"So you're a friend of Jason's," he said casually

A sick feeling of intuition crept over her. Jason claimed he'd told Ethan about her, that Ethan had agreed to hire her on a trial basis. She'd wanted to work on a ranch again—any ranch—so badly, she'd ignored the thought that getting this job had seemed too easy. Now she understood why: Ethan Kincaid didn't know the whole story.

"I was a client of his," Maggie said quietly. "He represented me in court a couple of years ago."

"Did he win the case?" Ethan's voice had gone rougher.

"No," she choked out. "I served two years."

His face hardened. "For what?"

It crossed Maggie's mind to insist that she was innocent of the charges. But one of the things she'd learned in prison was that after a jury found you guilty, no one believed you, even if you were telling the truth.

"Livestock theft."

Dear Reader,

The next time you watch a rodeo or catch a Garth Brooks video, pay particular attention to the hat and boots. Picture that cowboy hatless and barefoot—or worse, picture him in a baseball cap and running shoes. From my point of view, the boots alone transform a man, but when you slap a Stetson on the average Joe, you've got a whole new breed of male.

There's just something special about a man in Western garb, something that suggests the kind of heroes I like most: sexy, tough-minded, capable, a little rough around the edges, good-hearted, plainspoken, strong enough to be tender and, best of all, a little in awe of the fairer sex. These are heroes I love to read and write about, so I hope you enjoy Ethan and Maggie's story.

I'd like to dedicate it to those of us who were raised on John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Sam Elliot; who can't get enough of Clint Black and Garth Brooks; who wait too long for Alex McArthur to make another Desperado movie; and who have a secret desire to see Mel Gibson go cowboy. Harlequin has some very special stories ahead, just for us. Join me, won't you, and we'll all head Back to the Ranch.

Happy Trails!

Susan Fox

ISBN 0-373-03268-4

Harlequin Romance first edition June 1993

THE BAD PENNY

Copyright © 1993 by Susan Fox. All rights reserved. Except for use In any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work In whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, Including xerography, photocopying and recording, a in any Information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Milts, Ontario, Canada MSB 3X9.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and ad incidents are pure invention.

® are Trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

Printed in USA

CLS 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

The long bus ride to the Kincaid Ranch five miles east of Red Horse, Wyoming, had been nerve-racking. Except for two brief stops to take on more passengers, Maggie Deaton had been confined in the closed space for almost four hours.

She dug out her late father's pocket watch and checked it again, hating the hour hand that never seemed to move fast enough. Impatiently she put it away, chafing her palms on her jeans as she again glanced about the half- filled coach.

How would she ever make it on the outside if she could no longer tolerate being in an enclosed place?

Maggie closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. Her heart was pounding, and the queasy feeling of motion sickness was becoming more acute. They'd driven through Red Horse a few minutes ago. The ranch couldn't be more than a mile farther.

The relief she should have felt when she caught sight of the scrolled iron arch didn't come. Her nerves were strung too tightly. As the bus slowed, pulling to the side of the highway, she shrugged into her lined denim jacket, then picked up her black Stetson and reached for the strap of her overnight bag.

The bus was barely stopped before she got to her feet and clamped her hat over her dark hair, which fell in a thick braid to the center of her back. Partway down the aisle to the door, she hoisted the strap of the overnight bag to her shoulder, her eyes intent on the exit she couldn't reach fast enough.

Once outside, she felt the chill bite of Wyoming air and took in a deep breath of springtime and freedom. Freedom. Maybe she would feel it again here. Maybe she would remember what it was like to feel calm and relaxed, to lie down in peace, to come and go as she pleased, to regain the simple dignity that had been so brutally stripped from her. And privacy. What a rare treat that had become, as rare and as longed for as the other basic needs that were a part of freedom.

She waited while the driver removed her duffel bag and suitcase from the baggage compartment. The sight of the long graveled drive that started beneath her booted feet and disappeared over the roll of land in front of her should have given some sense of relief. That it didn't was testament to her diminished confidence.

"There they are, young lady," the driver said as he nodded toward her luggage and lowered the compartment door. He glanced up the ranch road. "Looks like you've got quite a walk, and there's a bad storm comin'. Were they expectin' you?"

The question grated, but she managed a polite, though untrue, answer. "Someone will be along in a minute."

"All right, then." With that, the driver climbed into the bus and closed the door.

Maggie listened to the roar of the bus lumbering onto the highway, the thick diesel cloud in its wake enveloping her briefly before a gust of wind blew it away. She was finally alone, and the exhilaration that tumbled over her in a sudden wave made her knees weak.

She didn't move to gather her things as she waited for the rumble of the bus engine to ebb into stillness. When it did, the only sound left was that of the wind blowing gray storm clouds across the sky.

Tears that would never show stung her eyes. Slowly she turned, letting her gaze scan the long, rolling hills that were devoid of any landmark beyond an occasional windmill and the four-strand barbed wire that paralleled the highway. There was no sign of human habitation, not even a horse or a single head of cattle.

The loneliness of the land reached deeply into her soul, soothing away the stifling feeling of being crowded and pressured. This was what she'd needed for so long- openness and fresh air, the feel of the wind on her face, gravel and dirt beneath her feet, unending sky. At that moment, she didn't care if she ever again had a roof over her head or walls around her. Even food and water were distant seconds to the craving she'd had just to stand again in the unbroken vastness of the outdoors as a free woman.

Finally she turned back to the long ranch road. The job she'd been promised by her attorney, Jason Sawyer, was waiting somewhere over that slow-rising hill—if she could somehow gain the approval of the owner-rancher who had final say at the end of her two-week trial employment.

Dreading the unavoidable awkwardness of this first face-to-face meeting with Ethan Kincaid, Maggie picked up her bags and started up the drive.

Her first glimpse of the house and ranch buildings situated in the wide valley beyond the crest of the hill steadied her.

Though spread out in an almost random fashion, the buildings and corrals were in good repair, most of them wearing a coat of paint that appeared little more than a season old. The two-story log and stone ranch house that stood this side of them looked for all the world like a watchful sentry carved from the landscape, as tough as the elements and just as permanent. The sight of it was one that surprised her with a feeling of coming home.

Her family's main house had also been constructed of logs. Though the four extensions added through the generations to the Deaton homestead had been of clapboard, this house had the same feel of warmth and family. Maggie's spirits lifted. She sensed instantly that if Ethan Kincaid were as fair minded as his brother-in-law, Jason, the Kincaid Ranch might be just the place she needed to heal from her ordeal and put her life back together again.

The walk from there to the main ranch house wasn't overlong. Uncertain of the reception that awaited her, in spite of Jason's assurances, Maggie stowed her things at the end of the porch, then approached the front door and knocked.

"Land sakes, where'd you come from?"

The middle-aged woman who opened the door looked Maggie up and down, a tentative smile of welcome on her round face. "Didn't hear you drive in. The dogs must not've, either."

The woman's gaze slid past her as if to look for a car, a frown creasing her forehead when she failed to see any sign of one. Wanting to spare herself an explanation, Maggie quickly said, "I'm Maggie Deaton. I'm here to see Mr. Kincaid about a job."

Maggie relaxed a little at her success in distracting the woman.

"Well, then, you must be the gal Jason said was coming the first of the month. My name's Alva Campbell." The woman's smile widened as she held out her hand to shake Maggie's. "I've been taking care of everybody up here at the house ever since Mrs. Kincaid passed on about six years ago."

Maggie nodded, the forced smile she offered to echo the housekeeper's friendliness attracting a closer look from the woman.

Anxiety pricked at Maggie's nerves. If the woman didn't already know, would she be able to tell by looking where Maggie had spent the past two years? She would carry the stigma for the rest of her life and was so self- conscious about it that she felt as if the shameful details were stamped in large red letters across her face.

To her relief, the housekeeper ushered her inside and closed the door before she turned to lead Maggie through the house. Maggie was too preoccupied to concentrate fully on the woman's pleasant chatter. All she could manage was a polite response now and then as she unbuttoned her denim jacket with uncooperative fingers.

The inside of the big house would have made her feel comfortable and secure once, with its heavy leather-and- wood furniture and American West decor. But now that she was indoors, out of the fresh air and openness, she began to feel a recurrence of the stifling pressure she'd felt on the bus. It was as if she'd suddenly lost the ability to tolerate being closed in ever again. The thought frightened her.

The wide door to the den off the long hall the housekeeper led her down was standing open. Maggie stopped inside the doorway while the older woman announced her.

"Ethan, Jason's friend is here."

At the housekeeper's words, the big man sitting behind the desk looked up from his papers, the stern planes of his face anything but friendly.

Maggie shivered inwardly. Ethan Kincaid's temperament was nothing like his brother-in-law's, she sensed instantly. If the formidable contours of his winter-tanned face—from the dark brows over intimidating black eyes to his unyielding cut of male mouth and strong jawline— were any indication of the kind of man Ethan Kincaid was beneath his thick, overlong black hair, her time at the Kincaid Ranch would be limited to the two-week trial.

A man whose face had such strongly defined features might also have strongly defined attitudes, she reasoned, a sinking feeling in her middle. And if she were reading his character right from this first impression, there was no reason for her to think that those strong attitudes would ever waver or bend in order to grant a favor to anyone— not to a relative, and certainly not to her.

She couldn't help but be reminded that the fifty dollars in cut-loose money she'd been given that morning wouldn't take her very far if he changed his mind about hiring her. In fact, if she lost her chance at this job, there was a very real possibility she wouldn't get hired at any ranch in the area. And if she couldn't find employment . . .

"So you're a friend of Jason's."

