cade Coulter made her foolish body respond with shivers and undeniable excitement.

Of all the men in the world, she thought, why him? He had every reason to resent her after Joseph had made her an heir. But Joseph had dreamed of having his sons back on the Triple C and she was committed to helping that dream come true, despite Cade’s suspicions as to her motives. Cade hadn’t actually accused her of scamming his father but his skepticism about her response as to why Joseph had left her the house had been clear.

Cade couldn’t be more wrong about her, she thought. She would never have tried to manipulate or harm Joseph—she owed him too much to ever betray him.

A few years earlier, she’d taken a break from college classes and set out on a driving tour through Montana. She didn’t know exactly where she caught the flu virus, but she’d become violently ill on the road and while trying to reach Indian Springs, had passed out, losing control of her car. The vehicle had ended up in the ditch just past the Triple C ranch turnoff and Joseph had taken her in. He’d called a doctor, then he and Pete had tended her until she recovered from a raging fever and gut-wrenching flu symptoms. A year later, when her apartment building in Indian Springs burned to the ground, the solitary rancher had offered her a home in a vacant cabin on the Triple C. The more time she spent with the quiet, sad man, the more she grew to like him and when he’d been diagnosed with cancer, there was no question that she’d care for him as if he were her own father.

She’d never expected payment for being kind to him. She’d often told him it was her privilege to ease his last days on earth. She had no other family and knowing Joseph felt a paternal affection for her warmed her heart and enriched her life.

No, she told herself with conviction, if Joseph hadn’t welcomed her into his life on the Triple C along with Pete and J.T., she would have been alone.

It was impossible to imagine Joseph harming his sons, yet Cade’s comments about his father had rang with truth.

If she accepted Cade’s damning statement, she felt disloyal to Joseph.

If she hadn’t dearly loved the old man, she thought, she’d pack her bags, turn over the house keys to Joseph’s oldest son, and move into town.

But she had loved Joseph. So she’d guard her tongue and swallow angry replies—at least until Cade had time to grow familiar with the workings of the Triple C.

She sighed and made her way to bed but sleep eluded her and she lay awake much too long, pondering and worrying about the changes that were sure to follow Cade’s return to the Triple C.




Chapter Three


After leaving Mariah at her cabin, Cade kept walking, past the bunkhouse to the barn. He’d been caught off guard by the urge to bend his head and taste her mouth. He hadn’t been tempted to act impulsively with a woman since he was a kid and he couldn’t help fantasizing about what she’d look like out of those snug, faded jeans.

He stopped to look in on Jiggs, entering the barn through a small door to the right of the bigger, wide-plank door. Overhead lights flashed on with the flick of the switch just inside the door and Jiggs lifted his muzzle from a water pail, nickering when he saw Cade.

“Hey, boy.” Cade ran a quick assessing gaze over the black’s quarters. Fresh straw bedding covered the floor of the box stall. The manger was filled with hay and Jiggs looked happy and content. He made a mental note to thank J.T. “Looks like the kid treated you right.”

Jiggs bobbed his head up and down before he nuzzled Cade’s jacket pocket.

“Sorry,” Cade told him. “No apples tonight. I forgot to buy any in town. I’ll get some tomorrow.”

Jiggs whuffed in disappointment. Cade chuckled and smoothed his palm down the black’s face and muzzle.

“You’re spoiled.” He patted the black’s strong neck and turned away. He looked back just before he snapped off the light and grinned at the horse’s disappointed expression.

Cade left the barn and crossed the ranch yard. He’d put off entering the house for as long as he could. Automatically, he scraped mud from his boots before going inside. He closed the door behind him, flipped the light switch on the wall to his right and halted, pausing to sweep the big main room with an assessing glance.

It looked the same. In fact, he thought, it was as if the house were frozen in time. The worn leather sofa and matching big chair with its ottoman were scuffed and worn but still solid and familiar. Above the huge fireplace, the heavy oak plank that his father had used to create the mantel still held a collection of framed photos and two glass oil lamps. Several stacks of magazines and books were neatly spaced atop the carved oak coffee table in front of the sofa. A small table with a lamp sat next to the cherrywood sewing rocker beside the hearth.

