Chapter 1

The moments before dawn were always Dulcie Howard's favorite time of the day. There was something beautiful and calming about watching the sky brighten with the rising sun. Even during the winter, like it was right now. Or maybe more so. There was something about the cold that made the pinks and yellows and blues so much more vivid.

She stood on her balcony, a light sweater pulled over her shoulders. Asa would have chastised her, told her she needed to wear something heavier if she was going to insist on being outside at this hour, especially if she was going to do it wearing her dressing gown. She could almost hear his voice, hear the disapproval under the light tone he would often take with her. No matter how many times she explained to him that she didn't feel the cold, that she was too lost in the beauty of what she was seeing, he would scold her. And she would listen, accepting whatever jacket he would bring her—usually one of his heavy work coats that smelled of cows and sawdust and hard work. The smells that were Asa in a nutshell. And then he would wrap his arms around her as though he were afraid that the coat alone wouldn't be enough to keep her warm. Didn't the silly man know that that was why she stood out there without a jacket? So that he would come and warm her himself? It was those intimate moments that she truly lived for.

Oh, how she missed them now!

Asa was gone. In the ground for nearly two years. It was he who should have been more careful of the cold, he who should have worn heavier clothing when he stepped outside. Perhaps then he wouldn't have caught the pneumonia that took his life less than a week after he delivered that prized calf he'd been so excited about.

"It's a boy, Dulcie! A beautiful, bouncing boy! Can you imagine? We got exactly what we needed!"

She was pretty sure he'd been more excited by that steer than he'd been about the boy she'd delivered of her own loins to him more than thirty years ago. Their beautiful boy. Anthony. They'd tried long and hard to get pregnant, praying more than she had in her whole life. When she did fall pregnant, she prayed every night that she would stay that way as long as the child needed. Too many disappointments had come before for her to believe that she would finally achieve the one and only thing she'd ever truly wanted: a child of her own. But he finally came, screaming into this world in the middle of the night, right here in this bedroom. And he'd been perfect. She'd never seen such a beautiful boy! He was her boy, the love of her life. But he was gone now, too.

She tried not to think about him so much anymore. With Asa gone, it only made her sad. Besides, she had the boys of Golden Sphinx Ranch. As long as they were part of the ranch, she would never truly be alone.

Dulcie could see them now, a couple of them, coming out of the barn after finishing their morning chores. She could tell by the way they were walking that it was Westin and Bowie. There was something about the way a cowboy walked, but her five boys had a special sort of swagger to their movements that she would recognize anywhere. That meant Clint, Remington, and Landry were out at the paddock, delivering hay to the herd up in the winter pasture. They should wrap up soon, ready to head to town for breakfast at the local diner. Asa used to do the same thing, claimed it was the best place to get information from other ranchers. Men liked to talk over a good, hearty meal.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to end up. Asa should be down there with those boys, as should Anthony. Asa should be showing his son how the place worked, all the things he needed to do in a day, the things that he should worry about and the things he shouldn't. Asa should be down there teaching his boy how to take the place over someday. Instead, there were five men Asa hired, men who were as loyal to Dulcie as they'd ever been to Asa. They were as close to family as she would have now. She knew they would do anything to protect her and this ranch.

As would she. Absolutely anything.

***

Westin Clark swung up into the cab of the truck, slipped off his gloves, and blew on his hands even as he reached for the ignition, turning the engine over in two tries. His breath didn't seem to be much warmer than the air outside, but his fingertips would have thought ice was as hot as fire at this moment. It was damn cold outside, below thirty according to the thermometer on the dash. There wasn't any snow on the ground just yet, but he could smell it in the air walking from the barn to the truck. It was going to snow tonight, would probably dump two or three inches before morning if the news reports were right.

"Damn, it's cold!" Bowie Wheeler cried as he climbed into the truck, his bulk making the whole thing shift slightly. "Too damn cold for working outside!"

