half in Lyndon Valley.
“Starving,” Reed said into the phone, and he grinned at Niki.
She tried to pretend she didn’t notice Sawyer studying her. She’d attracted her fair share of male attention in D.C., particularly if she was wearing something by Delwanna, and always when she was wearing her black Magnamis heels. But she couldn’t imagine she was anywhere even approaching attractive at the moment. She hoped she didn’t have dirt smeared across her cheek or something equally gauche.
Sawyer’s black jeans were spotless, his boots polished to a shine. He wore a white, Western-cut shirt with black piping and black buttons, and his curved-brim Stetson was worn enough to look natural, but new enough to complement the outfit.
Unable to stop herself, she reached up and casually brushed the back of her hand across each cheek. A breeze rustled through the windows, bringing the scent of wild clover. A diesel engine fell silent outside, and a horse whinnied in the distance, blending with the gurgle of the nearby creek.
Reed pocketed his phone. “Katrina’s on her way with the barbecue fixin’s. My wife,” he explained to Sawyer. “Care to stick around for a burger?”
Sawyer gave an easy nod of acceptance. “Appreciate the offer.” He unbuttoned one of his shirt cuffs. “In the meantime, can I lend a hand?” He rolled up a sleeve, revealing a ropy, muscular forearm.
The man was obviously used to hard work.
“There’s plenty to do,” Reed responded. “There’s a crew unloading lumber around the back.”
Sawyer finished rolling up his other sleeve and tipped his hat back on his head. “Then I’ll get right on it.” His gaze returned to Niki. “Pleasure, ma’am.”
He exited and disappeared around the sheeted, exterior wall.
Reed moved closer to Niki. “You got pretty quiet there, Nellie. Something about that man get to you?”
“I’m shy,” she responded, telling herself Reed couldn’t read her mind. He had no way of knowing she found Sawyer unaccountably attractive.
But Reed barked out a laugh. “That’s your story?”
She shot him a mock, arched glare, intending to show him she didn’t mind being teased. “And I’m stickin’ to it.”
But even as she uttered the cavalier words, she struggled to shake off her embarrassment. She couldn’t help but worry she’d looked pathetic panting after a man like Sawyer.
Though Reed’s wife was a Colorado native, Katrina had spent most of her life in New York. She was unfailingly gorgeous and glamorous. Caleb’s wife, Mandy, was so healthy and beautiful that she looked spectacular in anything she threw on, including worn jeans and plaid shirts.
But Nellie Cooper didn’t have a lot going for her. When she’d been Niki Gerard she’d had plenty of money and time to make the most of her looks. But when you took away all the trimmings, there wasn’t a whole lot left.
Being plain Jane wasn’t much fun. But Nellie Cooper was just going to have to suck it up. Because she sure couldn’t afford to have anyone make the connection between her and Niki Gerard.
Sawyer Layton couldn’t believe he’d finally found Niki Gerard. To say she looked nothing like her photo was a colossal understatement. He doubted he could have picked her out of a police lineup.
Coming around back of the half-built house, he found a flat-bed truck loaded with lumber. He greeted a trio of men who were unloading, located a spare pair of leather gloves then joined them in their work, while his mind mulled over the latest turn of events.
Niki was calling herself Nellie now. He wasn’t surprised that she’d changed her name. But he couldn’t help wonder how she’d convinced the Terrells she was their sister.
It was a clever enough plan, hiding out at a ranch in the middle of the Colorado wilderness. Convincing a well-established family to take her to their bosom was pure genius. From the perspective of ingenuity and sheer audacity, Niki was clearly Gabriella Gerard’s daughter.
His first load was three sheets of plywood. He balanced them against one shoulder as he followed a short path to the growing stack beside the house. He then turned for another load, settling into an easy rhythm.
Like Niki, Sawyer was operating under a false identity. But he hadn’t lied about buying the neighboring ranch. And he hadn’t lied about being from Montana. He’d been born there. A technicality, because his parents, D.C. residents, happened to be vacationing on the family’s Montana ranch when his mother went into early labor. Still, over the years, he’d spent quite a few vacations at the ranch, learning how to work outdoors and picking up the rudiments of cattle ranching.
Sawyer had grown up in D.C., along with a brother, a sister and countless cousins in the Layton clan. His brother had become a lawyer, specializing in taxation, and joined the family firm. His sister was engaged to Miles Carter, a young Congressman from Delaware. Meanwhile Sawyer had graduated college with a degree in international affairs and joined the navy as an officer. He’d liked the discipline and camaraderie of the navy. He’d also appreciated the black and white codes of ethics and conduct.
Sawyer lifted another three sheets of lumber. He was starting to perspire under the late-day August sun.
Unfortunately, his extended family had missed him while he was away. They’d missed his ingenuity, his nerve and his rather eclectic skill set. Since the Laytons had always been much better at getting themselves into trouble than getting themselves out, Sawyer had given up the black and white moral code of the navy for the countless shades of D.C. gray.
He’d gone back to work as the family fixer. Over the past few years, he’d done everything from misdirecting the press, to quietly paying off gambling debts and secretly locking extended family members in high-end rehab centers. But nothing compared to the latest trouble with Gabriella Gerard. When she had died, and then Niki disappeared, Sawyer’s uncle, the senator had gone into full-blown panic mode.
Uncle Charles, along with many other power brokers in D.C., had a lot to lose if Gabriella’s infamous diary saw the light of day. If that happened, the whole world would know Charles had cheated on his wife and, albeit unknowingly, accepted illegal campaign contributions.
Everyone knew that Niki had the diary. And now Sawyer had Niki.
“My brother tells me you’re new to the neighborhood.” A tall, dark haired man fell into step beside Sawyer.
Sawyer dropped his latest load down on the growing stack. “Sawyer Smith.” He pulled off a glove to shake the man’s hand.
“Caleb Terrell.”
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Sawyer complimented, gazing around at the lush meadows, rolling hills and the Lyndon River winding its way into the lake below. Befriending the Terrells was an integral part of his plan. He couldn’t let Niki or anyone else be remotely suspicious of his reasons for being here. Luckily, Sawyer had enough money to temporarily buy a cattle ranch.
“We like it,” Caleb responded, pride clear in his tone. “The main house is south along the river. But Reed’s been planning this place for years.”
As they spoke, Reed made an appearance in the front yard,
