LITMIR.BIZ

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Zane McCalls popped up on her screen, and she scanned the list looking for the one whose information matched Mr. Sexy Voice’s. He was third on the list. Boyd Valley, CO. Rancher/Adventurer.

      Single. That tidbit excited her more than it should.

      “I promise not to get in the way. In fact, I’d love to see the sorting process. If it is key to the ranch business, then it will be great fodder for the article.”

      “I thought you said the focus of your story would be the adventure ranch.”

      She couldn’t tell anything about Zane’s appearance from the thumbnail profile picture in the list. She chewed her bottom lip, debating, and her finger hovered over her mouse. Curiosity won. She clicked his listing, and his profile page opened.

      “Erin?”

      She jolted as if she’d been caught snooping in his underwear drawer and slapped her laptop closed. “Oh, uh, right! It is. But I want a complete picture of the ranch and your operations.”

      Speaking of pictures... She opened the laptop again, and his Facebook page filled the screen. She zoomed in on his profile picture and caught her breath.

      OMG. The photo was of a dark-haired cowboy with a strong, square jaw, wide shoulders and piercing blue eyes. He wore a gray Stetson, a tight T-shirt and a pensive look that sent shivers to her core. Oh, yes. The face matched the voice.

      “How much input would we have over what appeared in the final article?” he asked.

      Drawing her attention back to her conversation took all of her concentration. Even after she closed the web page, she saw the image of Zane McCall, as if he’d been burned onto her retinas.

      She exhaled a cleansing breath, fighting to bring her scattered pulse back under control.

      “Pardon?”

      “How much editorial input would we be allowed?” Zane repeated.

      Since there would never really be an article, she supposed that point was moot. But because she was selling herself, for the time being, as a journalist, she figured her answer needed to reflect a journalistic standard. “Well, I would, of course, want to be sure all of my facts were correct, but beyond that, I would have the last say over my writing. A good journalist can’t allow outside influences to dictate the content of her work.”

      “So what assurance do I have that you’re not planning to trash us and get readers by writing some sensational, scandal-mongering thing about the recent events at our ranch?”

      Erin settled back in her sofa cushions, intrigued by Zane’s wariness.

      “You don’t,” she said bluntly.

      She knew his family, the ranch, his new business had been through some rough times. That was why she’d been hired. Maybe his skepticism was understandable, but his distrust of her didn’t bode well for the mission for which she had been hired.

      “All you have is my promise, my word that I have no intention of hurting your family or causing your business any grief.” That much was true, and it felt good to be able to be completely honest in that regard. “I want to help your family get the Double M and McCall Adventure Ranch back on track, not derail you.”

      Zane was silent, and, conjuring the Facebook picture of him again, she could easily imagine him brooding, mulling his options. Square jaw set. Black eyebrows drawn down in meditation over those pale blue eyes. How would she handle working with him every day during her assignment at the ranch? She’d need to get a handle on her giddy attraction to him. Be professional. Not get distracted.

      “Your word?” His doubt was obvious in his heavy tone.

      “I know you have no reason to trust me, but it is the best I can offer.” Sensing she might have underestimated her ability to sell her cover, she searched for additional arguments to sway him.

      Before she could launch into a further spiel, he said, “I’m willing to have you come and get a look at the adventure ranch operation. We’ve made changes, repairs and are planning a relaunch in the spring.”

      She released her breath. “Great! I can be there—”

      “But—” he cut in, his voice firm and commanding. A delicious shiver slid through her. His take-charge, alpha-male authority was sexy. She liked a man who knew what he wanted and had the confidence to get it. “I can only speak for the adventure ranch. I’ll have to speak to my father before granting you full access to the ranch. He’s the owner here and has the final word regarding the Double M.”

      “Of course.” Erin smiled to herself and relaxed. “I’ll wait until you get approval from your father.”

      She was in.

      Erin knew before Zane could say the first word to his father. Because Zane’s dad, Michael McCall, was the real reason she was going to the Double M. Zane’s father was her client.

      He spotted his blackmailer in Buckley’s Feed and Seed, and a black pit of loathing gnawed his gut. He didn’t want to call attention to himself and to have to face the threats the blackmailer was sure to make again. Though his business at the Feed and Seed wasn’t done, he’d much rather make a second trip into town than linger here and deal with another confrontation.

      Moving carefully toward the exit, he lost sight of the blackmailer as he edged past a tall display of winter clothes set up to look like a Christmas tree. The exit was in sight. If he could cross the open area just inside the door, near the checkout counter without being seen...

      He paused at the end of the aisle with hardware supplies, peering cautiously around the rack of axes and sledgehammers. The coast appeared clear. He took his opportunity and started quickly and quietly toward the front door.

      “Leaving so soon?” The voice sent a curl of acid and frustration through him.

      He sensed more than saw the source of the voice edging into his path, blocking the exit. He raised his head, nudging back the brim of his hat, to meet the leering expression on his tormenter’s face.

      “What do you want?” he growled.

      “I think you know damn well what I want.” The reply was hushed. Clearly the blackmailer didn’t want to draw attention any more than he did. Could he use that to his advantage?

      “Step aside,” he said. “This isn’t the time or place.”

      “Agreed. So meet me in the restroom. Two minutes.”

      No. Go to hell, you and your threats. I’m done with you. Dear God, how he wanted to say as much to the source of his anxiety and grief for the past several months. But too much hung in the balance. The blackmailer knew it, too, and gloated over the power, the ability to destroy his life, if he didn’t do what was asked.

      His enemy stepped away and disappeared down an aisle of nuts and screws. Appropriate, he thought with a derisive snort, since he was putting the screws to him. He thought of leaving, of ignoring the demand for a confrontation. But how could he risk incurring the wrath of his foe? One wrong step could trigger all the threatened repercussions to come down on him like a crapstorm. Worse, the blowback could hurt his family. His family was all he had, and he wouldn’t risk them to save himself.

      Gritting his teeth, he made his way to the back of the store. He killed a minute gathering himself as he feigned interest in the bridles and bits displayed on the back wall. Then he stepped inside the unisex restroom in the rear hall. His tormentor was waiting for him.

      “I’m tired of waiting.” No preamble or preliminaries. Straight to the point. “The herd doesn’t make it to auction. Understood? Enough with the piddling stabs and pokes meant to slow them down. I want you to slash the throat of the operation. A fatal blow. Now. This year’s herd.”

      He’d been afraid that it would come to this. Bile rose, nearly gagging him. “How? Something that big won’t look like an accident.”

      “That’s

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