Somehow she'd known before Ethan spoke that his voice would be low and rough, as if using a quiet tone wasn't something he did often. It was far easier to imagine that deep gravelly voice raised in anger or roaring out a command than to imagine what it would sound like in casual conversation.

"Go ahead and have a seat," he said, gesturing toward the wing chair in front of his desk as the housekeeper went out and closed the door.

Ethan watched Maggie raise a hand to remove her Stetson, revealing braided brown hair drawn away from a face with bone structure that could only be considered classic. A few curly wisps of hair had escaped confinement at her temples, making her look more like a girl than a young woman.

But as his gaze slid downward over her open denim jacket and the flannel shirt beneath to her well-washed jeans and the scuffed brown leather of her boots, he decided he liked what he saw. She was the kind of woman who could make a feed sack look feminine, and what she did to common work clothes, with just the right amount of curve in all the right places, played on his imagination more than it should. Irritated with himself, he yanked his gaze back to her face. She was here to work for him, and he had no business taking note of anything beyond her qualifications to do the job.

Maggie crossed to the chair Ethan indicated, unaware that he saw the way her eyes made a quick scan of the room as she did so. Normally, when he interviewed a prospective employee, there was a degree of nervousness, especially if the applicant was a green kid.

But there was something different about Maggie Deaton. He couldn't pinpoint it immediately, but it was there in the loose-limbed, casual way she moved—a way that for some reason reminded him of a mare he'd owned a few years back. No matter how hard he'd tried to school it out of her, the mare had had a wild streak a yard wide. Though she could go for days and seem a perfect horse for working cattle, she'd had a real gift for being sedate one moment, then exploding into a fit of bucking the next when something small spooked her. In the end, he'd given up and sold the unpredictable animal; she'd been too dangerous to have around.

Something about Maggie Deaton gave him the same feeling; something that went beyond a lovely face with delicate features and the glow of windblown roses in her cheeks.

He could almost see what it was in the striking shade of her blue eyes with their thick sweep of black lashes. Almost, but not quite. She'd caught him staring, and her gaze had fled from his. After those few moments, she hadn't met his eyes full on again. He was instantly suspicious.

"So, how long have you known Jason?" Ethan was leaning back casually in his chair. Maggie managed to bring her full attention back to him, though she focused her gaze somewhere just over his right shoulder.

"I've known him almost two and a half years," she replied, resting her elbows on the arms of the chair and linking her fingers together loosely, palms down.

"Then you probably know my sister, Beth."

It was an assumption that made her uneasy. "I've never met your sister."

Her words clearly surprised him. A sick feeling of intuition stirred. Somehow she knew the rancher would never have mentioned his sister if he'd understood that Maggie's relationship with his brother-in-law had been strictly attorney-client.

The thought jarred her. She'd thought that Ethan Kincaid knew about her and had agreed to hire her on a trial basis.

But now that she was face-to-face with him, instinct warned her that if he'd been told everything, he wouldn't give her the time of day, much less agree to hire her. Few respectable ranchers would. Why had Jason done this?

She braced herself for the worst, but caution made her go about her revelation slowly.

"I was a client of his," she said quietly. "He represented me in court a couple of years ago."

Ethan's eyebrows lifted. "Jace usually handles criminal cases."

Maggie heard the unspoken question quite clearly and met his dark eyes for a brief moment. "He does."

Ethan went still, giving in to the suspicion that was flaring stronger by the moment. When Jason called, they'd had trouble with a bad phone connection. It happened occasionally on the rural line, but that time the static had been so bad they'd hung up and Jason had called him back. Though the connection had been little better on Ethan's end of the line, he'd been able to deduce that Jason was asking to send a young woman to work on the ranch.

Because Jason was his sister's husband and he felt he was doing Jace a favor, he'd agreed to hire this Maggie Deaton on a trial basis. He thought Jason had been trying to tell him about some problem she'd had a couple of years back, but the phone connection had grown steadily worse. It had been almost impossible to hear enough of the details to have any clear idea of what kind of problem it had been.

Impatient with the phone line's annoying static and figuring the problem in Maggie Deaton's past was nothing he needed to concern himself with, he'd told Jason to send her to the ranch. He remembered thinking it odd for Jason to thank him for giving her a break, but he'd dismissed the remark at the time. Now, as she sat before him, he wondered what Jason had been trying to tell him.

There wasn't a lot he could discern from Maggie's closed features, but he could sense a coldness, an aloofness, almost a self-protective aura. There was a toughness about the way she held herself, a hint of defiance in the angle of her chin that mingled strangely with the tiniest glimmer of unease in her eyes.

He'd seen something of that look before—twice, to be exact. He hadn't liked seeing it then and he didn't like seeing it now. Experience had taught him a couple of hard lessons, ones he wasn't eager to repeat in spite of granting a favor to his brother-in-law. If his instincts were correct, he wanted no part of Maggie Deaton.

"Are you saying that my brother-in-law, who only handles criminal cases, had you for a client once?"

Ethan's voice had become rougher, the harshness telling her he hadn't been aware of her conviction, after all, but now had guessed.

Her chin lifted the smallest fraction, and she forced her eyes to meet his squarely. "Yes."

"Did he win the case?" Ethan's mouth twisted with faint insolence, and his brows lifted as he waited for her answer.

Suddenly she found the room stifling. Ethan Kincaid would be the first person outside prison she would have to tell about her conviction, and it was harder to do than she'd imagined.

"No." The word sounded just as choked and forced as it bad felt coming out. "I served two years."

Ethan's face hardened. "For what?"

The question was a mere formality—perhaps mixed with a little curiosity—before he turned her down for employment. It crossed her mind to insist she was innocent of the charges, but few people gave credence to the claims of a convicted felon. It would be no different with Ethan Kincaid.

"Livestock theft."

The words hung in the air. A ruddy flush came to Ethan's winter-tanned face. Still, he didn't explode as she expected, but his words seemed to cut more when he spoke quietly than they would have if he'd shouted,

"I've had a couple of unpleasant experiences with ex- cons before," he began, his dark expression growing more formidable by the moment. "That experience alone would make me turn you down for a job, but hiring an ex-con convicted of rustling would be just plain stupid on my part. With all the trouble I've been having here this past year, the only kind of rustler I want on ray land is one in handcuffs on his way to the county jail."

"And what if you knew the details, Mr. Kincaid?" Maggie's calm question was as much a test of his sense of fairness as it was a last chance.

The skeptical twist of his lips gave her his answer before lie spoke. "The evidence against you must have been conclusive. Jace is too good at what he does to let an innocent client go to prison."

Ethan pushed away from his desk and stood, his wide- shouldered, powerfully built six-foot-plus frame as intimidating as any threat.

"Then why do you suppose he'd recommend me to a member of his own family?" she tried again. "If he believed I was guilty, wouldn't that be a little like sending a fox to guard the henhouse?"

Her seasoning made no impact on him, "You're young. He might figure you learned your lesson. But I make my own judgment calls and do my own hiring. I'm not running a halfway house."

Maggie got to her feet, too, her eyes stubbornly slow to leave his as she stoically accepted his dismissal. She would never beg for a job, even if it meant going back into the prerelease program. Pride kept her from showing any trace of the disappointment she felt as she nodded her acknowledgment and turned to walk from the room.

"I think you'll find the other ranchers in this area have the same attitude," he added once her back was turned.

At least he'd given her fair warning. Though she knew he hadn't meant to be helpful, she appreciated the information. She had only so much money and so much time.

Maggie was almost all the way down the hall to the living room and the front door, when a young girl with short blond pigtails came tearing around the corner from the kitchen. Startled, Maggie had no time to step out of the path of the child's headlong rush. The sudden impact of the small body against hers made them both lose balance for a moment, but Maggie's quick reflexes prevented them from falling as she caught the child's narrow shoulders.

" 'Scuse me.'' The little girl, whom Maggie judged to be about seven or eight, was looking up at her with big brown eyes, her amber brows scrunched together with undisguised curiosity. "Who are you?"

Taken aback by the little girl's forthrightness, Maggie hesitated as she gently set the child away from her. "Maggie."

"Maggie who?" came the response the same moment Maggie heard a movement behind her in the hall.

"Never mind, young lady." Ethan's voice rumbled with quiet authority. Maggie instantly let go of the child. She didn't have to see Ethan's face to know he was furious that she was even touching the girl, much less speaking to her.

"Oh, Daddy, you always say that," the girl chided the big man who now loomed threateningly over them both. The exasperation in the high little voice might have struck Maggie as comical at any other time, but under the circumstances, she felt only apprehension.

A quick look at the iron set of Ethan's features confirmed that Maggie had every reason to feel apprehensive. Cold fury snapped in his dark eyes as he reached out and pulled his daughter away from her.

Maggie could only stare, stricken by the action that suggested Ethan considered her brief contact with his daughter contaminating. Would everyone react to her like this? Her answer was in the harshness of Ethan's face.

She faltered a moment until pride stiffened her spine. She'd suffered too much the past two years to let the Ethan Kincaids of this world cow her or make her duck her head in shame.

Shielding her thoughts behind a brittle facade, she turned and made a dignified exit through the living room to the front door where she let herself out.

Outside in the cool air, she buttoned her coat and gathered her things from the end of the porch. A spring snowstorm was brewing; she could smell it in the air. The overcast sky was starting to turn a deeper gray, but Maggie was too riled to give much thought to whether she made it into town before the snow became too heavy.

Ethan watched from the front windows as Maggie neared the crest of the hill that stood between his house and the highway. He'd never been deliberately cruel to anyone in his life—harsh, maybe, or stern. But as he watched her walk away, loaded down with what looked like all she owned in the world, he felt as if he'd kicked a stray dog for coming to his door for scraps.