He crossed the room to the fireplace and with one hand, set the rocker moving gently back and forth. For a long moment, he stared at the four framed photographs before he picked up the largest, an 8 × 10 studio photo of his family. His mother’s green eyes glowed with the same happiness that curved her mouth in a smile. His father’s arm was slung over her shoulder, tucking her protectively against his side. Cade and his three brothers were little-boy stairsteps ranged in front of their parents. Melanie Coulter’s hand rested on Cade’s shoulder.

Cade could feel his mother’s warm, loving touch as if the Coulter family had posed for the portrait only yesterday. An old, familiar pain burned in his gut and he absentmindedly rubbed his chest, just to the left of center. When he realized what he was doing, he jerked his hand away and set the photo back on the mantel.

Maybe I’m not as immune to memories as I thought.

He rolled his shoulders, shrugging off the unwelcome introspection, and turned his back on the collection of photographs, striding across the room to enter the kitchen. Here, too, time seemed to have stood still. In the far corner, the heavy wooden chair with scarred legs was pushed neatly up to the long kitchen table. Cade remembered too well how his mother had loved the table and chairs, a gift from husband and sons for her birthday. After she died, the table had grown dusty and lost its polish, the chairs earning scars from her sons’ spurs knocking into the carved legs.

He shrugged out of his coat and hung it over the back of a chair, hooking his hat on the corner. He gave the room one last cursory survey, checked to make sure the coffee canister was nearly full in the cabinet above the coffeemaker next to the sink, and left the room.

Joseph Coulter’s office was just down the hall from the living room. Cade pushed open the door, flipped on the light switch and stepped inside.

The big desk faced the door. Cade walked across the room and behind it, pausing to scan the framed map of the Triple C and surrounding ranches that hung on the wall. The boundaries of the huge ranch were etched in solid black.

Cade was struck anew at his father’s obvious determination to hold the land. Given the financial straits the ranch was in, he knew Joseph must have been strapped for cash.

And judging by how little paint remained on the shabby buildings, he thought grimly, the Triple C had probably been running on short rations for a long time.

He dropped into the worn leather seat of the wooden swivel desk chair. The desktop was free of dust and a black accounting ledger was centered on the blotter. Three sharpened pencils, a blue ink pen, a red ink pen and a short ruler were tucked into a heavy pottery mug sitting to one side of the blotter.

Everything was clean and very neat. Cade guessed Mariah was probably responsible for the tidy house.

He flipped the ledger open to the latest entries, neat columns in red and black ink. The red ink column was much longer than the black.

Restless and unwilling to begin what was sure to be a grim review of the Triple C’s finances, Cade closed the ledger and shoved back the chair. The books could wait until morning. He left the room to collect his coat and walk to his truck. The temperature had dropped since he’d come inside and a slight breeze chilled his bare face and hands, ruffling his hair. It took only moments to collect his duffel bag from his truck cab and he jogged back to the house, entering the warm living room. He hung his coat on the pegs just inside the front door before climbing the staircase to the house’s second floor.

The banister was worn smooth as silk beneath his palm. Cade had a swift mental image of his mother laughing as he and his brothers slid down into his father’s waiting arms. Joseph had caught and deposited each of them with swift efficiency, then lectured them sternly about the danger of falling. But his mouth had twitched with a smile as he warned them, just before he picked them up and packed them into the living room to wrestle in front of the fire.

The world had been a different, happier place before his mother died and Joseph started drinking.

Ten years of watching his father try to drown his grief in a bottle had taught Cade two unforgettable lessons. First, he was never getting married because a man in love could be sucked into hell if he lost the woman. And second, he was never having kids. Because what was the likelihood he wouldn’t repeat his father’s mistakes?

There are too many ghosts in this house, he thought grimly as he started down the upstairs hall.

Five closed doors lined the hallway and Cade automatically strode to the far end before turning the knob and entering the room.

