LITMIR.BIZ

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and crawled into his sleeping bag. Later the dog woke him up again, but he’d been too exhausted to care. The animal was wearing a collar—what harm could it do?

      Reaching over, he switched on the battery lamp. The remains of a steak, beans and coleslaw were scattered across his silk shirt. It seemed symbolic of his relationship with Kittie—an utter disaster.

      “Argh.” He rubbed his face and got up. Perhaps a shower would clear his mind.

      The heated restrooms were clean, serviceable and very basic. There were two buildings, one for men and the second for women. It was so early the place was empty. He felt more human after his shower, though until Kittie showed improvement, he wouldn’t feel completely right. It was strange how he could love his child to death and still be driven insane by her.

      An idle, guilty thought occurred to him.... Did they have military school for girls? Was that even an option?

      Everyone was up and moving by the time he was dressed and back in the tent. The air was chilly and there were good-natured complaints about the cold, teasing accusations that somebody had forgotten to pay the power bill and mad dashes for the restrooms to avoid a wait in line.

      “Kittie?” he called, pushing aside the tent flap.

      She wasn’t there.

      Jacob spread his towel on the mattress to dry and headed to the mess tent. Inside there were cowboys drinking coffee, but no sign of Kittie.

      “Anything I can do for you, Mr. O’Donnell?” asked Burt Parsons.

      “Yes, I’m looking for my daughter.”

      “She’s around. I’ll be your wrangler during your stay at the ranch. And that young fellow—” he gestured at a man who was nearly as deeply wrinkled and weathered as Burt himself “—will be coming along today, as well. His name is Ray Cassidy. Nice boy, Ray. You’ll like him.” Burt sounded quite serious calling Ray a boy. Maybe when a person reached a certain age, everybody else was young by comparison.

      “In that case, I want to be sure that my daughter’s safety is your top priority,” Jacob said.

      “Not to worry. We haven’t lost anyone yet.” Burt ambled off to the serving table, cup in hand.

      Resisting the urge to pound the importance of Kittie’s safety into everyone, Jacob got his coffee and turned in time to see Mariah Weston arrive. He blew on the black brew as she spoke with the cowboys and cooks. Some of the men focused overly long on her curves, but they were discreet. Their interest was understandable. Her worn jeans were molded faithfully to her bottom and she wore a soft flannel shirt that did nothing to conceal the swell of her breasts.

      A stab of awareness hit Jacob. No. Mariah was impossible, the complete opposite of the kind of woman who had always appealed to him.

      In another few minutes Mariah flipped him a cool look. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but striking with those high cheekbones and vibrant hair. Was she a natural redhead? Her blue eyes and creamy, lightly tanned skin suggested she wasn’t, but he was no expert. He preferred blondes anyway.

      Anna had been blonde.

      Blonde. Beautiful. Fragile.

      Sighing, Jacob swirled the contents of his enameled metal cup. It wasn’t fair. Anna had wanted a baby so much, but she’d died less than three years after having Kittie, and a lot of that time she had been too weak to enjoy her daughter and be a mother.

      He pressed his thumbs to his throbbing temples. He’d tried to do right by Kittie and by Anna’s memory, and yet he’d failed. Kittie was in trouble and he didn’t know what to do for her. If he could only put his finger on what was wrong.

      “Good morning, Mr. O’Donnell,” Mariah said, yanking him from his thoughts.

      “Hello, Miss Weston.”

      Jacob noticed her gaze flick between his shirt and jeans—probably evaluating how suitable they were for the ranch—and almost asked if he passed muster. His irritation from the previous night returned, but he squashed it down. This was not a moment to be bothered with personality conflicts. By the same token, he wasn’t going to apologize for coming from the city and not knowing how to chase cows.

      He cleared his throat. “I need to discuss safety issues with you. I’m a businessman, so I know why you require a signed waiver in case of an accident. As a father, though, I can’t help being concerned.”

      A range of emotions flitted across Mariah’s face. “A ranch isn’t the same as a city park, but I’ve assigned our most experienced wrangler to you and your daughter for the duration of your visit, and a second one while you’re learning the ropes. Caitlin should be fine if she behaves herself. Now, your registration form says you’ve ridden before...?”

      Jacob nodded. “We used to go horseback riding every week,” he said absently, still chewing on Mariah’s comment if she behaves herself. It gave him a nasty sensation in his gut—Kittie never behaved herself these days.

      “I’m guessing you rode at a private stable with a riding track.”

      “It wasn’t a ranch. We live in Seattle. But we haven’t gone out for several years.”

      “That won’t be a problem. The horses I’ve chosen for you are older, savvy and unflappable. You ought to be all right on them—they’re practically catatonic,” Mariah said, a bit too smoothly.

      Jacob leaned forward. “I want my daughter to be safe, Miss Weston, not bored. What good will the ranch do her if she’s bored?”

      Mariah didn’t blink. “The U-2 isn’t boring, but we do insist that our guests don’t stretch their limits too far.”

      Limits?

      That was like waving a red flag at a bull, yet before he could react, she went on, “Vacations here are meant to be fun, not dangerous. My grandmother is a doctor and lives on the ranch. My aunt is also a doctor, and she lives in town behind her clinic. They’ve mostly treated our guests for aching bums, upset tummies, cuts, scrapes and sprained ankles. Since you haven’t ridden recently, I suspect you’ll be added to the aching-bum list.”

      Nonplussed, Jacob opened his mouth...and then closed it. He wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted or patronized or if Mariah was simply doing her job by informing him of the ranch’s medical support. Taking into account the few amenities the U-2 offered, having two doctors available was a surprise. He just prayed they wouldn’t be needed. Kittie had her mother’s rare blood type, so he always ensured adequate emergency services were present wherever they traveled. In preparation for this trip, his staff had learned there was a well-equipped clinic in the local town, but they hadn’t said a doctor lived on the ranch.

      “I’m not sure about that,” he said. “Remember those friends I told you about? Their son came home with a cast on his arm. He broke it at the end of his visit here.”

      Mariah’s expression chilled, no doubt from the censure in his tone. Fine, she should know he wasn’t accepting her word without question.

      “It happens occasionally—usually when people aren’t practicing reasonable caution or when parents don’t keep tabs on their children, assuming someone else will do it for them. That can happen anywhere, even in the city. Anyway,” she murmured, swinging her legs over the bench to stand up, “your wranglers will catch up with you after breakfast. We work hard on the U-2, so you might want to make sure Caitlin has a healthy meal before starting out. Have a pleasant day, Mr. O’Donnell.”

      Jacob glared.

      He wanted to call to Mariah’s departing back that he worked hard in Seattle as well and of course he’d ensure that Kittie had a decent breakfast...except it was pointless. Especially about Kittie. He knew perfectly well he couldn’t force his daughter to swallow a bite of food if she didn’t want to. And considering the precarious state of their relationship, she’d probably refuse to eat if he said anything about it.

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