"Tell that to Clint."

Bowie grunted, removing his heavy work glove and shoving his fingers up against the vents blowing slowly-warming air into the cab of the truck. "I had to go and pick Colorado! Couldn't find a ranch in Arizona or New Mexico that fit my needs!"

"They have cattle ranches in Arizona?"

Bowie glanced at him, ready to educate him on the expanse of cattle ranches in the Southwest, but then he stopped, shaking his head. "Okay, smartass," he mumbled.

"What? Just because you've traveled the world, doesn't mean you're the only one who knows shit."

"And just because you've never left Colorado doesn't mean you have to act like some kind of redneck."

"Why not? Isn't that what people see when they look at me?"

Bowie just shook his head, pressing his fingers against the vents a little harder, like that would warm the heater faster. The sound of a motor approaching drew Westin's attention to the rearview mirrors. Clint Grooms slid the tractor to a stop behind them, the long feeder wagon turning slightly with the momentum. Then, with the grace of someone who'd done this maneuver dozens of times before, Clint backed the tractor up, sliding the wagon right into the empty space it normally occupied when not in use beside the barn.

"He makes it look easy."

Bowie nodded even as he tried to slide down into his jacket a little further. "He's as graceful as a dancer behind those controls."

Westin didn't like the choice of metaphors, but he had to admit that Bowie wasn't far off with his characterization. Clint was something of a master with most of the machinery.

"Who left the freezer open?" Landry Grooms, Clint's brother, demanded as he climbed into the back seat of the truck's cab, allowing a blast of cold air to dance over the two men already waiting. The other door opened a second later, admitting Remington Echols, but he didn't have a comment on the weather. Again, Remington rarely had a comment on much of anything. At least, that was how it seemed to Westin.

Clint was the last to climb in, having a silent argument with his brother for a second when the younger Grooms refused to slide over on the long bench seat. Bowie grumbled, making a motion with his hand that finally got Landry to slide over, giving his brother space beside the door. The second that Clint was settled, Westin threw the truck into gear and headed up the wide road to the main gate. He could see the lights on at the main house, knew that Miss Dulcie had probably been watching them do their morning chores as she usually did. And, as he almost always did, he made a little gesture with his head, tipping a hat he wasn't wearing toward the balcony he knew stood right outside her bedroom, the place he knew she liked to stand as the sun came up every morning.

"There's a new group heading in today," Clint announced as Westin rounded a curve that led to the long, straight road that went to the main gates and the highway that would lead into the nearest town, Milsap, where there was a diner that served the best biscuits this side of the Rockies. Westin glanced in the mirror, then at Bowie, wondering if there'd be an argument like there seemed to be every time Clint made that particular announcement. "They'll be straggling in around noon. We won't schedule any events for today, but there'll be early-morning rides tomorrow."

"Do you know it's supposed to snow tonight, Clint?" Bowie asked without turning around.

"I'm aware, but it's only supposed to be a few inches."

"These city people don't do well in the cold."

"The last group I took out in snow, three of them quit before we got out of the main paddock," Landry agreed.

"You know this wasn't my idea, boys. I just make assignments."

Westin glanced in the mirror, a little surprised that Clint was giving in so easily. But, again, there were rumors he was having trouble at home. Maybe his mind wasn't on business today.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and all of them will quit tomorrow," Bowie said. "They only come here for the views and the romance they think they'll find." He shot a glance back at Landry. "Just put him in charge of the morning ride, and you'll satisfy that part of things."

Westin chuckled, as did Remington. Landry even smiled as he stole a look at himself in the rearview, always aware of how good-looking all the women seemed to think he was. Clint simply grunted, turning to stare out the window as Westin gunned the engine, pushing the truck up over the slight incline where the gate had opened for them. They were on the state highway a moment later, burning the asphalt toward town.