It was a hell of a way for him to feel, especially when he was right not to hire someone like her. A lady rustler. So fresh out of prison that the ink on her release papers wasn't dry.

Nevertheless, the moment she was out the door, he'd put in a call to his brother-in-law's office. He'd not been eager to ask Jace about what she'd meant when she'd hinted that Jace didn't believe she was guilty, but he'd figured he could at least hear what Jace had to say about it. After he'd given him hell for sending her out here.

But Jace was out of town at a change-of-venue trial until the end of the month. Ethan hadn't reckoned the call was important enough to have the secretary track him down.

Which was all right with him, he told himself. His mind was already made up. By the time he had the opportunity to talk to Jace, he'd be lucky to remember Maggie Beaton's name.

A gust of cold air rattled the windows in front of him. He watched the lone figure in the distance shift her load to reach up a bare hand and tug her hat lower against the wind. It was going to snow by nightfall—a real howler, if the weather reports were accurate. The boys would be bringing the heavy cows in closer to the calving sheds and someone should be getting the hay wagons loaded to take out to the feed grounds on the range by morning. Every animal with any sense would be looking for shelter.

Ethan's conscience prodded him and made him more uncomfortable as Maggie disappeared over the crest of the hill. It hadn't occurred to him that she'd come here on foot. If he'd known, he would have offered her a ride to town. She was in for a long, cold walk back to Red Horse, and when she got there, the only place out of the weather would be a bar, Tillie's Cafe or the back seat of a county sheriff's car.

He swore softly as a burst of wind-driven sleet hit the front windows. Though she could hitch a ride with someone once she got to the highway, she wasn't dressed warmly enough to walk until some good Samaritan happened along. And if the weather were deteriorating as rapidly as it looked to be, good Samaritans would be hard to come by. Ethan hesitated only a moment more. He had to go after her. Someone—and it looked as if it would have to be him—had to see to it that she got safely to town, ex-con or not. But that was as much as he was willing to do. What became of her after he got her there was her problem.

Ethan turned to start for the back porch to get his hat and parka when the phone rang. He entered the kitchen as Alva said quickly, "I'll tell him," and hung up the receiver.

"Reece wants to know if you've got a spare thermocouple to fit the furnace down at the bunkhouse. He just got in and figures the heat's been off most of the afternoon, by the feel of it."

Ethan released an impatient breath as he crossed to the pantry off the east side of the big kitchen. "It's a damned inconvenient time for that furnace to act up."

"It'll be even more inconvenient if you don't have a spare part to fix it," Alva pointed out before she returned to her meal preparations.

Ethan rummaged through the assortment of replacement parts he kept until he found what he was looking for. He'd just stepped into the kitchen when the lights flickered, dimmed, then came back on.

"Looks like we might have to start up the generator," Alva commented.

"If we do and I don't get back right away, call down and get one of the men to start it for you," he said as he headed for the porch, the furnace part in hand.

"I reckon it can wait till you get back."

Ethan tossed the part onto a bench along the outside wall of the porch. "No telling how long I'll be, Alva. As soon as I get this down to Reece, I'm going to town."

Alva's brows raised at that. "Looked outside lately?"

"That's why I've got to go," he said briskly as he reached for his Stetson and parka. "The girl Jason sent must've walked all the way out here. Leastways, she was walking back last time I looked."

"You didn't hire her?" Alva was clearly surprised.

"Nope." Ethan's stern manner indicated he didn't care to elaborate. As he put on the parka and ran the zipper up to his chin, he caught sight of Alva's curious look, well aware she was capable of pestering him half to death for the details. Tugging his hat brim down to a determined angle over his eyes, he grumbled a low, "Forget about her, Alva. She'd be nothing but trouble."

The housekeeper's eyes twinkled at that. "Trouble for the ranch . . . or trouble for the boss?"

Ethan's lips thinned as he turned away, grabbed up the part and opened the door. "Same difference."

Alva's chuckle followed him out into the storm.

As he stepped away from the protection of the house, the first big gust of wind caught at his breath and peppered his face with bits of ice.

Had someone come along and picked her up before the storm had turned this bad? The question nagged him and increased his sense of guilt as he reached up to pull the brim of his hat lower to shield his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to resist, he couldn't forget the sight of Maggie Deaton walking over the hill.

He also couldn't forget the way she'd sat across the desk from him and let him know upfront that she was a lady with a past—the kind of past that would almost guarantee he wouldn't hire her. It had taken nerve and a fair amount of honesty to do that, but he didn't want to dwell on the thought that she might have some character. She had a criminal record, and though she couldn't be more than twenty-three or twenty-four at the outside, not to mention very attractive, he had trouble believing prison could truly rehabilitate anyone. Besides, weren't young criminals the worst kind?

She'd come across as tough. But then, came the unwanted thought, he'd also seen a spark of fear and vulnerability in those blue eyes. And pain. He'd overreacted to her accidental meeting with Jamie in the hall. Though she'd quickly shuttered the hurt behind an aloof mask, he'd seen it clearly.

Remembering that, he felt even more guilty—not for refusing to hire her, but for standing at the window and waiting to see how fast the weather would turn bad before he made the decision to go after her and offer her a ride.

Damn! His brother-in-law had gotten him into this. What the hell was J ace thinking of, anyway, sending him a convicted rustler? And now that Jamie was old enough to spend a lot of time down at the barns in the company of the hands, the last thing he wanted around was an ex- con.

Ethan wrestled with his thoughts all the way to the bunkhouse and back. He passed through the barn nearest the house, then angled toward where he'd parked his truck. The ground was already dangerously slick, and he was forced to cover the remaining distance to the pickup truck with care. Was she still afoot, or was she someplace warm by now, he wondered as he opened the truck door and dug out an ice scraper to clear the windshield. The time and effort it took to chip away the ice only increased his sense of urgency. He'd never have any peace until he caught up with Maggie and drove her as far as Tillie's Cafe, or found she'd already made it safely to town.

He was probably making a trip for nothing, he consoled himself. If she hadn't hitched a ride with someone, surely she'd have had sense enough to come back to the ranch to seek shelter when the freezing rain started, wouldn't she? He stopped scraping a moment to glance down the driveway as he considered the possibility.

"Hell, why would she?" he groused when he could see no sign of her in the icy twilight. He hadn't exactly given her reason to think she'd be welcome here, no matter what the circumstances.

With a last angry swipe of the scraper, he finished with the windshield. If he hurried, he could be home in time to cozy up to a hot meal with his daughter and forget Maggie Deaton had ever crossed his path.

Ethan wrenched open the door and climbed in, slamming it hard enough to send a small avalanche of ice clattering from the side window. He twisted the key, barely giving the engine a moment to catch before he eased the big vehicle down the driveway.

CHAPTER TWO

Maggie couldn't remember ever being so cold. The wind was coming full at her, driving icy rain that had her shivering with every harsh gust. Though the rain was falling intermittently, she wasn't dressed for a six-mile walk in this kind of weather, not even after she'd stopped to add a sweater to the shirt she already wore beneath her denim jacket. The scarf and work gloves she'd pulled out to protect her face and hands were still reasonably dry, but she knew the wet cold would soon penetrate them.

The highway was so slick with ice that she'd chosen a more stable path on the gravel shoulder. Darkness was falling rapidly and so was her prospect of making it into town. Few would dare to venture out in such hazardous weather, so her hopes of catching a ride with someone on the way into Red Horse were practically nil.

Pride kept her from turning back to seek shelter at the Kincaid Ranch. Ethan Kincaid hadn't been willing to give her a chance, not even on his brother-in-law's say-so. It wasn't as if she had no one to vouch for her, though even she had to admit that nowadays Jason Sawyer was probably the only one who would. And the way Ethan had reacted when he'd found her with his daughter warned her that she'd be foolish to expect him to allow her to wait out the storm in one of his barns, much less in his warm house. Perhaps the animosity she bore Ethan Kincaid had more to do with the old feelings of frustration and betrayal he'd stirred up.

She'd been shocked that the people back home who'd known her and her father had been so easily convinced she was capable of stealing from them to save her ranch. It was a good thing, she thought now, her father hadn't lived to see that. If his bad heart hadn't already given out three years before her conviction, it surely would have then.

The next gust of wind caught her in midstep, and for a precarious moment she fought to regain her footing. She landed hard on the wet, icy gravel, grimacing as she felt the small rocks gouge into her left thigh and hip.

Disentangling herself from the duffel bag and overnight case straps, she got carefully to her feet. In dismay she realized her jeans and gloves were soaked through from the fall, guaranteeing hypothermia and frostbite. Good sense dictated she swallow her pride and head back to the Kincaid Ranch. Though it stung, seeking shelter was now imperative.

She'd started back the way she'd come when she saw the lights of a truck moving slowly toward her over a shallow rise of highway. Hope surged, but she kept on several paces until the vehicle drew near. It was then that she stopped and made out the dark shadow of a black pickup inching its way along.

She put out a gloved thumb and made a brief hitchhiker's signal to the driver, then waited as the truck slid to a halt on the pavement. In the light of the headlamps she could see clearly that the highway had become a solid sheet of ice and that everything—the wire fence along the highway, the long strands of dormant grass that spiked up in the ditches—was heavily coated.

The passenger door was thrust open, and she walked toward it, balancing her bags awkwardly as she negotiated the ice. She had taken the straps of her cases from her shoulders to toss into the back of the pickup when she recognized the man sitting beneath the dome light inside the cab.

