LITMIR.BIZ

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      Madeline slowly climbed the stairs with a suitcase in each hand. Her concern about mice only reinforced his belief that she wasn’t going to last long at the ranch, but he had to give her credit for not flinching at the amount of fine silt that had worked its way in through the edges of the windows and settled. One of the joys of desert life—even in the high country.

      The only furniture in the two front rooms was a leather sofa that pulled out into a bed—in case Ty had company who wanted privacy, which was laughable because Ty never had company—and a small kitchen table with two chairs. The other rooms were empty.

      Everything had been shipped home or sent to charity.

      “I sent the bedding and towels and stuff to Goodwill.”

      “I know,” she said briskly. She walked through the house, the floor squeaking beneath her steps. “I brought a sleeping bag.”

      “You’re really staying.”

      Her eyebrows lifted, as if in surprise, but the reaction seemed forced—quite possibly because of where she would be staying. The house was not inviting. “I told you I was.”

      “Suit yourself.” The sooner she saw that everything was on the up-and-up, the sooner this walking, talking reminder of Skip would be out of his life.

      “I will.” She glanced around and from the way she moistened her lips he had a feeling she was fighting to keep her placid expression. She brought her eyes back to his face.

      “Not much to do here,” Ty explained. “No TV or anything.”

      “I plan to use any free time I might have to work on a book I’m writing.”

      Ty stared at her. “How long do you plan to stay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

      “Three and a half weeks.”

      Oh, shit. Why didn’t she just take out a gun and shoot him?

      This went beyond not wanting to be reminded about Skip. Ty enjoyed his solitude. Hell, he embraced it. When he wanted company he went to town. He did not want it forced on him.

      Madeline squared her shoulders. “Well, I guess I’ll go and get the rest of my luggage. I have a busy afternoon.”

      Ty nodded and headed for the door. There wasn’t much else he could do.

      CHAPTER THREE

      GOOD HEAVENS, SKIP, what were you thinking when you bought this place?

      He’d said it was isolated, but Madeline couldn’t believe how far she’d driven on that darned Lone Sum Road before finally seeing the driveway and gate. Beyond the gate she’d recognized the view from the photos Skip had sent, but when Skip had talked of a ranch, she’d envisioned a big wooden barn and sheds and lots of board fences and corrals. Well, the barn was there. It was big and metal and ugly. The smaller buildings all looked as if they were a couple hundred years old, and the fences were made of wire. Wire.

      She thought he’d sent pictures of the view because it was so spectacular. She hadn’t realized there was nothing else to photograph.

      Ty had disappeared and was hopefully hooking up the electricity, while Madeline carried her belongings into the frigid house, which was larger than she had expected. Skip had called it a trailer, but it was the size of a regular house with a woodstove on a ceramic-tiled hearth.

      She made three trips through the snow between her car and the house, leaving the door propped open. The last trip was the easiest because she’d beaten the snow into a path. Then she took another look at her living quarters.

      She should have bought more cleaning supplies.

      And a bucket.

      Madeline pulled a pad out of her purse and started a list, then went to the sink and turned the tap. Nothing.

      So she wouldn’t be cleaning and she wouldn’t have heat until Ty got around to turning on the power. Perhaps Mr. Hopewell needed a nudge. Madeline had no intention of disturbing him any more than she had to during her stay, but she also had no intention of freezing to death.

      She stepped outside, debating whether it was warmer inside or outside, then followed Ty’s tracks to the barn.

      When she opened the door, Ty looked up from the contraption he was working on. He had a smudge of oil across his cheek and he seemed none too happy to see her. Or maybe he was ticked off at the machine…which was probably the generator.

      Madeline had a feeling it was.

      Ty shifted his scowl back to the machine. “It hasn’t been started in a while.”

      “Will it start?” Because if not, she was on her way back down the mountain to the little town at the bottom. Except that she hadn’t seen anyplace to stay there.

      “Hope so.”

      “Does it have fuel?” Madeline asked.

      No answer this time, so she concluded it was a stupid question. But she’d also learned during the course of her academic career at the university never to overlook the obvious.

      Ty replaced the metal cover and tightened a wing nut. He put his finger on a toggle switch next to a gauge, then paused a second.

      Madeline thought he was probably praying it wouldn’t start, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He flipped the switch and the machine began to shake as it chugged to life. And then the chug turned into a roar and the shaking turned into a steady vibration. Madeline automatically placed her hands over her ears and retreated out of the building. Ty followed, closing the door behind him and muting the sound. A little.

      “Loud,” Madeline said as she dropped her hands.

      “Welcome to life on a generator.” He started for Skip’s house and she followed. He stepped inside and went to the hallway, where he opened the furnace door and started banging around. A few seconds later a blast of heat shot out of the register next to Madeline. She stepped on top of it, sighing as the warmth blew up her pant legs.

      “How about the water?”

      “I’ll turn it on and get the hot-water heater going. Then…you’re on your own, although I have no idea what you’re going to do.”

      “I’m going to clean this place up tonight, and tomorrow we’re going to meet.”

      “What if it doesn’t work into my schedule?”

      “Then you’d better fit me in, unless you do have something to hide.” Madeline said it without thinking, then instantly regretted it when Ty slowly turned back to her.

      “You’re not much like your brother, are you?” Madeline opened her mouth to reply but before she could say anything, Ty added, “I never saw Skip go for the jugular like you do.”

      She was not going for the jugular. She was being truthful.

      “Maybe if Skip had been more like me, he wouldn’t have been in business with you and he wouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off. Ty swallowed—she saw his Adam’s apple move—then left the house without another word.

      Madeline stared at the door. She wasn’t sure what exactly had gotten into her, but was beginning to suspect, now that she’d met Ty, that she still wanted to blame him for Skip’s death.

      SHE WASN’T THE LEAST BIT like her brother in temperament or in coloring, true, but there were similarities. Facial expressions, the cadence of her speech, the faint accent.

      Except, regardless of what she said, Ty was right. She did go for the jugular. She pinpointed his weakest point and then thrust in the knife. She’d done it twice now—stabs at his honesty and stabs at his integrity. He had no doubt she’d twist the knife, too, if he gave her the chance. She looked the type, all high-and-mighty and so sure she was right.

      Alvin followed him to the house, then glanced

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