Bowie shook his head too, clearly having caught Landry looking at himself in the mirror. Then he, too, turned his attention to the window, staring at the frozen landscape as they raced by. It wasn't a bad view, really. Westin knew it better than the back of his hand, and he couldn't think of a better word for it than beautiful . He'd grown up in Denver, but his mother had filled him with stories and images of this place from the time he was very small, probably starting when he was still just a gleam in her eye. She'd loved it here, and that adoration had rubbed off on him.

"Looks like the boys from Rocking D are here." Landry leaned forward against the back of the front seat as Westin slowed and pulled the truck into the parking lot of Roni's Diner. He pointed toward another truck that was parked near the front of the place. "Maybe they have some information on that new vaccination everyone's been talking about."

"Why would they know more than us?" Clint shot a dark look at his brother. "We all get the same newsletters; we all use the same vet."

Landry snapped up the collar of his jacket. "They seem to always know the latest when it comes to stuff like that."

Clint clearly didn't like that idea. He shook his head, grumbling something under his breath as he pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold air. Landry followed, but he waited for Westin to get out and walk beside Clint, seeming to prefer his own company to that of his brothers. Bowie came around and walked with Landry, knocking him in the shoulder with his much bigger shoulder, nearly pushing Landry into the parked car beside them. Remington brought up the rear, his arms wrapped around his dark coat, his head bowed to avoid the cold air, his face hidden behind his hat.

"Hey, boys!" Roni herself called from behind the counter as they came in and shed their outerwear, hanging it all on a coat tree that was already overflowing with heavy work jackets and hats. "Grab that booth over there and I'll get your order in."

"Thanks, Roni!" Landry called, blowing her a kiss that she pretended to catch then giggled like a little girl with a crush. Westin pushed Landry forward, giving him another shove as they reached the booth, knocking him down onto the bench before he slid in beside him. Remington took the opposite bench with Clint next to him and Bowie nearly spilling out the end. Another waitress, this one a young blonde with the prettiest brown eyes, came over and dropped five mugs on the table, filling each one with coffee. "Food shouldn't be but a minute or two."

Westin grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to the table when she tried to escape. "Make my pancakes blueberry, would you, Annie?"

She smiled, a touch of color darkening her cheeks. "Sure thing, Westin."

He winked as she walked off, peering back over her shoulder at him.

"You're as bad as him," Clint scoffed, a gesture of his head indicating Landry.

"Just because you're married, doesn't mean the rest of us are dead."

Clint's face darkened, too, but not in the same way Annie's had done. Clint's expression warned of a storm, and Westin was quick to back off, not anxious to get caught up in it. Instead, he picked up his coffee and blew on the hot brew, letting it warm up his still-frozen fingers.

"This weather…" Bowie shook his head, doing the same with his coffee. "I think I'll take my ass back down to Texas."

"You say that every year, but you never go anywhere," Landry informed him.

"Yeah, well, springs here are pretty fantastic. Makes me forget how my balls turn to ice cubes in this damn weather!"

Clint pushed Bowie, gesturing for him to get up. Westin watched as their foreman stomped off to the bathroom, pushing the door so hard that he could see it rattle as it fell back against the frame.

"What's up with him?" Westin asked, pushing his shoulder against Landry's. "He and Melanie fighting again?"

Landry shook his head. "It's something more this time, but he won't tell me about it. You know how he is."

"What could it possibly be?"

"I heard she was stepping out," Remington said, his tone low and his eyes stuck to the table like looking at us would be an actual admission of something. "Heard she was messing with one of them boys from over in Dixon."

"Hell," Westin muttered under his breath. "That sucks, man!"

"There's no way Melanie would do that to Clint," Landry objected. "No way in hell!"

"I heard it, too." Bowie set down his coffee, his eyes narrowed in his big face. "Heard it was some banker or something."

Landry shook his head again, but he wasn't protesting that hard. His fingers were working at a packet of sugar, moving it in and out of his grasp with a steady motion that was not unlike the grace with which his brother handled a tractor. Hand-eye coordination. The Groomses had it in spades.

