Chapter 3
Bethany galloped across the field on her father’s mare an hour later, the brisk wind brushing her face, a heady sense of exhilaration flooding her veins. The brilliant blue sky soared above her. Wheat-colored grass carpeted the rolling rangeland on every side. Closer to the mountains, hills rose like gnarled fingers, their ancient, glacier-carved valleys shadowed with aspens and pines.
She slowed Red to a walk, her breath coming in ragged gasps, the scent of dried grass filling her lungs. The ever-present wind rustled in the silence—whispers from her ancestors, her father had said. She smiled at the fanciful thought. She’d always loved imagining her father’s people traveling through these foothills, hunting for buffalo. They’d seen the same, unchanging scenery that she did, felt the same, unending wind. Even now the sheer magnitude of the wild land awed her, the beauty a balm to her soul.
Pulling herself out of her musings, she angled her hat against the midday sun, then guided the mare toward the fence marking the perimeter of Cole’s ranch. She’d detoured on her way to the dammed-up stream, hoping to find the spot where her father’s accident had occurred. Although she doubted he had anything to do with Cole’s problems, he was lying about something—and she intended to find out what.
Keeping Red to a walk, she scanned the pasture. A gopher scurried by. The western wheat grass bobbed in the wind. She pushed up the sleeves of her long-sleeved T-shirt, growing warm in the sun. But in typical Montana fashion, a storm front was due to arrive any day now, dumping snow on the mountain peaks.
She continued riding along the fence line—past the circle of stones forming the old teepee ring, past a cluster of Black Angus cows. A dozen yards later, she spotted a churned-up section of ground and stopped. Hoof prints and tire tracks crisscrossed the dirt, but they didn’t tell her much. It rarely rained this side of the Rockies, so they could have been here for months.
She slowly circled the area, trying to envision how her father’s accident had played out—but there were no tree branches to spook the horse, nothing flapping in the wind. She brought Red to a halt with a sigh. She was wasting her time. She wasn’t going to miraculously figure this out. She might as well do something useful and go help the men with the cows.
She reined Red around, intending to do just that when something black in the grass caught her eye. “Whoa,” she told the mare and leaped down. She walked back and picked it up. It was a strip of leather, an inch wide, maybe fifteen inches long with a braided horsehair inset—a browband from a bridle, she’d guess. Not her father’s, though. He didn’t own any showy tack. He’d used the same plain, utilitarian bridles for forty years.
But even if it belonged to another cowboy, what did that prove? Anyone could have dropped it here.
Discouraged, she stuffed the browband into her pocket and mounted the horse. But even without any evidence, she couldn’t stifle her doubts. What if the browband did mean something? What if her father hadn’t come here alone? What if Red hadn’t spooked and dragged him? But then how had he broken his leg?
A cloud passed overhead, towing a giant shadow over the earth, and a sudden sense of foreboding chilled her heart. Unsettled, she clucked Red into motion, trying to subdue her unruly thoughts. She couldn’t jump to conclusions based solely on a leather scrap. And even if her father had lied to her, so what? He might not be hiding anything bad. He might have withheld the truth out of embarrassment or to keep her from worrying about him.
Moments later she reached Rock Creek, the clear glacial runoff that fed Cole’s wells in this part of the ranch. Determined to focus on reality instead of conjectures, she followed the drone of a machine downstream. She skirted a jumble of boulders, passed through the shade of some cottonwood trees, then rounded another bend. When she spotted Cole wrestling a calf to the ground, she brought her horse to a halt.
Dust billowed over the men. Cows bellowed behind them, their frantic cries filling the air. Cole dug his heels into the dirt, flipped the bleating calf to the ground, and Kenny Greene raced over to help him hold it down. A man she didn’t recognize crouched beside them, and began examining the suffering calf—Judd Walker, Maple Cove’s new veterinarian, no doubt.
Bethany peered through the blowing dust to the backhoe, then to the corrals where they’d penned the herd. The cows lunged and cried, desperate to break out and quench their thirst. But drinking water too fast would cause their brains to swell, killing even more of the herd.
She glanced farther downstream to the dead cows dotting the bank, and her throat closed at the sight. Who would want to hurt those innocent animals—and why? Cole didn’t have enemies that she knew. People liked him in Maple Cove. Sure, he came from a wealthy family, but he’d worked his heart out to buy this ranch—putting in longer hours than his men did, never shirking an unpleasant job. And people respected that.
Her gaze swung back to the busy cowboys. She recognized most of the faces—Bill, Earl Runningcrane, her old classmate Kenny Greene. But there were some new ones, too. The same hollow feeling she’d experienced in the restaurant swirled back, but she forced it aside. So what if the ranch had changed since she’d left? Her life had moved on, too.
The sick calf thrashed, knocking Cole’s hat to the ground, and her gaze gravitated to him. He swore, his arm muscles bunching as he held the calf, the veins bulging in his tanned neck.
“Almost done,” the vet said. “Just a few more seconds.”
Cole grunted, his dark hair dampened with sweat, dirt streaking his hard jaw. And the sheer maleness of him made her heart take a crazy beat.
“Got it,” the vet said. Cole nodded at Kenny. They released the calf and leaped away. The calf staggered to his feet, wobbling badly. Cole whistled to Mitzy, who instantly raced over and steered it back into the herd.
Cole wiped his jaw on his sleeve, his T-shirt plastered to his powerful torso. He reached down to grab his hat, causing his faded jeans to tighten on his muscled behind.
Bethany shifted in the saddle, suddenly restless. No matter what had gone wrong between them, Cole was still hands down the most attractive man she’d ever seen. And the thrills she’d felt in his arms …
“Well, look who’s back.” A cowboy trotted up on a big roan gelding, pulling her attention from Cole.
Tony Whittaker. She recoiled in distaste. As a child, he’d bullied her daily. And as a teen … She suppressed a shudder, refusing to go down that humiliating track. Fortunately, she’d learned that he would ignore her if she refused to show any fear.
“Get out of my way, Tony. I’ve got work to do.” She tugged the reins to the right, intending to go around him, but he shifted his gelding and blocked her way.
“If it’s work you want, you can work me over good.” His eyes dipped to her chest, his innuendo clear.
Her mouth flattened, disgust churning through her, but she deliberately steadied her voice. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Those cows need help. Now get your horse out of my way.”
His lips thinned, sudden meanness flashing in his eyes. “A squaw like you would be lucky to have me. I can show you what a real man’s like.”
Her face burned, fury building inside her at the racial insult, and she tightened her grip on the reins. Idiots like Tony were the reason she’d left Maple Cove. But she bit down an angry retort, knowing better than to take his bait. She refused to cause trouble for Cole.
She
