LITMIR.BIZ

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what the bloody hell was she really after? Money? Why else would she have shown up on his doorstep? She claimed to have something he wanted—the location of the mine. Of course she expected him to pay for it.

      If that was the case, she was nothing but a scam artist, he thought, scowling, and he’d be crazy to trust her. For all he knew, she could be after much more than just money for telling him the location of the mine. She could be after the ranch itself. If she’d hooked up with the right person, someone who felt that he was the unnamed heir in Hilda’s will, the two of them could have hatched some sort of plan to drive him away from the ranch before the year was up.

      Buck tried to dismiss the idea as foolish, but he knew he couldn’t be too cautious. The town was abuzz with talk of Hilda’s unnamed heir. Was it her closest friend? A neighbor? A total stranger? The possibilities were endless, and so were his enemies, Buck thought grimly. Oh, no one had made any direct threats, or, for that matter, openly done anything to make him feel anything less than welcome, but he wasn’t a fool. The entire community of Willow Bend, Colorado, thought Hilda was the last of the Wyatts and had, no doubt, expected her to leave the place to someone in the community. Instead, she’d willed the ranch to Brits she didn’t even know, and that had to make anyone who thought they were the rightful heir bloody angry.

      And who could blame them? The Broken Arrow was worth a fortune. How far would someone go to get the ranch back if they thought it rightfully should have gone to them? Considering the terms of the will, all they really had to do was keep him away from the ranch for forty-eight hours. How better to do that than to enlist the aid of a young, attractive fortune hunter who claimed she wanted to help him find the gold mine his family had been searching for for well over a century? How far would she go to keep him away from the ranch? Invite him somewhere and have car trouble? Lose her keys? Seduce him? Just what was Rainey Brewster capable of?

      All too easily, he could see the spark of daring in her blue eyes when she’d leaned over and tucked her business card in his shirt. The lady was trouble with a capital T and he’d do well to steer clear of her.

      Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one waiting for a chance to blindside him and keep him away from the ranch. All anyone needed was forty-eight hours. By the time the girls learned he was missing, they wouldn’t even have a chance to fly in from London. Just that easily, the ranch would be lost.

      Furious that he didn’t have a clue which direction trouble would come from, he found it impossible to concentrate on the bills and paperwork Hilda had stuffed in boxes over the course of the last two years and just let go. He needed a break from the stress of trying to keep the place afloat, so he grabbed the keys to the Jeep, one of the two vehicles he and his sisters had inherited along with the ranch, and headed for the mountains in the distance.

      Later, he couldn’t have said how long he’d been driving when he noticed the temperature gauge on the Jeep had shot into the red zone. Swearing, he braked to a grinding halt and cut the engine. Before he could step to the front of the Jeep and lift the bonnet, a cloud of steam poured out from under the hood.

      “Bloody hell!”

      He wasn’t a mechanic and what he’d learned about cars over the last four months wasn’t nearly enough, but even he recognized coolant when it puddled on the ground beneath the engine. And even if there’d been a jug of the stuff in the vehicle—which there wasn’t—it would have done little good. When he grabbed an old towel from the back of the Jeep and lifted the steaming-hot bonnet, he spotted the blown radiator hose instantly. Like it or not, the Jeep wasn’t going anywhere.

      “Well, you wanted to get away from everything, old chap,” he told himself wryly. “Congratulations. You succeeded.”

      He had, in fact, more than succeeded. Glancing back the way he had come, he only then realized that not only had he left the lower grazing land of the ranch far behind, but he was already in the foothills of the mountains. Frowning at the far horizon, he bit back a curse when he saw nothing but undeveloped ranchland all the way to the horizon. The homestead was nowhere in sight.

      Swearing, he reached for his cell phone, but one look at the out of range message on the screen had him swearing in frustration. So much for calling for help, he thought in disgust. And considering the fact that David didn’t even know he was gone, the odds of the foreman coming to look for him were slim to none. There was no hope for it—he’d have to leave the Jeep and walk home. He’d be lucky if he got there by dark. Muttering curses, he started walking.

      Two hours later, the sun was on its downward slide behind the mountains and his feet were killing him. Damning his footwear, he was seriously considering walking the rest of the way barefoot when he heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance. Five minutes later, David topped the rise in the beat-up old green pickup that was used for work around the ranch and caught sight of him in the distance.

      “I’ve been looking all over the place for you,” the older man told him. Glancing past Buck to the ranch road that disappeared into the foothills leading to the mountains, he frowned when he didn’t see the Jeep anywhere. “When I couldn’t find you at the house, I remembered the last time I couldn’t find you, you were up in the mountains, checking out the elk. Where’s the Jeep?”

      “It died about eight kilometers back,” Buck retorted, wincing as he stepped toward the pickup. “It blew a radiator hose. Why were you looking for me?”

      “We’ve got trouble.”

      Buck shouldn’t have been surprised. Every time he turned around, it seemed like something else was going wrong. “Don’t tell me,” he groaned. “The roof fell in.”

      “Well, not exactly,” the older man replied, “but it could be just as costly. Someone cut the fence to the southern pasture and brought in a semi. From what I can determine, three hundred head of cattle are missing.”

      Buck took the news like a blow to the gut. “Son of a bitch!”

      “The tracks are fresh,” he added. “And since it rained last night and the tracks weren’t filled with water, the bastards must have hit sometime today.”

      “In broad daylight,” Buck said tersely, cursing.

      He nodded. “The county road that runs by there doesn’t get a lot of traffic. You can go by there just about anytime of day and not see a soul.”

      Buck wanted to believe that if someone had seen the rustling, they would have reported it, but he wasn’t betting the ranch on it. People didn’t want to get involved, especially if it meant siding with a foreigner over one of the locals. They’d just look the other way. And then there were those who were waiting for him to fail. They might even help the rustlers load their trucks!

      “We’ve still got to report it,” he told David grimly. “Let’s go back to the house so I can call the sheriff, then we have to see about getting a radiator hose for the Jeep.”

      Not surprisingly, Sheriff Sherman Clark hadn’t received any calls on the missing cattle and didn’t expect to. “I’ll check the cattle barns, but it’s just going to be a waste of time. Anybody who rustles cattle these days isn’t stupid enough to sell them right down the road. Those cows are probably halfway to Chicago by now.”

      “And you don’t have any idea who might be responsible for this?”

      “Oh, sure,” he said easily. “I’ve got plenty of ideas, but ideas won’t put anybody in jail. I’ve got no witnesses, no evidence, no cows, for that matter. And the tire tracks were brushed away. So all we know is that whoever did this didn’t do it alone. They had help—a lot of help. Unfortunately, you can bet that whoever organized the theft made damn sure that his partners in crime were tight-lipped and knew how to keep their money in their pockets. Nobody’s going to be wagging their tongues over this. There’s too much at stake.”

      Buck didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. The Broken Arrow was what was at stake. “So there’s nothing you can do,” he said flatly. “I just have to eat the loss.”

      “I wish I could give you

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