Westin just shook his head, imagining the pain Clint was feeling. He knew that Clint and Melanie had been together since high school, and their six-year marriage had produced a little girl Clint absolutely adored. It must be tearing him up inside. Westin couldn't really put himself in Clint's place, having never been married, having never even had a girl who had gotten him to commit to more than a month or two. Hell, Westin had cheated on his fair share of girls, but never been cheated on. He had to admit, it was probably much better being on the other side.

Clint came back out of the bathroom just as Annie appeared with a heavy tray laden with their breakfast. Plates started sliding across the table. Ham and eggs for Landry, chicken fried steak and four eggs over easy for Remington. Clint had bacon and scrambled with salsa, Bowie a feast with five fried eggs, three pieces of ham, two slices of toast, bacon, sausage, and a tall stack of pancakes. Westin's meal was a little less intense with just two pancakes, a couple of slices of bacon, and a couple of eggs with bright-yellow yolks running across the plate.

They all dug right in except for Clint. He nibbled at his bacon, but that was about it. Westin couldn't help but watch him, that sense of pity still weighing on his shoulders. But then he spotted dark hair and blue eyes coming toward them. He dropped his fork on the plate and got up, stepping into her path as she tried to get by.

"Hello, Rena."

She looked up at him, her cheeks bright red, though he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or from the excitement of seeing him. She had these big eyes that were so full of curiosity all the time, a smile that was almost contagious, and long limbs that brought to mind a new colt, though she had more poise than a newly born horse might. But it was that smile that always drew his attention, that he thought about late at night when there was nothing to distract him from it.

"Hi, Westin." Her voice was slightly high-pitched, almost childish. "How are you?"

"What are you doing here?"

She slipped her fingers into her back jeans pockets. With a slight movement of her shoulder, she indicated a couple of tables further up along the diner filled with ranch hands. "I'm having breakfast with some of the guys from Rocking D."

Westin glanced over his shoulder at them, catching a couple paying attention to him, probably wondering what the hell he was doing with their boss's daughter. Give them another second and they'd likely come over and demand to know.

"Why are you hanging out with ranch hands?"

She giggled softly. "What's wrong with ranch hands? Aren't you one?"

"Sure. But a girl like you, you should be in Denver attending university, going to clubs at night."

"That's what my daddy says, too. But I'd rather be here, around the horses. This is home."

"If I were you—"

"You aren't me." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Why is it that everyone with three legs thinks he can tell me what I should and shouldn't do?"

"Three legs?" Westin heard Bowie tittering behind him. He wanted to reach over and smack the guy. "I don't mean to tell you what to do, Rena. I just think you could do better than this group."

"Maybe you can take me to dinner some night and tell me all about Denver. Didn't you grow up there?"

"Sure."

"Tonight? Does that work for you?"

"Sure," Westin said again, but she was already walking off, glancing back at him once with that beautiful smile in place. He lifted a hand, and she returned the gesture before sliding into a booth beside a couple of big, burly guys who were shooting Westin dark looks. He hesitated a second longer, then slowly settled back into the booth, not sure what he thought about what had just happened. Had she really asked him out? Had he really accepted?

"You ask her about that new vaccine?" Landry wanted to know. "I bet her father knows all about it. If it's really that big of a deal, we should probably learn more about it."

"Forget the vaccine, Landry," Clint muttered. "We'll talk to Doc Taylor about it next month."

"Yeah, but if we went into the conversation with some understanding—"

"Let it go, Landry," Bowie warned, his gaze bouncing between Landry and Clint, the big guy clearly gauging the tension that was quickly coming to a boiling point in their trusted foreman.

"What the hell?"