He halted abruptly, his gaze slowly sweeping the room. Like the rest of the house, his childhood bedroom seemed caught in a time warp, preserved just as it was the last time he’d walked out, closed the door and left the Triple C all those years ago. Too tired to deal with the wash of emotions, he slammed the door on the sadness, regret and memories to focus on the old-fashioned brass bed, made up with fresh linens, the blankets and flannel sheets turned back invitingly. Cade dropped his duffel on the seat of a straight-backed wooden chair, unzipping the bag to pull out clean shorts and a T-shirt. He carried them across the hall and into the bathroom. Here, too, all was neat with clean towels and washcloths hung on the bar next to the sink and shower stall.

Cade stripped and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pour over him, easing muscles that ached after the long hours he’d spent driving. He’d been on the road by 3:00 a.m. each day, taking advantage of the early morning hours and nearly traffic-free highways.

Toweling off, he slid into his shorts and shirt then went back to the bedroom. Climbing between clean sheets, he fell asleep within moments. Unfortunately, falling asleep loosened his control and memories surfaced once more. He dreamed in vivid, brilliant Technicolor and painful detail.

He was ten years old and his mother, Melanie Coulter, had won the National Arts Award for her copper and silver sculptures. He’d flown to New York City with his parents and brothers for the ceremony, his mother glowing with delight as she walked across the stage. Holding the golden statuette in her hands, she told the crowd that her inspiration came from her husband and four sons, whom she adored. Seated in the front row, Cade looked up to see the pride on his father’s face, feel the love and affection in the touch of his big hand on his shoulder. Cade couldn’t imagine ever being sad.

The dreamscape changed, flashing forward two years. Swimming in the creek, Cade and his brothers teased their mother, coaxing her to join them. They’d all swung on the rope over the creek hundreds of times, but this time it broke and Melanie fell, hitting her head on a rock.

In Cade’s dream, it happened in slow motion. And as always, he couldn’t reach her in time. The dark house, graveside service, grief and muffled sobs were followed by the sharp pain of a broken arm.

The phantom pain was so acute that Cade woke, jack-knifing upright in bed.

His heart pounded in his chest and he scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Just a dream,” he muttered aloud. He absently rubbed his bicep where the injury had long since healed.

The upper arm bone was broken when he’d stepped between his father and younger brother Eli during one of Joseph’s drunken rages. It wasn’t the first nor the only time he’d deflected his father’s anger to keep him from hitting one of his younger brothers. Cade had never understood why his father blamed his sons for their mother’s death. He only knew Joseph had plunged them all into a hellish existence when he started drinking the day they buried their mother.

And he still didn’t know, he thought grimly. And even if Joseph had known the answer, he no longer could explain.

Cade stretched out on the mattress and closed his eyes, willing himself to rest undisturbed. This time, his exhausted body took over and he fell into deep, dreamless sleep.

Mariah left for work at the Indian Springs Café before daylight the next morning; the moon rode low on the horizon and stars still glittered in the dark sky. The bunkhouse was dark but lamplight gleamed from the ranch house kitchen and living room windows.

Clearly, Cade Coulter was an early riser. She wondered how he’d spent his first night back in his childhood home after being absent for so many years. Had he felt like a stranger or had he felt welcomed by the old house? She’d grown up in a suburban rambler in a small town in Colorado. Her parents were older when she was born and sadly, she’d lost both of them before she was a senior in college. The house had to be sold to pay her mother’s medical bills. Any remnants of home were long gone.

Mariah couldn’t imagine purposely staying away from her father and a home like the Triple C for long years.

She parked down the street from the brightly lit windows of the Indian Springs Café. Shivering, she left her car, tucking her chin into her muffler and hurrying down the sidewalk. When she pushed open the café door, warmth engulfed her and she sighed with relief.

“Hi, Mariah.” Ed, husband of the café owner, Sally McKinstry, grinned at her, his deep voice booming. “Cold enough for you?”