Surprise made her hesitate. Her reluctance to accept a ride from Ethan must have shown, because she saw one side of his mouth twist in annoyance. "Get in or walk. It's your choice."

Maggie stiffened at his rough tone. His words implied indifference to the prospect of her freezing to death on the road. She would have liked to slam the door and reject his offer of a ride, but she was too cold and in too dangerous a predicament to turn him down.

Without a word, she hefted her things into the truck bed and climbed in, shutting the passenger door. The hot dry air from the dash vents hit her, the abrupt temperature change sending her into shivering spasms that made her teeth chatter.

"Better get that seat belt buckled. Won't be a Sunday drive," he muttered crossly.

Ethan didn't spare her a glance as he put the truck into gear and slowly let out the clutch to start the vehicle off at a crawl. Relieved to be ignored, Maggie shakily unwrapped the wet scarf and peeled her sodden work gloves from her hands. Her clothing was coated with ice, and she felt soaked to the bone as it started to melt. She fumbled for the seat belt, forced to give up when she couldn't get her fingers to cooperate enough to buckle it.

Hating that she had to betray how cold she really was, she held out her hands toward the hot jets of air coming from the dashboard. She flexed her fingers in hopes of warming them more quickly, then instinctively grabbed the armrest when the pickup started to skid.

Ethan growled as the back end of the truck swung around. The downward incline caused the vehicle to pick up speed. Since using the brakes would have made things worse, he had no choice but to steer into the skid to keep the big vehicle on the highway.

It was a lost cause in a matter of seconds as the pickup went totally out of control. The skid Ethan couldn't correct sent them into a spin toward the deep, wide ditch on Maggie's side of the highway. She could only grip the armrest as the big vehicle whirled around to tumble backward and sideways over the shoulder of the highway.

Maggie was pitched violently toward Ethan's side of the truck cab, cracking her head against the steering wheel as the pickup came to a bone-jarring halt.

Ethan stared down at the pale, wind-burned face illuminated by the lights of the dashboard. Maggie lay limp as a wet rag doll across his lap, and he muttered a string of curses when he realized she was unconscious. His cursing stopped midstream as he felt the involuntary tremors that shook her body. She must have been half- frozen.

A rush of protectiveness swept through him. Tenderly he brought his hand up to cup her cold cheek and turn her face more fully toward him. A contusion above her temple at the hairline seeped a trickle of blood and was already beginning to swell.

The abrupt jerk of the truck as it slipped a few inches farther down the side of the ditch distracted him. He peered out the windshield and swiftly took stock of the situation.

With luck, he might be able to steer the pickup to the bottom of the ditch without rolling it. From there, it should be possible to drive until the bottom of the ditch rose close enough to the level of the highway for him to drive out.

Then, depending on how badly off Maggie was, he'd decide whether to take her back home until the roads were safer or hazard taking her directly to the doctor in town.

Much as he'd like to blame Maggie for this, he knew the fault was his own. If he'd had the chains on the tires in the first place, or stopped to put them on, they might not be sitting in a ditch in the middle of an ice storm.

He looked down into Maggie's still face with concern. If he'd noticed she'd not had her seat belt buckled and done it himself, she wouldn't be lying across his lap, out cold, probably with a concussion.

"And I wouldn't be feeling so damned responsible for this." His voice softened to a rough whisper as he gazed down at her. "I thought cattle rustlers and ex-cons were tough." His fingers lightly caressed her cool cheek, lingering on its softness in a gesture that was part apology, part impulse. "It'd be easier on both of us if you were."

Seeing no sign that Maggie was hurt in any other way, he gently slid his hands beneath her and lifted until she was leaning against his right side. Clenching his jaw, he restarted the truck and slipped it into gear to angle it deeper into the ditch.

Maggie came to as Ethan got the truck leveled out at the bottom. Stunned and disoriented, she stirred and tried to sit up straighter, realizing she'd been leaning heavily against Ethan's side.

"You all right?"

Maggie shook her head slightly to clear it, flinching at the shock of pain that pierced her temple at the movement. She tried to lean away from Ethan, but breaking contact with the solid warmth of his side sent a fresh chill through her.

"Maggie?" The concern in Ethan's voice caused her to look at him directly. The chiseled angles of his face looked less formidable now, and his dark eyes were intent on her.

Unnerved by the change in him, she looked away and inched farther toward her side of the wide bench seat. "I'm fine." She reached up to gingerly touch the area of swelling above her temple. "Just a little bump."

Ethan's arm brushed hers as he reached behind the seat. He pulled out a coarse blanket and handed it to her. "Go ahead and wrap yourself in this while I try to get the chains on."

When she seemed slow to respond, he unfolded the blanket, then draped it around her. She made a small sound of protest when he smoothed the blanket across her lap and tucked the edges around her thighs. The sound caught his attention for a moment and he paused.

Was it only because she was so cold that his hands seemed to burn through the blanket to the wet denim plastered to her chilled skin? As he leaned across her to finish the task, their eyes clung together in the shadowy interior of the cab. She could feel his warm, mint-scented breath on her flushed cheeks; and the woodsy after-shave- and-leather smell of him surrounded her. His masculinity was smothering in the close confines, but instead of feeling alarmed at the sensation, she found it oddly reassuring. She felt safe in a way she hadn't in years, while at the same time threatened by something she couldn't put words to.

Ethan was the one who abruptly broke contact and moved away. She closed her eyes wearily and listened as he opened the truck door and rummaged on the floor behind the seat. She heard the heavy clink of the chains as he dragged them out and snapped the door closed.

Putting the chains on took him longer than it would have on smoother ground in daylight, but at last he climbed back inside. Maggie's eyes popped open in surprise when he reached over to fasten her seat belt. He was so quick about it that he gave the impression she was just so much cargo that had to be secured before a rough ride.

The drive along the bottom of the ditch was slow and bumpy, and her head pounded with every jolt. Several times it seemed as if the chains couldn't gain enough purchase on the ice-coated grass. Eventually the ditch became more shallow until it was almost level with the shoulder of the highway. Ethan abruptly steered toward the side of the ditch.

With a roar of a big engine and a couple of jarring lurches, the truck was on the highway, half on the shoulder and half on the pavement. Ethan shifted into neutral, set the brake, then looked at her. "How's the head?"

With a sinking feeling of disappointment, Maggie knew he was all set to turn the big truck west and drive her to Red Horse. "Nothing a little aspirin won't cure," she answered, but he stared at her skeptically.

"Feel dizzy or sick to your stomach?"

"No, just cold. I'll be fine once we get to town."

Maggie had to look away from his intent study of her face. The silence, broken only by the ceaseless pelt of sleet on the roof and the measured swish of the wiper blades, stretched out.

"Honey, in case you hadn't noticed, the weather's pretty foul." Ethan's rough tone gave his sarcastic words an added sting. Maggie's eyes flew to meet the renewed hardness in his. "If you think I plan to risk my tail a second time for you tonight, think again."

Maggie's shock switched to an anger that deepened the color in her cheeks and brought all her self-protective instincts to alert. For a few moments she'd been lured into thinking Ethan was genuinely concerned about her. His small bit of kindness had slipped past her defenses with humiliating ease, stirring a hunger for tenderness that shamed her now. She must have hit her head harder than she thought.

"I didn't ask you to risk your tail in the first place," she pointed out. "I wouldn't expect you to risk it now if I didn't think you'd rather eat barbed wire than have me set foot on your ranch."

For what seemed like an eternity, their gazes clashed, flashing warnings neither of them gave voice to. The tension inside the truck grew unbearable before Ethan jammed the engine into gear.

Maggie didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until he cranked the wheel to the left and turned the truck toward home. Exhaustion eased the stiffness from her body and blunted her anger as she faced forward to stare wearily out the windshield. It was a relief to know she had someplace to stay tonight, even if it were grudgingly offered. She wasn't certain Red Horse had a motel. The thought that she might have gone on into town soaking wet and half-frozen, then not been able to find a room, was one she hadn't wanted to consider.

Maggie chanced a careful look at Ethan. Judging by the iron set of his jaw, nothing short of the severity of the storm could have persuaded him to come after her. She was too wet and too cold to care. She wouldn't even mind his harshness. She wasn't used to kindness, anyway, these days, and as she'd already learned, she was far too emotionally vulnerable to resist it. In the long run, he'd be doing her an enormous favor if he remained hostile.

Maggie shrugged deeper into the blanket as Ethan carefully turned the pickup off the highway. The rhythmic ringing of the chains on the pavement was suddenly muffled as the tires rolled onto the gravel driveway of the ranch. The ride was less precarious from there. Maggie's eyelids drooped tiredly as the lights of the big ranch house came into sight.

A wave of emotion stole over her as the golden glow of lighted windows brought back the feeling of coming home. How many nights of her life had she ridden to the house after a hard day and been greeted by such a welcoming sight? A lump of homesickness formed in her throat. The ranch she'd grown up on was gone now. By the time her father died, hard times had driven the ranch into the red, and she'd had to struggle day and night to hold on to it. Later, the legal fees for her defense and the heavy fines the judge had imposed at her sentencing had forced it onto the auction block.

Four generations of Deatons had run cattle on that northern Wyoming land, through boom times and bad, but she was the Deaton who'd finally lost it all. She felt no less guilty knowing the ranch's last decline had started long before she'd taken over, or that her stepbrother's shady dealings had finished it off.

The abrupt silence of the big engine as Ethan switched it off brought her back to the present. She glanced his way, sensing by the stony set of his profile that he was about to say something unpleasant. She thought instantly of his little daughter and how sorely his fatherly instinct to protect the child must be chafing him now.