Remington suddenly pulled himself up, climbing onto the bench to jump over Clint and Bowie. His boot caught on the table's edge and he fell to his knees, but he was back up in an instant, rushing out the front door. Westin watched him go, then twisted in his seat to look out the window along with Clint and Bowie. It only took a second to figure out what had set Remington off. In the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of a sedan, was a woman Westin had never seen before. Some guy, a tall, slender guy who wasn't really dressed for the weather—he was in a fancy suit but didn't have an overcoat or anything else to protect him from the temperatures—was reaching into the car, trying to pull the woman out with a clump of her hair.

"Let's go, boys," Clint announced, sliding his way out of the booth right behind an already-moving Bowie. Westin followed, a sense of dread in his chest. He knew how Remington could get when he saw what he thought was abuse of any kind. And it never ended well for the other guy.

The four of them piled out the door, none stopping to grab their jackets despite the freezing temperatures. Clint was ahead of them, jogging to reach Remington before he flattened the asshole in the suit. He grabbed Remington by the back of his shirt and jerked him back, whispering something Westin couldn't hear into his ear. The stranger didn't seem to understand that Clint was trying to help because he took advantage of Remington's distraction to clip him on the jaw with a right hook. It might have been a good shot—if Remington wasn't nearly twice his size. The blow didn't even faze Remington. It just pissed him off.

Remington fought against Clint as the suit guy bounced on the balls of his feet like a boxer, waving his fists at Remington like he thought it was a good idea to invite him in for more.

"You have no fucking idea who you're screwing with here, buddy," the stranger announced. "You're going to get messed-up!"

Westin wasn't sure if Remington broke out of Clint's hold, or if Clint just let him go at that point. But Remington was free and he swung, getting the guy on his jaw with the same sort of right hook. The guy, however, went flying where Remington had barely moved. He slammed up against the side of the sedan where the woman was still cowering behind the wheel. She cried out when the suit guy bounced against the thin side panel, jumping out of the car like she'd been touched by a shock of electricity. Westin grabbed the woman as Remington stepped into the stranger, throwing two more punches in quick succession, one to the man's stomach, the other to his chin.

As Westin moved the woman out of harm's way, pulling her up to the front of the diner, Clint gestured to Bowie and Landry, the three of them rushing the fighting pair in unison. Clint snagged Remington's shirt again, but the material just pulled out of his jeans, allowing Remington the distance he needed to continue the fight. Bowie and Landry grabbed an arm each, straining to pull him back as he still fought to reach the suited guy. If Bowie hadn't been as massive as he was, they might still have not gotten control of him. But fate was what it was, and they were able to pull him a good distance from the stranger.

"You have no idea what you're getting in the middle of!" the stranger yelled loud enough that his words carried to where Westin had pushed the girl into a nook of the building, a spot where she couldn't easily be seen by her attacker. Westin saw her flinch at the sound of the man's voice, saw the fear that skated across her face before she hid it behind her eyes. Whatever was going on here, this woman was genuinely frightened.

"I saw you dragging that woman out of this car!" they heard Remington yell back. "I don't give a shit who you are! No one touches a woman that way!"

The woman turned away, making herself as small as possible against the cold brick wall of the diner. Westin stepped back into the parking lot, anxious to see what was happening with his friends. He only moved a few feet away, but it was far enough to see Remington straining against the hold Landry and Bowie had on him.

"What business is it of yours, cowboy?" The stranger pushed away from the car, pulled himself up to his full height, approaching Remington with a confidence that was misplaced. He tugged almost huffily at the sleeves of his dark suit, looking down his nose at Remington, Clint, Bowie, and Landry like he was better than them in some way. It infuriated Westin. If there was one thing he hated more than anything else, it was people like this guy who thought they were better than men who worked with their hands for a living rather than sitting behind some cushy desk all day long, making money that they didn't deserve. A familiar hatred bubbled in his chest, clenching his fists and pouring steel into his bones.

The man continued his approach, looking down his nose at Remington. "The woman is my business, not yours."

