by a pair of large, red barns, one of which had four apartments on the second floor. A paddock and corral sat off to the right side of the barn while the other side was open grazing land with sage brush and bare trees sticking up through the layer of snow.
“Oh my, is this your ranch?” Her voice filled with awe.
“Welcome to the Circle C,” Luke said with pride.
Faith twisted to look back the way they’d come. “The road is very visible. I suppose you can see cars coming long before they arrive?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She sat forward. “That’s good. You’re pretty safe out here.”
He arched a brow. “What are you afraid of?”
A huge caramel-colored animal ran along the fence.
“You raise llamas?” She turned her curious gaze on him and left his question unanswered. Again.
The depths of her hazel eyes pulled at him. He debated pressing for an answer, but there would be time enough later. “Llamas, cattle and horses.”
“I’ve never seen a llama up close.”
“They make great pets. We raise them for their coats. Raising llamas is a hobby for my mother. She used to show them, but then people started wanting to buy them so we expanded the operation.
“Our stable is small compared to others who solely raise llamas. Few people realize that Sisters is the llama capital of the United States.”
“Why here?”
“Central Oregon’s climate is similar to that of Peru, where llamas originate. Sisters is ideal, open and temperate.”
“I agree. This place is perfect.”
Luke had a feeling she meant more than just the climate. He stopped in front of the house and his golden retriever bounded up to the Bronco. Opening the door, he received a series of wet dog kisses. “Whoa, girl. It’s good to see you, too.”
Suddenly, the dog’s ears perked up and her head lifted. She dashed out of view before Luke could react, and Faith became the recipient of the retriever’s sloppy love.
Luke rounded the corner of the Bronco and stopped. Faith kneeled with her arms around his dog. The sight made him smile.
“She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”
“Brandy.”
“Luke, what’s going on?” A female voice brought all three heads around to face the house. Reva stood on the porch, her hands on her hips and her red lips pressed into a stiff line.
Irritation pulsed through Luke, but he shook off the feeling. It was only natural Reva would be curious, but her question seemed more accusatory than not. He glanced at Faith, who now stood with her hands clasped together and a polite smile plastered on her face.
He silently retrieved Faith’s bags and guided Faith toward the house. Brandy, he noted, stayed close to Faith.
“Who is this?” Reva asked, her eyes wide, as she looked Faith up and down.
“A guest,” he answered, wishing Reva wouldn’t act so territorially.
Brandy growled then let out a loud bark. Luke understood the dog’s urge to protect Faith. He felt the same protective instincts roaring to life in his veins.
“Tell me what I want to hear,” Vince Palmero demanded of the man on the phone.
Bob Grady cleared his throat. “Sorry, boss. We lost her trail in Portland, Oregon.”
Vince clenched his fist. “How incompetent can you be?”
“We’ll get her. I’ve got men combing the city and checking the trains, buses and airport.”
“Time is running out. Find her!”
Vince slammed down the receiver and pushed back his leather chair from the expansive mahogany desk. He tugged on the collar of his Italian handmade dress shirt feeling as choked with rage as if the Armani striped tie around his neck was being cinched tight. He couldn’t believe she’d done this to him. If he didn’t find her and bring her back soon, his whole life would go down the tubes.
He stared at the framed photo on his sidebar. A stunning smile and hazel eyes burned into his mind. He’d loved her, offered her everything and she’d betrayed him.
She’d pay. Oh, yes. When he found her, she’d pay.
Faith’s sweaty palm stuck to the banister. She wiped her hand on her pant leg as she followed Luke and Reva up the stairs to his mother’s room. Although the initial meeting with Reva went well—the woman had been pleasant enough—Faith could tell that Reva didn’t like having another woman in what she obviously considered her domain.
As they’d passed through the living room, Faith noted the lack of Christmas decorations. Maybe these people didn’t celebrate the birth of Jesus. Whether they did or not wasn’t relative to her safety.
Luke knocked on a door at the end of the hallway. Little butterflies fluttered in the pit of Faith’s stomach. If Luke’s mother didn’t like her, then what would she do? The ranch represented a security she’d only hoped of. She wanted to stay. Please, oh, please, dear Lord, let her like me.
At his mother’s muffled, “Come in,” Luke pushed open the door and stepped aside so Reva and Faith could enter. As Faith passed him, he gave her a reassuring smile and some of the butterflies in her stomach danced for an altogether different reason.
A blast of heat hit her in the face as she stepped into the room. The bedroom was at least ten degrees warmer than the rest of the house. Sweat beads broke out and trickled down Faith’s neck. The dark haired woman lying on the canopied oak bed looked wilted and weak beneath the heavy covers pulled up to her chin.
“Ugh, Reva, it’s hot in here,” Luke exclaimed. “I’ve told you a hundred times not to touch the thermostat.”
“But, Luke, honey, the doctor said she wasn’t to get a chill.”
In long strides, Luke moved to one window and yanked it open. Almost immediately a cooling breeze entered the room.
“Oh, that feels wonderful.” Mrs. Campbell sighed. “I kept asking her to turn down the heat, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”
Luke paused in the act of pulling the quilt off his mother and looked at Reva. The color of his eyes had darkened to a steely blue and his jaw tightened in anger. Faith stepped back.
“I was only doing what I thought best. She’s still recovering from her ordeal,” Reva said defensively.
“The way she makes it sound, I’m still knocking on death’s door,” Luke’s mother muttered.
“It’s only been two weeks. You know—”
“Enough, Reva.”
Luke’s