“Too cold. When’s it going to be spring?” Mariah demanded, shrugging out of her jacket and unwinding her gray knit muffler from her throat. She tugged off the matching hat as she crossed the café to the kitchen entry. One end of the kitchen had a door that led into a small utility room where the walls were ringed with hooks. Mariah hung up her outer things, slipped her purse into a small employee’s locker and spun the dial. She took a clean white apron from the stack just inside the door and walked back into the kitchen, tying the apron strings around her waist as she moved.

Ed was just removing a tray of homemade cinnamon rolls from the oven and Mariah drew a deep breath, closing her eyes at the mouthwatering scent.

“Ed, I swear, if you weren’t already married, I’d propose if you’d promise to bake me cinnamon rolls every morning,” she told him.

He laughed, a deep merry chuckle that echoed in the room. “I’m afraid Sally would skin me alive if I took you up on that.”

Mariah took a tray of frosted rolls from his big hands. “Just my luck.” She winked and left the kitchen to join Sally behind the long counter.

“Were you flirting with my husband?” Sally asked her with a smile.

“Only because of his cinnamon rolls.” Mariah slid the tray of rolls inside the glass counter case, already nearly filled with fresh pies, cakes and Ed’s famous chocolate-caramel bars. “You were so smart to marry a man who can bake, Sally.”

“You’ve got that right.” Sally nodded emphatically, her blue eyes twinkling behind wire-framed glasses. “A husband who can cook is worth his weight in gold.”

Mariah had a swift image of Ed’s big frame and solid muscles. “I can’t afford him,” she determined. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate his bakery items,” she assured Sally.

“Lucky for you free meals are a perk of your job,” Sally told her.

The outer door opened, the string of bells hanging from the handle jingling merrily, and a tall brunette burst into the room. “Morning, you two.” She shed her coat as she skirted the tables to disappear through the kitchen door. “Hi, Ed.” Her cheery hello was followed by a rumbled greeting from the baker and then she reentered the dining area. “How’s everything with you guys this morning?”

“Fine, Julie. How about you?” Mariah picked up a box of salt and one of pepper and headed for the table nearest the door.

“Bob took me to a movie last night—the new thriller with Leanne Crystal.”

“How was it?” Mariah finished filling the salt and pepper shakers and moved to the next table.

Julie shrugged and picked up the pepper shaker. “All right, I guess. I thought the heroine took silly risks—all to make the hero look as if he was saving the day.”

“I hate movies like that,” Mariah commented.

“Yeah,” Julie agreed. “Give me a romantic comedy any day.” She paused abruptly, half-filled pepper shaker in hand. “Hey, I just remembered—we ran into Linda Barnes at the theater. You know her, right? She’s Ned Anderson’s legal secretary and she told me one of the Coulter boys is back in town. Have you seen him?”

“Yes.” Mariah nodded, screwing the shiny metal lid back onto the glass salt shaker.

“Which one is he?”

“Joseph’s oldest son, Cade.”

“Linda said he’s incredibly good-looking, but kind of scary.”

“Scary?” Mariah frowned, considering. “I think he seems a little edgy.”

“Did he tell you where he’s been all these years?” Julie asked, blatantly curious.

“He said he was working in Mexico just before coming home but that’s all I know.”

“I wonder where his brothers are? Have you heard from any of them?”

“No, I haven’t. Although maybe Cade knows more about them.”

“Well, I hope they show up soon,” Julie said. “Bob told me the taxes on the Triple C must be humungous and the sooner the heirs talk to the IRS, the better chance they have to work out a deal.”

Since Julie’s husband was an accountant, Mariah assumed he’d had experience with the IRS and probably was right.

She wiped spilled grains of salt off the wood tabletop.

“I hope they’re found soon, too.” Mariah picked up the box of salt and moved to the next table. “Joseph wanted them to return and live on the Triple C. He’d be terribly disappointed if they can’t all be found.”

The growl of powerful engines sounded in the street outside and headlights swept over the front of the café. Mariah glanced out the big plate glass window at six men piling out of two dual-wheeled pickup trucks.




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