of this herd was destined to be removed to the slaughterhouse in Delta, and these Black Angus cattle seemed to anticipate their fate. There was a lot of bawling, as if the animals were encouraging each other to make a break. More than fifty had already ambled through the gap in the fence and were moving down the road.
Dylan was surprised to see Jesse Longbridge helping his cowboys round up the cattle. Jesse was staying at Fiona’s house to protect her and her five-year-old daughter. He rode toward them and reined his horse. “What the hell are you doing out here, Dylan?”
“Ranching. This is my business.”
“My business is keeping you safe,” he said. “Don’t make my job harder. I’ll escort you back to the house.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Never in his life had Dylan run from a fight. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on Fiona and her little girl?”
“One of my men is at her house, making sure that Nate doesn’t get close.”
Nate Miller had good reason to hate Jesse. It had been his skill at tracking and his insight that had led them to find Nicole and recover most of the ransom money.
“I’m not going home,” Dylan said.
“Fine.” Jesse exchanged a glance with Burke, then maneuvered his horse around.
Dylan was flanked by a federal agent on one side and a professional bodyguard on the other. Plus, he was wearing a bulletproof vest. “Good thing I’m not claustrophobic,” he said.
“This is how it’s going to be until we get you to safety.” Jesse drew his rifle and held it at the ready.
Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Are you any good with that?”
“I’m a former marine, a sharpshooter. Is that good enough for you?”
One of the escaped steers plodded toward them. A big, broad Angus—fifteen hundred pounds of premium, grass-fed beef on the hoof—stood in the middle of the road and glared at the men on horseback. He lifted his head and mooed.
“I think he wants us to move,” Burke said. “Moo-oooove.”
“You’ve been hanging around my sister too much,” Dylan said. “Cattle don’t talk.”
In the distance, he saw the headlights of an approaching vehicle. Whoever it was would have to be patient or take a different route.
When a second steer joined the first, Dylan’s horse, Orbison, shifted his weight. In his younger days, Orbison had competed in rodeos as a cutting horse. When he saw cattle running free, the horse’s instinct was to get them organized.
But there wasn’t much herding Dylan could do with these two men protecting him as though he was made of glass. And, to tell the truth, the other four ranch hands seemed to be doing a good job of moving the herd back into the field. “Might as well head back,” he grumbled.
As he wheeled around on Orbison, he heard the sharp crack of a rifle.
In the kitchen, Nicole sat at the table with Carolyn and Andrea. They’d convinced her to eat a piece of toast, and they all had mugs of steaming chamomile tea before them.
“How did Dylan take it?” Nicole asked. “While I was kidnapped “He was a complete wreck,” Carolyn said. “That first night, he and his men went riding all over the countryside looking for you, riling up the neighbors. When he got back here, he refused to go to bed even though he was asleep on his feet.”
“Stubborn,” Nicole said. “That’s my husband.”
“It was more than that.” Carolyn looked down into her tea. “I haven’t seen my brother cry since he was ten years old, and we had to put down one of his best horses. During the past few days, I’ve seen tears.”
At least he loved her as much as a favorite horse. She thought of their five years together. A tear had slipped down his cheek when he’d spoken his wedding vows. As it had the first time she’d told him that she loved him. Touching moments.
But he never showed emotion when he was hurt. That was when he clamped his jaw tight and turned as hard as granite. “I knew this would be rough on him.”
Carolyn reached over and touched her arm. “It’s good for my brother to express his emotions for a change. Most of the time, he’s so bottled up that I think his head is going to explode.”
Andrea sighed. “His father was the same way.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Carolyn said. “Daddy used to tell me that only babies cried. And I distinctly recall something about how I shouldn’t act like a girl. If he could see my totally feminine condo in Denver, if he knew how much I pay for manicures and pedicures, he’d go through the roof.”
“To be fair,” Andrea said, “your father and I were part of a different generation. Men are more sensitive now.”
Nicole shook her head. “Not Dylan.”
Though her son was routinely dismissive toward her, Andrea leapt to his defense. “For the past few days, he’s worn his heart on his sleeve.”
“His heart?” Carolyn scoffed. “He’s been snarling and snapping at everyone.”
“Anger is how he covers his emotions,” Andrea said. “His fear, his sadness and pain.”
Nicole was extremely familiar with Dylan in his cranky mood. She thought back to their argument before she’d gone racing out of the house and into the arms of the kidnappers. She’d been angry, too. Maybe even more than her husband. “Did he mention what we were fighting about before I left the house?”
“He told Burke,” Carolyn said.
Why on earth would Dylan confide such a personal matter to someone he barely knew? “Was Burke interrogating him?”
“Nope. Dylan just blurted it out. He must have felt guilty.”
As well he should. He‘d been horrible to her. “It felt like he was choosing the ranch instead of me and the family we might have someday.”
“You’re trying to get pregnant,” Andrea said.
“For almost eight months. I expected to have problems. Being a vet, I’ve been kicked in the belly a couple of times. But the fertility doc said those injuries weren’t entirely the issue. We had a lot of little problems. Low sperm motility. A blocked Fallopian tube. Anyway, it just wasn’t happening.”
“Did you get Dylan to wear boxer shorts?” Andrea asked.
“As a matter of fact, I did.” Black, silky boxer shorts. They had turned out to be as much of a treat for her as for Dylan. “They looked real cute.”
Carolyn snorted. “Did he take off his cowboy boots?”
“Sometimes.”
Nicole