"You can relax, Mr. Kincaid. I was convicted of stealing livestock, not small children. If your cook could find me something to eat and a thermos of something hot, a dry spot in one of your heated barns would do fine."

Ethan's head jerked around, the hardness in his eyes like charred steel.

At his thunderous expression, one corner of her mouth lifted in a weary twist. "And I'm not a good enough thief to make off with too many cattle in this kind of weather."

The blistering curse that assaulted her ears made her wince. Suddenly he reached for her. Panicked by his abrupt action, Maggie drew away in alarm. The hand she'd thrust from beneath the blanket in self-defense struck his sharply, and she gasped when he seized her wrist in his big fist. A battle ensued as she tried to free it from his unrelenting grip while he reached for her with his other hand. The click of her seat belt release and the roll and snap of its recoil startled her.

"Just what in hell did you think I was going to do, hit you?" he demanded, his voice pounding her eardrums in the closed cab as his grip on her wrist brought her closer to him.

The answer was in the shadowy depths of her frightened eyes and the pallor of her tense features as she braced her other hand against him. Ethan sensed if he let her go now, she'd run. The notion bothered him.

"Dammit, Maggie, I'm a man who growls a lot and swears too much, but I've never hit a woman in my life." He paused as if realizing he was nearly roaring at her. Something barely perceptible flickered over his face, telling Maggie that the small bit of personal information he'd volunteered about himself had been as unintentional as it had been spontaneous.

In that instant Maggie sensed that an emotional line was being crossed, a line that was emphasized by the way they were touching each other. Their reluctant embrace connected strongly to something intense in them both. Blue eyes locked into black as a strange quickening surged between them.

It was Ethan who withdrew first, his expression turning hard again, his dark eyes shielding everything from her but anger. He released her slowly and she pulled back.

"Take that blanket and go on into the house. I'll get your things."

Relieved he was no longer touching her, Maggie rallied and shoved the blanket in his direction. "I'll get them myself." Fumbling for her wet gloves and scarf, she wasted no time in getting her door open. Balancing precariously on the slick running board of the truck, she reached into the back to begin lifting out her cases. Her head pounded as she leaned over the side to where the cases had shifted. To her surprise, her hand shook as she stretched out her arm to catch hold of the strap to the overnight case.

She was about to drag the case toward her when Ethan reached from the driver's side and pulled the strap from her fingers. Just that quickly, he snatched up the handles to all three cases in one big hand, lifted them over the side and started for the house before she could voice a protest. Left hanging over the side of the pickup, her head aching, the wind and sleet still lashing at her, Maggie was secretly glad Ethan had ignored her stubborn declaration.

She as much slipped off the running board as stepped off, the icy footing on the ground forcing her to cling to the side of the truck until she made her way past it toward the porch. She'd just reached it when the door swung open and Ethan leaned down to catch her elbow. His firm grip steadied her ascent of the slick steps more than she wanted him to know. The moment she was safely inside she pulled away, relieved to escape the odd flurry of emotion his touch had provoked.

"Might as well take those boots off. Find a peg to hang your things. You can see to getting them dried later." Having already removed his boots and outer gear, Ethan turned and stepped through the inner door to the kitchen. Maggie made quick use of the bootjack and found enough empty pegs on the porch wall to hang her coat, hat and scarf. She draped her gloves across the top of the boots, which she'd set on the edge of a throw rug.

Eager to reach the warmth inside, she hurried into the kitchen and closed the door. The heat in the big room provoked more chill tremors and she gritted her teeth till her jaws hurt to keep them from chattering.

Ethan was crouched next to her luggage, using the blanket he'd carried in from the truck to wipe the cases dry.

"Good Lord, girl, you must be half-frozen!" Alva exclaimed as she bustled into the kitchen and caught sight of Maggie. "We'd better get you out of those wet clothes and into a hot bath."

"I'll take care of it." Ethan's voice cut across Alva's concern, drawing a surprised look from the woman. He rose to his full height and tossed the wet blanket in the general direction of a chair. "You see Jamie gets to bed."

Alva bristled at Ethan's brusque tone but said nothing as she turned to leave the room.

Ethan glanced Maggie's way, letting his dark eyes sweep over her once before he crossed to the coffee percolator on the counter. In short order, he'd pulled two big mugs out of the cupboard and filled them close to the brim, then he held one out for her.

Maggie stepped forward and took the mug. Unfortunately the tremors she couldn't suppress made her hands shake. Before he'd completely released the cup, her unsteady grip sent some of the scalding liquid spilling onto his fingers.

"I'm sorry." Maggie's hasty apology and quick look up into Ethan's harsh features was received with a curt "No harm done" before he stepped past her with his coffee and gathered up her bags. He carried them from the room, leaving Maggie to follow.

Carefully holding the mug with both hands, Maggie trailed behind, hesitating for a cautious sip of coffee before she stepped into the hall. Savoring the taste of the strong brew and the heat that seeped down her throat to warm her insides, Maggie got a firmer grip on the mug and continued on. She was little more than halfway down the dim hall when the sensation of being closed in hit.

Restlessness churned in her stomach, affecting her as forcefully as it had on the bus. The ride in the pickup hadn't provoked any hint of this crowded, stifling feeling, so she'd all but forgotten it. Until now.

Anxiety swelled in her chest, blossoming in every direction and sending a new kind of tremor through her. Desperate to fight it, Maggie tried to concentrate on anything that would relieve the awful sensation.

Ahead of her, much farther down the hall that now seemed unnaturally narrow, Ethan strode, his wide- shouldered body easily clearing both walls. Though he carried a coffee mug in one hand and gripped the awkward bulk of her luggage in the other, he had more than enough space to maneuver. That he could do something as simple as walk down a hall with such ease and unconcern increased her sense of panic. What was happening to her?

"You coming?" Ethan had disappeared from the hall and had called out from one of the doors near its end. As ashamed of her irrational cowardice as she was confused by it, Maggie hurried along, relieved when she reached the room Ethan was waiting in.

Miraculously, once she stepped into the softly lit guest room, her panic began to ease. The annoyance stamped so plainly on Ethan's stern features brought her a tiny niggle of anger that, oddly, seemed to blunt the panic even more.

"You can sleep here tonight. My room's across the hall." He nodded in that direction, his reason for letting her know as clear as an outright admission of mistrust. "Better get that hot bath. We'll eat in the living room later." With that, he stepped past her and closed the door on his way out.

But the moment the door clicked shut, something dark and frightening was triggered in Maggie. Without hesitation, she turned toward the door, grabbing wildly at the knob to jerk it open. Somehow, instead of flinging the door wide as fear demanded, she managed to regain control and to pull it open only a few inches. Relief swamped her and she rested her forehead against the smooth, stained wood, waiting for her racing heart to slow.

At last the panic settled, but left in its wake a bewildering sense of dread.

Maggie leaned back in the steamy water of her bath, at a loss to understand what was wrong with her. Rarely did anything truly frighten her. Yet as she glanced toward the open door of the guest-room bath, she was uncomfortably aware that closed doors and small spaces had the power to send her into unreasonable panic.

Maybe not so unreasonable, she reflected. After all, she'd spent more than two years locked in prison, confined and restricted to small indoor areas. For someone raised as she had been—with the freedom of all outdoors from the time she'd learned to walk—prison had been a cruelty almost too much to bear. Only her hope for an early parole and her determination to clear her name had gotten her through it.

She hadn't dreamed that the first day of her release would be such a disappointment. Ethan Kincaid's reaction to her criminal record was brutal proof that leading a normal life, much less disproving the charges against her, might be next to impossible.

Disheartened at the thought, Maggie washed her hair and climbed out of the tub. She briskly rubbed most of the wetness from her hair with a towel, carefully avoiding the swelling near her scalp. When she finished, she dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a white shirt before she pulled on a thick navy sweater for another layer of warmth. Grabbing a wide-toothed comb, she allowed herself a moment to glance around the guest bedroom while she worked the worst of the tangles from her hair.

The room was homey. The patchwork quilt on the bed, the white doilies on the dresser and nightstand, the frilly white tie-back Priscilla curtains at the double windows and the gold Victorian fringe on the lamp shades gave the room a comfortable country look that put her at ease.

Pausing from the task of combing her hair, she glanced toward the door to the hall she'd left ajar. Suddenly feeling ridiculous about her earlier fright, she hesitated only a moment before she crossed the dark gold area rug.

There was nothing in this room to remind her of prison, she told herself as she put out a hand and let it rest lightly on the smooth wood of the door. What she'd felt earlier must have been a simple reaction to the trying events of the day. After all, she'd only been released from prison a few hours ago. Perhaps it took time to feel comfortable with the change. Resolving to give fear no place to take root in her life, she closed the door with a decisive shove.

CHAPTER THREE

Ethan' strode down the long hail from the bedroom end of the sprawling ranch house toward the living room. He'd heard his unwanted houseguest leave her room a few moments ago and figured it was time he did the same. He'd been in to kiss Jamie good-night, forestalling her complaints about an early bedtime and questions about Maggie with a promise to take her to visit the collie pups at the bunkhouse the next day. He hoped that would be right after he got Maggie Deaton out of the house and into Red Horse.

Her presence unsettled him. He dismissed the idea that it was because she was easy to look at. He'd been attracted to good-looking women before. Hell, he wasn't any wet-behind-the-ears kid. He'd been a widower almost six years, long enough to get past the grief of losing his wife to an accident and explore one or two romantic possibilities. He had enough female companionship, a woman when he wanted one and the freedom to back off when he didn't. He could pass Maggie up as easily as he had the others, so he figured it was her prison record that made him edgy. He didn't want Jamie exposed to women like her, but until the storm broke and she was gone, it was going to be hard to minimize that exposure.

