LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter One

      Marshal Wyatt McCabe adjusted his binoculars and studied the woman. Lyla Pearson. She was leading a roan mare into the barn just behind her small ranch house, and from what he could tell, she appeared to be talking to the horse. Maybe even singing to it.

      She sure didn’t look like someone on the verge of committing a felony.

      Not yet anyway.

      One thing was for certain—he’d never met her. If he had, Wyatt was pretty sure he would have remembered her even though there was nothing much about her that stood out.

      Five foot seven or eight. Average build. Brown hair that she’d gathered into a ponytail.

      She was wearing no-frills jeans and a weathered buckskin coat—practically a uniform for someone working with horses. Something he knew a little about, since he worked his own family’s ranch.

      Wyatt checked his watch. A little past seven in the morning, which meant Ms. Pearson would soon change her cowgirl uniform for her job as assistant director of the San Antonio Crime Scene Unit. He had every intention of following her there, too. In fact, he didn’t intend to let her out of his sight until he figured out what the heck was going on.

      He would get answers.

      And those answers extended to the baby she was carrying.

      There was no baby bump that he could see. Probably too early in the pregnancy for it, but Wyatt wasn’t a baby expert. However, from everything he’d read about her, Lyla had wanted a baby for years even though she was single and not in a relationship.

      What Wyatt needed to know was why she’d wanted this particular baby.

      She disappeared into the barn, probably to stable the mare, and when she came out, she stopped and looked around as if she sensed someone was watching her. Wyatt ducked lower behind the pile of boulders, though he figured he was hidden well enough. He’d had a lot of experience doing surveillance duty in rural settings during his six and a half years as a marshal.

      The sharp January wind slapped at her, and it was cold enough that when her breath mixed with the chilly air, it created a split-second foggy haze around her face.

      Still, she didn’t move.

      She continued to glance around.

      Even though she wasn’t a cop, she had cop’s eyes. Maybe a cop’s instincts, too, which Wyatt hoped didn’t kick in. He needed to figure out what she was up to before she even realized he was on her trail.

      Finally, she moved, walking toward her house, and Wyatt was so caught up in watching her that he nearly missed the movement on the back side of the barn. It was just a blur of motion. Maybe a horse. But with everything else going on, that seemed too much to hope.

      Wyatt volleyed glances between her and the barn, and he saw

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