Remington pulled against Bowie and Landry hard. Westin could see the strain it caused the two men to keep their hold on him. When he couldn't get free, Remington spat, hitting the stranger right on the tip of his nose.

"Bastard!" the stranger screamed, launching himself forward, but Clint stepped in the way, knocking him down with one punch to the side of his head.

"Stay down!" Clint cried as the guy rolled over and made like he was going to get up. He stopped with Clint's words. Silence ruled over them for a moment, not even the twitter of a distant bird to distract. And then there was a familiar sound, the screech of a distant siren rushing in their direction. Westin glanced at the diner, saw the witnesses watching the whole production. Someone had called the sheriff.

"Fuck it!" the guy said, sliding backwards and pulling himself into the car. "You can have the bitch if you want her that badly!"

With that, he slammed the car door and took off, blowing out of the parking lot so quickly he nearly sideswiped two parked cars and took out a car pulling into the lot. He headed northeast, in the general direction of Denver.

Good riddance!

"What the hell was that?" Clint immediately turned and shoved a finger into Remington's chest. "How many times do I have to tell you to watch yourself? You want to go to jail?"

"No, sir," Remington said, dropping his head. "I'm sorry."

"What was that all about?"

Remington pulled away from Bowie and Landry, who let him go after a nod from Clint. He rubbed his hand, his knuckles already beginning to bruise. "He was pulling a woman out of the car by her hair." Though there was little passion in his words, Remington's eyes snapped with unburned anger. "I can't put up with that, Clint. You know that."

"I know, Brother." Clint rested his hand on Remington's shoulder, looking the other man in the eye. "But I can't have you getting into fights like that. Especially not in a place like this. The last thing Miss Dulcie needs is one of us getting arrested."

Remington lowered his head, clearly upset that his behavior might have caused trouble for their employer. Westin got it. Miss Dulcie was the sweetest woman he'd ever known in his short life—next to his own mother. The last thing he wanted— any of them wanted—was to put her in a bad situation.

"We should go," Bowie said, snagging Remington's arm as he began to move toward their work truck. A second later, a sheriff's deputy pulled up in his squad car, silencing the siren as he stopped the car right across from where Westin and Clint stood. A weary look moved over Clint's expression. "Go inside," he instructed Westin. "Pay the bill and get your things."

Westin tossed the truck keys to Bowie as he stepped into the diner, pulling his wallet from his back pocket as he did, aware of the curious looks he was getting from the other customers. The only one he really cared about, Rena, smiled at him, her lips quivering a little as though she was nervous he wouldn't appreciate the gesture. She had no idea how much he did appreciate it.

"I had to call them, Westin," Annie said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Clint has it under control." He dropped a handful of bills on the counter beside the register as he offered her a flirtatious wink. "There's a tip in there for you. We sure appreciate you each and every time we come in here."

"I didn't do anything," she said with a blush, but she picked up the wad of bills and shot him a smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

Westin grabbed his jacket—the others were gone, so he assumed one of the group had stepped in and grabbed them—and pulled his gloves on, shivering a little as he stepped out the door again. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he was aware of how the cold air had taken little bites out of his skin, particularly his fingers. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, hunching his shoulders as the wind hit him face-first. Instead of going to the truck where the heater was blowing—probably full blast if he knew Bowie—he turned the corner to check on Clint and the sheriff's deputy.

"Hey! Is he gone?"

Westin had nearly forgotten about the girl.

"He's gone. You're safe."

She snorted, pushing away from the brick wall and wrapping her arms around herself. She was wearing a thin blouse and a pair of jeans, some fancy boots that wouldn't last a second on a real ranch, but not much else. She was a slip of a thing, slender and petite, with pale skin save for a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, a few small curls coming loose to frame her face. And her eyes were an amber that had red and gold tones to it, just like her hair. She was a beauty, but a beauty who was clearly not from around here.

"You always go around without a jacket?" Westin asked as he shrugged back out of the jacket he'd just put on and slipped it around her shoulders. "Kind of dumb around here."