Shock jarred him as he came to the end of the hall that opened into the living room. Maggie stood in front of the fireplace. Unaware of his presence, she ran her finger through her damp hair, fluffing the long, natural curls as she leaned close to the drying heat of the fire. Before, her hair had looked dark brown; in the firelight, it was shot through with a subtle mixture of deep red gold that reminded him of the last colors of sunset.

With her eyes closed against the heat, Maggie turned toward him, gently fluffing and finger-combing the tresses, which, unbound, fell nearly to her slim waist. Her hair was everywhere, the rising heat stirring the wavy strands until they billowed around her shoulders and head like an aura. Despite the serenity on her wind-rouged face as she so obviously enjoyed the heat, the gentle dance of all those waves and curls gave her a sensually wild look that made Ethan grit his teeth.

Forcing himself to move as if he'd just walked in, he spoke, careful to keep his gaze stern. "There should have been a hair drier someplace in your room."

Maggie's eyes flew open and caught his before she glanced away. "I didn't look. This is just as good." She moved away from the fire, flicking the comb through her hair a few times to calm the flyaway strands before she slipped it into her pocket.

"Find someplace to sit. I'll tell Alva we're ready to eat."

Maggie sank tiredly into an overstuffed chair, his grim tone reminding her that she wasn't welcome here. Welcome or not, she'd finally gotten warm and, thanks to Ethan's reluctant hospitality, had a comfortable place to sleep and wait out the storm.

If she'd arrived at the Kincaid Ranch two hours earlier, she could have made it back to Red Horse before the storm hit. But then, she'd learned some hard lessons about bad timing and rotten luck. Her stepbrother, Bret, had taught her enough about that tragic combination to last her a lifetime. Her contribution to the mix had been ignorance and naïveté.

Maggie stared into the fire, her insides churning with the familiar feelings of anger and self-recrimination as she remembered.

She'd been blind to the rustling operation Bret had set up. Though she'd questioned his late night disappearances and the way he always seemed to have a lot of money to throw around, she hadn't had time to be suspicious.

Worries of paying the estate taxes levied on her when she'd inherited the ranch and the resulting hardships when she'd had to sell off part of her cattle herd had left her with a flurry of new problems. She'd worked day and night in an attempt to make up for the ranch hands she'd had to lay off. Thus distracted, she'd done no more than make a pointed comment to Bret now and then about his behavior or dock his wages whenever he was unable to put in a full day's work.

Her father had never gotten along with his late wife's only son. His efforts to make a man of Bret had done little more than create tremendous friction between the two. Eli's intolerance of soft men and Bret's aversion to hard work were the reasons Eli hadn't left Bret even a small share in the ranch.

Maggie hadn't had it easy, either. Her father had expected as much from her as he would have from a son, instilling in her his own sense of integrity and hard work, grooming her for the day she'd take over the ranch. In Eli's mind, a woman with iron and ability could run an outfit like the Deaton Ranch as well as a man—as long as she was his daughter. The directives in his will had been Eli's final words on the subject.

If Maggie hadn't felt a measure of guilt about the severe way her father had treated her stepbrother, Bret's laziness would have made him one of the first ranch hands she'd laid off when she'd cut back the cattle operation. Instead, she'd let him stay on.

He'd made a few mild remarks about being "poor relation," but she hadn't dreamed his bitterness went so deep that he'd organize a theft ring to prey upon the cattlemen in the area. It was only after he let his actions become obvious enough to raise her suspicions that she'd secretly followed him one night and experienced a brutal awakening.

She'd caught him in the act of stealing ten head of a neighbor's best cattle. There'd barely been time to confront him before they heard the wail of sirens and three patrol cars careened across the moonlit range toward them.

"Looks like Sheriff Harper believed that anonymous tip." Bret's words confused her momentarily until he added, "I'm just surprised the fat fool got my directions right. He coulda' ended up three miles over."

The two men with him laughed, then ran toward the four-wheel-drive pickup on the other side of the stock truck they'd parked in the pasture.

"What's going on, Bret?" she'd demanded, the whirlwind of anger, betrayal and fear she felt intensifying as Bret turned to follow his accomplices.

"You already asked me that," he tossed back, a mocking grin on his face.

Glancing nervously at the approaching patrol cars that were racing toward them, she'd gone after Bret, catching his arm to jerk him to a halt as she stepped in front of him to block his way.

"You've been behind this rustling for months, haven't you? You've been stealing from our friends, our neighbors-"

"Your friends, your neighbors," he sneered, his face twisted in an angry mask. "Yours and that square-toed old fossil who thought he was king of the cattle barons." The bark of laughter he gave was more mockery than amusement. "Boy howdy, I hated that old man of yours. I couldn't ran an operation like this under his nose and get him hung up in it, so I did the next best thing." Bret's expression was one of pure hatred. "I ran it under his little girl's nose until she's in so deep she's over her head." Again Bret laughed, and Maggie's sick feeling turned into a dead weight of dread.

"What do you mean?" Her mouth was dry with fear as his stunning words slammed at her.

"That'd take more time to explain than I've got right now," he said, nodding toward the approaching vehicles. "Besides, I wouldn't want to spoil the fun of your surprise. Old Sheriff Harper's gonna think he died and went to heaven when he gets all this rustlin' pinned on Eli Dea- ton's daughter. Bet he'll win the fall election in a landslide."

With that, Bret shoved her roughly aside. Maggie swayed in shock, too numb to do more than stare as Bret raced to the pickup, leapt behind the wheel and roared off.

The three sheriffs' cars, their sirens screaming at a deafening pitch, skidded to a halt in a haphazard half circle in front of the stock truck not seconds after Bret and his friends disappeared into a deep fold of range.

The headlamps of the patrol cars lit up the area. Maggie turned toward them as their doors opened and sheriff's deputies swarmed toward her.

Thus began the nightmare of her arrest, the deputy's inability to apprehend Bret and his cohorts, the sheriff's investigation that turned up evidence that incriminated Maggie, her trial and unsuccessful defense. . .

"Hope you like your steak done medium." Ethan's voice drew her from her grim thoughts. He entered the big room and crossed to her, handing her a tray.

Maggie reached for it with a faint smile of thanks, then set it across her lap as he returned to the kitchen for another. For a moment, she savored the rich meaty aroma of lightly marinated beef broiled to perfection. The steamy baked potato overflowing with a huge dollop of sour cream rested by the rim of the large plate, which was nearly filled with steak. A hearty assortment of vegetables were piled on the other side of the steak, and a miniature loaf of homemade bread sat on a separate plate next to a small cup of whipped butter. A mug of black coffee beside a generous wedge of Dutch apple pie completed the meal.

A pang of homesickness brought a knot to her throat as she reached for the linen napkin. Ethan rejoined her with his meal, and she cut into her steak and had a first taste.

The room remained silent except for the crackling of the fire and the occasional scrape of silverware against china. Maggie managed to eat every bite, hungry enough not to care what Ethan thought of her packing away as much food as he did. His opinion of her was carved in stone. There was little, good or bad, that would alter that.

As she set the tray aside and leaned back to sip her coffee, her eyes raised and met Ethan's. He, too, had finished his meal, his mug of coffee resting on the chair arm as he relaxed. Maggie steeled herself against the intense way he was looking at her.

"Your Mrs. Campbell is a great cook," she said quietly before she took a self-conscious sip of coffee. "Thanks for the meal."

"Looks like you got it down easy enough."

"It wasn't too tough a chore."

The silence stretched, and Maggie looked toward the fire, more comfortable watching the dance of flames than visually sparring with Ethan.

"How long till the storm lets up enough for me to leave?" she asked after a time. She sensed a tension in Ethan that caused her to look his way.

"Not soon enough," he grumbled. "Before we sat down, the report said snow through tomorrow night, maybe longer. Eight to twelve inches."

She nodded soberly, knowing how he felt about having her around for what might turn out to be a couple of days or more, depending on the severity of the storm. What she guessed bothered him most was her proximity to his daughter.

"If you're stuck with me, there's no reason for me to be underfoot up here at the house. I can work off the room and board." Maggie could tell from the tight line of Ethan's mouth that he wasn't thrilled with the idea of taking her up on her offer.

"How's that bump on your head?"

She gave an unconcerned shrug. "A little tender, not too achy, thanks to some aspirin. Probably won't even notice it after a good night's sleep."

The long silence that followed their brief conversation was another harsh reminder that Ethan considered her an intruder in his home. Maggie tried not to give in to the gray feeling of despair that gnawed at her. She'd always belonged, always known her place in the scheme of things, had always considered her future on the Deaton Ranch secure, settled. Though all that had long since been stripped from her, she'd never had such an overwhelming feeling of being cast adrift, belonging nowhere and having nowhere to go. Maggie stared down into her coffee, trying valiantly to suppress her dread.

"Something eating at you?"

Ethan's deep voice brought her head up, and her gaze collided with his. The look he was giving her, along with the trace of gentleness in his voice, told her he'd sensed something of her feelings. The compulsion she suddenly felt to give voice to them alarmed her. Ethan Kincaid wouldn't give two cents for her feelings, much less offer comfort. He'd interpret any kind of real confession from her as a play for sympathy, and Maggie couldn't stand that.

"It's been a long day. I think I'll turn in now." She rose and picked up her tray to carry into the kitchen. Ethan did likewise, letting her lead the way.

"Just put it on the counter. Alva said she'd take care of things in the morning."