"I wasn't planning on getting out here, but he had other ideas."

"Who was that guy?"

She rolled her shoulders even as she pulled his jacket tighter around her, practically burying her face in the collar.

"Well, he's gone," Westin repeated. "I doubt he'll be coming back anytime soon."

"He'll be back."

Westin glanced back at the truck, saw the guys watching them through the quickly fogging windows. Bowie made a comical face, pretending he was kissing some broad, like they were all in middle school instead of grown men.

"Do you have someplace to go? Someone you can call?" He looked back at the girl, studying her face in search of that fear he'd seen earlier. It was gone almost like it had never been there. "A friend or some family?

She shook her head. "I was just passing through the area."

"We could call you a cab, get you back to where you came from."

She shook her head, nixing that suggestion in the bud. Westin didn't know what else to say to her. How could he help someone who didn't seem to want help? He rolled back on his heels, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, the cold eating at him again. They couldn't just leave her here—but, again, was it really their problem?

Fuck, it was cold out here!

Clint came around the corner, hesitating slightly when his eyes settled on Westin, taking in his missing jacket. It was a second before his eyes moved to the girl, assessing her pale complexion and the dark jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

"What's going on here?"

"You smooth things over with the deputy?" Westin asked, rubbing his upper arms in a useless attempt to warm them up.

"Yeah, everything's good." Clint's eyes again rested on the girl. "I'm Clint Grooms," he told her, holding out a big hand that was covered in a heavy work glove—someone must have brought him his jacket and gloves. "You are…?"

"Lea Adams," the woman said, offering him her own smaller, delicate hand. "Thank you for getting rid of him."

"Who was that guy?"

The girl hesitated, clearly not eager to explain herself to anyone. "Look, I don't know who you guys are, but you came to my rescue and now I'm kind of stranded here. I don't suppose you'd be willing—"

"Come on, Clint!" Landry called from the truck. "We gotta get going!"

Westin glanced over his shoulder, gesturing for Landry to keep his pants on.

"We could take you to the sheriff's office," Clint told the girl. "Maybe they could help you out."

"No." The girl lowered her head as she stomped her feet, feeling the cold as much as everyone else. "I can't do that."

"Well…"

Clint seemed as much at a loss as Westin was. Westin crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes moving over the girl, his desire to get his jacket back much higher than his desire to help her out. He cleared his throat as her eyes came up to meet his. There was something there, a memory of the fear she'd displayed earlier, but it quickly disappeared as she turned her attention on Clint, clearly marking him as the man in charge.

"I could pay you," she said softly. "If you could take me somewhere safe, somewhere I could hide for a while, I could pay you. A lot."

Clint shook his head, but she grabbed his arm. "Seriously. Lots of money. As much as you could want. I just… I can't be here. I need to go somewhere else, somewhere safe. Somewhere he'd never think to look for me." She gave him a look that was one a man could never turn away from, one of those looks that said so much more than words ever could. "I just need a couple of days, someone to stick around in case he comes back. That's all."

"We don't even know who you are, lady." Clint carefully removed her hand from his arm and reached back to pull out his wallet. "I can give you a couple of bucks for a taxi, but—"

"You don't understand!" She spun on her heel, turned toward Westin. "Please! I wouldn't even be here if your friend hadn't interfered!"

"If he hadn't interfered, you'd be much worse off than you are now," Clint reminded her.

She shook her head. "Please." She stepped into Landry, wrapping her fingers up in the loose material of his shirt. "Please. Just a few days. I really need your help!"

Westin didn't know what to say. His thoughts moved to Miss Dulcie, to the trouble none of them wanted to bring to her doorstep. But he also found himself thinking about Rena, about his own mother. He thought that one thought most men have once in their life: what if she was my mother, my sister, my lover? Wouldn't I want someone to help her?

"We do have that group of tourists coming in today…"