Maggie sat her tray where he'd indicated, then turned to go to her room. The long hall didn't seem to bother her this time. Of course, the fact that Ethan was following kept her from being aware of anything else.

"If you're feeling up to it in the morning," he said, "I'll take you up on your offer to work."

She stopped in the doorway to her room and turned toward him. "I'll be ready."

Ethan looked as if he was going to say something else before impatience flashed across his face. He gave a rough-voiced good-night and stepped into his room. Maggie noticed he didn't quite close his door. Probably so he could hear in case she wandered through his house and robbed him, she thought resentfully.

Drawn by the promise of warmth and comfort in the bed that would be hers for at least this one night, Maggie hurried to get into it. She lay in the dark for some time after she'd turned off the light, savoring the size of the big bed and the lilac-scented bedding and listening to the soft howl of the wind and the occasional burst of sleet against the window. The gentle noises of the house gave her a secure feeling which she clutched to herself like a miser. But despite the unfamiliar sense of warmth and safety, she glanced a final time at her own partially open door.

Maggie leaned tiredly against a wood pole in the calving shed, sipping coffee while she watched the laboring heifer in the straw four feet away. She'd been working here since seven that morning—nearly ten hours. This was the first time, other than when she'd grabbed a meal or slipped off to clean up, that she'd been able to avail herself of the coffee in the thermos.

Being tired hadn't felt this good in ages, she reflected. Watching over first-time mommas and helping them through delivery, then seeing that the calves got a healthy start, was a messy, often exasperating, chore. She'd done it countless times before, but had rarely enjoyed it as much as she had today.

Maggie chuckled softly, careful not to alarm the skittish heifer. She wouldn't mind mucking out every stall on the Kincaid Ranch three times a day as long as she could be doing ranch work.

"That little heifer tellin' jokes?" Harv Bennett, one of the men she'd worked with that day, stopped on his way past the large open-topped stall. Grizzled looking, his face a network of sun-baked wrinkles, he had a grin nearly as white as his hair.

"She stopped joking a half hour ago," Maggie answered easily, comfortable bantering with the old cowhand.

"Looks like she's comin' along." He dug into the half- zipped front of his down vest for the cigarettes in his shirt pocket. "Doin' real good for a first-time mama."

Maggie nodded. "I think we had our share of hard births in the other shed this morning." There'd been three breech births that had nearly lost them both calf and cow, and the birth of twins during which they'd had to reach into the womb to sort out two sets of tangled legs. The mother hadn't accepted the smaller of the twins, so they'd tried to persuade another cow to adopt it. The last Maggie heard, the calf was still being bottle-fed.

"Got one there that laid down five minutes ago," Harv said, nodding toward the far corner. "She didn't look too near ready. I figure she's restin', waitin' to rattle oP Charlie when he comes to take his turn hand-holdin'."

Maggie grinned, not surprised. A lot of old cowhands preferred any kind of ranch chore to playing midwife.

"How's the weather doing?" she asked, then sipped more of the reviving coffee.

"Still fallin' hard and fast with enough wind behind it to set up some tall drifts. Only good it does is keep them rustlers holed up. If it keeps on like this, you're gonna be snowed in here a week." Harv gave a chuckle. "You might as well talk to the boss about hiring on. He can always use another good hand."

Maggie's smile was forced. Harv had hinted at that earlier and she'd pretended not to hear. Since that wasn't likely to work a second time, she glanced at him doubtfully, her mouth slanted in a skeptical line. "Not much chance of that. The weather up here is a little too cold for my blood."

She flinched inwardly at the lie. She'd spent every winter of her life in Wyoming, often working in weather as bad if not worse than this. But pride wouldn't let her tell Harv or anyone else on the Kincaid Ranch that the boss had already refused to hire her—and for reasons every man on the place, including Harv—would agree with completely if they knew.

She was grateful for the story Ethan had told his men. As far as any of them knew, she'd missed catching the bus in Red Horse and would have been stranded in town by the storm if the boss hadn't happened along. Ethan had offered her a place to stay, and with Alva to chaperon, there'd been nothing scandalous about Maggie's accepting his offer. Whether Ethan had wanted to do her the kindness or not, his not revealing what he knew had given her a chance to be accepted on the basis of hard work and ability. She'd been accepted for those qualities before, but she'd also been boss of her own spread. It was a consolation to know her skills were valued, even if she were no longer the one who signed the paychecks.

"Well, I'd say that's the biggest piece of bull-roar I've heard this week," Harv said, then grinned at her, a knowing twinkle in his dark eyes. "You're from a Wyoming ranch family somewheres. If not Wyoming, then maybe Montana."

Maggie finished her coffee, momentarily at a loss. Without looking at him, she twisted the lid back onto the thermos. "Just because I've been raised on a ranch in Wyoming doesn't mean I like the winters," she finally got out, hating having to compound her white lie.

The truth was, she loved Wyoming weather, good and bad. The variety and extremes made it a challenge, right along with the ranching way of life.

Before Harv could say more, the east door of the calving shed creaked open. A swirl of snow and cold air blew in with the three men who entered.

"By golly, it's about time we got some relief in here, Boss," Harv called out good-naturedly.

Maggie welcomed the interruption. Harv went ahead and introduced Maggie to the two cowhands accompanying Ethan. Bob was the tall one, and Charlie was the short one; he looked as unhappy about playing midwife as Harv had predicted. Maggie nodded to each one. Ethan stood silently by until Harv finished.

When the two hands moved away, Harv took up the conversation where he'd left off, only now he directed his comments to Ethan.

"Appears this storm turned up some luck for us, after all, Boss. You was meanin' to take on a couple more hands, then Miss Maggie here happens along. Been work- in' full tilt all day long, knows her business, steady as they come, and a heck of a lot easier on the eyes than anybody else you got workin' for you."

Maggie colored at Harv's enthusiasm, but dread clutched at her. With every word Harv had spoken, Ethan's expression had grown more severe. His dark look seemed to accuse her of setting out to win Harv over, to take advantage of the influence the old cowhand might have with him in order to get him to reconsider giving her a job.

Maggie stood stiffly, waiting for Ethan to bluntly put Harv straight, but surprisingly, he didn't. She herself was incapable of speech, her gaze held fast by the harshness in his.

"Weil, I reckon it don't take too much to guess I done put my foot in it somehow or someway," Harv mumbled with a shake of his white head and a chuckle that broke the tension and drew Ethan's gaze away from Maggie's. "I know, I know," Harv said, "if I had a dollar for every time I spoke out of turn, I'd own half the state."

Instead of commenting on that, Ethan said in a low tone, "We're done for the night."

Taking her cue, Maggie picked up her thermos and gloves, then stepped into the aisle. Ethan led the way to the door while she quickly buttoned her jacket. She pulled on her gloves as Ethan opened the door and let her precede him out of the shed.

The wind-driven snow stung her face, and the bitter cold cut mercilessly through her lined denim jacket. She drew the brim of her hat down to shield her eyes and slogged through the snowdrifts to the bigger barns and the house.

The storm had grown as bad as predicted. From what Maggie could see as she turned her face away from the wind enough to fully open her eyes, it had reached near- blizzard conditions. A rope had been strung along the path to prevent them from losing their sense of direction.

Maggie felt Ethan catch her elbow in a secure grip as they trudged along. The surprise she felt ebbed quickly into gratitude, for the bulk of his body beside hers created a partial windbreak. Maggie struggled against the protected feeling Ethan created as he walked in step with her, his strength aiding hers as they made their way through the drifts. As if he'd felt her shivering, he released her elbow and put his arm around her, pressing her so tightly against his side that her arm was forced around his waist.

A strange sensation tingled through her as they braced each other against the force of the wind. With each harsh gust, Ethan seemed to bend closer to shield her. Maggie couldn't help but cling harder to him, knowing her action had as much to do with a sudden craving to be pressed against him as with the need for his support.

Her relief at reaching the shelter of the house was blunted by the loss she felt when Ethan opened the porch door and immediately released her.

"You'd better pack that damned coat away for summer," Ethan said as he urged her inside, then closed the door securely behind them. "If you're still here tomorrow, you're gonna use that parka I had Alva dig up for you or I'll—" Ethan cut himself off, glared at her, then turned away to stomp the snow off his boots and remove his outer gear.

Maggie did likewise, trying not to notice the terse movements that signaled he was in a temper. Of course he'd be angry. The coat wasn't what had riled him; it was the fact that she was snowed in here for no telling how long. The ranch could indeed be cut off for days or even a week by the storm. She guessed Ethan didn't appreciate having his plan to be rid of her thwarted.

On the other hand, he didn't impress her as a man given to pouting when things didn't go his way. Ethan was more a man who, through strong will and determination, came against a problem again and again until he either ran roughshod over it or plowed his way through. The thought brought a faint smile of recognition to her. Her father had been like that. It turned out to be a family trait that had served her well when she'd taken over the ranch. Until her arrest.

Ethan glanced over in time to see the shadow of pain cross her face. Maggie turned her head instantly and grabbed for the broom to brush off the snow caked on her jeans.

Something in Ethan softened when she did that. For all her effort to present a stoic facade, there was a well of vulnerability underneath. She was getting to him, making inroads into places he didn't want her to be.

It was bad enough that he'd been attracted to her from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. Watching her dry her hair at the fire last night, knowing she'd slept across the hall from him and had been nearby all day, had worked at him, made him testy. All he could think about was her long curly hair dancing in the firelight and the way her work clothes fitted her soft female shape.

It didn't take a scholar to conclude that by the time he'd stopped by the calving shed to let Maggie know she was done for the day his preoccupation with her had put him in a foul mood. Listening to Harv's praise and not-so- subtle hints that he should hire her had only rankled him more. She'd managed to get the advantage over him, and he wasn't sure if she'd done it on purpose or not.

Then there was the walk to the house. At the time he'd convinced himself he was being chivalrous when he'd pulled her against his side to protect her from the bitter wind. But the moment he'd felt her womanly softness he'd realized his folly. Lust had sprung up in him like a fever, and he'd suddenly been glad her coat wasn't heavy enough to keep her warm.

He'd toyed with something he had no business thinking about, and now he took this as a bad sign. If the storm didn't let up soon, the carnal urges she stirred might get tangled too closely with the tender feelings she managed to evoke, and lead to real trouble.

Yeah, trouble, he thought, smirking as he watched her brush the snow off her jeans and boots. "Better let me do that," he said with more impatience than he'd intended as he snatched the broom from her fingers and motioned for her to turn around. She'd done okay with the front of her jeans, but the back was always harder to clean. Besides, the sooner he got them into the house, the sooner he could break the sensual pull he felt toward her.

Maggie waited while Ethan brushed the snow from her jeans. He was brisk about it, and when he was done, she offered to return the favor.

"Never mind about me," he said gruffly. "You'd better get cleaned up. Supper's at six."

Ethan's surly tone rasped across her nerves, sparking a quick flare of resentment. She was tired and feeling more acutely the tangle of emotions that, thanks to their walk to the house, seemed to be growing more complicated by the moment. And she'd done absolutely nothing to provoke him. She was beginning to wonder if he lavished his choleric temperament on everyone in general, as she'd seen more than once that day, or if he reserved most of it for her. Either way, she wasn't going to take it.

"Look, Kincaid," she said as she snatched the broom back and attacked the snow on his jeans, "I'm as thrilled to be stuck with you as you are with me." Maggie circled him, brushing his pants with enough vigor to send snow flying. "I owe you some work in exchange for meals and a warm place to wait out the storm, but I don't figure that includes giving you permission to browbeat and snap at me every time you get chafed about something. If I'm out of line, speak up and say how," she challenged as she swiftly completed her circle around him. "But if you're just too upstanding a citizen to tolerate a low-down convict fresh out, I guess you'll just have to bide your time and keep the smelling salts handy."

With that, she shoved the broom back into his hands, unable to miss the stunned look on his face. Before he could recover, she'd turned and made a regal exit through the kitchen.

CHAPTER FOUR

Maggie had dealt with some rough cowhands in her time, including ones who didn't care to take orders from a female. But this was the first time she'd confronted a man who wasn't obliged to her for a job. She'd never been merely a ranch hand, had never been subject to any ranch boss other than her father. She'd been raised as Ethan Kincaid's equal, only he didn't know that.

One corner of her mouth quirked humorlessly. She'd called her lawyer that day in the hope he could intercede for her with Ethan. Instead, she'd learned he was out of town and unavailable until the end of the month. Which was just as well, she decided. Even if Jace had been able to change Ethan's mind, what had happened on the porch might have got her fired, anyway.

A line of worry creased her brow. Perhaps if the storm kept up and she spent more time working with Ethan's men, she'd hear of a job somewhere. She wasn't the only ranch hand with a criminal record.

Maggie picked up her blue V-neck sweater and tugged it on over her blouse before she headed for the kitchen and supper. She seated herself at the table, surprised when Alva took her own tray of food to her room to watch a television special. From the displeasure on Ethan's face, it was clear he'd been counting on Alva's presence to help divert Jamie's attention from Maggie. The meal progressed uncomfortably, though the silence was broken regularly by the child.

"Daddy, when can I go down to see the new calves?" the little girl asked, then bit into a plump piece of chicken.

Ethan gave his daughter a stern look. "Seems you've already asked me that at least three times tonight."

"It was four times, Dad," Jamie said as she chewed.

One side of Ethan's mouth hitched up. "All right, four. And it's not polite to talk with your mouth full."

Jamie quickly finished with the drumstick and swallowed hastily. "But all the calves are going to get born and 'cause of this gol-darned storm, I'm gonna miss everything!"

"Watch your language, young lady." Ethan emphasized the order by pointing his fork at Jamie.

"Gol-darn ain't a swear word, Dad."

"It stands for something that shouldn't be said," he said gruffly. "Your Sunday-school teacher had a little talk with you about that a while back."

Jamie's cheeks pinkened, and she slid a quick glance at Maggie as if to gauge her reaction to that bit of information. Maggie was careful to keep her expression neutral as she continued with her meal.

"It's not near as bad as the swear words you say, Dad," Jamie piped up in self-defense. The room stilled.

Maggie plucked the napkin from her lap and used it to mask a sound that was more like mirth than a cough. She'd been listening to the exchange between father and daughter, noting Ethan's calm manner in spite of his child's determination to wear him down about the calves. That Jamie had driven Ethan close to the end of his patience, then switched the subject into a discussion about bad language—his in particular—was priceless.

Ethan sent Maggie a warning look. "There's a big difference between regular swear words and taking the Lord's name in vain, young lady," he said sternly.

Jamie's look grew more stubborn. "Mrs. Hardy said both kinds of bad language are sinful." She jammed a small thumb toward her chest. "I know 'cause I told her all the ones you say."

Ethan clearly couldn't find words, swear words or otherwise, for those few ominous seconds. He looked furious—there was no doubt about that brick-red flush crawling up his face—but he was also visibly helpless against the reasoning and actions of his seven-year-old daughter. Maggie would never have imagined that harsh, ragged Ethan Kincaid could look so utterly powerless— and before a small child. It had quite an effect on her perception of him.

Jamie returned her father's stare levelly, her big brown eyes holding a mixture of innocence and defiance.

"I think," Ethan said at last, his chastening gaze never wavering, "that when you finish your supper you can skip dessert and head off to bed."

Jamie's face screwed up into a look of horror. "But we're having chocolate pie!"

"Maggie and I are having chocolate pie," Ethan corrected. "You might get a piece of what's left at lunch tomorrow if you show signs of thinking long and hard about the kind of words seven-year-old young ladies should stay clear of."

Jamie pushed her empty plate away and glanced longingly at the chocolate pie on the counter. With a theatrical sigh, she scraped her chair back from the table. Not sparing her father a look, she walked toward the hall to her room, dragging her feet in childish reluctance.

"Not one word from you," Ethan ordered Maggie as he stabbed a hapless green bean and shoved it into his mouth.

Maggie tried to keep a straight face, but the sight of Ethan's vexed expression defeated her. Her mouth began to quiver with the effort of holding back.

"Well, hell, go ahead and laugh," he grumbled. Ethan didn't help matters any as he hunched over his plate and glowered at her, Maggie stopped trying to restrain her laughter.

"This fatherhood business gets harder every day," he said as he tossed his fork down, then leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily.

In a heartbeat, the atmosphere of the room changed. Ethan's harsh look mellowed, and his dark eyes sparkled with amusement. One side of Ms mouth curved up as he gave in to the humor of the situation and started to chuckle.

A barrier between them melted. For Maggie, it felt good to laugh about something, to come out from beneath the oppressive emotions of the past couple of years into a sunny feeling.

Maggie's laughter eased away first, but left a smile that made her blue eyes glow. As if he was following her lead, Ethan's amusement wound down, too, but an intensity gleamed in his dark eyes, and he gave her a look that was partly speculative but mostly wary.

And then the wariness switched to outright mistrust. It was as if he suddenly remembered what she was and why he didn't want her here. Maggie's sunny feeling died a swift death.

She laid her napkin beside her plate and pushed her chair back. "I think I'll pass on that pie myself," she said as she stood up to leave. "Do you want some help clearing the table?"

Ethan's gaze probed hers for a long moment before he answered. "I'll see to the table. You go on."

Maggie started for her room, the hard work of the day catching up with her as she prepared for bed and turned down the covers. She set the windup alarm for 5 a.m., then slipped between the sheets.

In the stillness after she switched off the light, the memory of the strange sensation she'd felt when she and Ethan had walked through the storm to the house stole over her. She'd felt secure pressed so firmly against his side, but it wasn't that sense of security that troubled her now.

Never had she had such a strong reaction to a man's touch. She'd been raised around men and had a crush on one or two, but nothing had prepared her for the intensity of her attraction to Ethan.

It was natural for her to react to him as she did, she told herself. He was, in many ways, her match, from his background to his hard-bitten personality. She was not easily intimidated by stern, forceful, determined men, since her father had been one. Like her father, Ethan had shown a tender side with his daughter, and a charming kind of frustrated patience that lay smack between protecting and correcting her, while at the same time being rendered helpless by the complexity of the task. However harsh Ethan was with her, she knew, after watching him with Jamie, she'd never again see him in quite the same way.

Yes, it was natural that she'd react strongly to Ethan, she decided. But Ethan—the rugged, elemental male- was not so rare that he was the last of his kind. There were other men like him in the world. Surely she'd have the same reaction to any one of them.

Relieved to have settled it in her mind, Maggie drifted off to sleep.

Although the snow was falling only intermittently by morning, there was little discernible change in the brisk winds and mounting drifts. The temperature hovered near zero, so Maggie didn't hesitate to zip the parka Alva had found for her over her denim jacket before she and Ethan started for the barns.

"Would you mind doing some stable duty?" Ethan didn't seem comfortable with his request as they stopped in the large barn where the horses that weren't winter- pastured on the range were kept.

Maggie's lips quirked a bit. Be careful what you wish for, she thought, recalling that she'd told herself she wouldn't mind mucking out Ethan's stables three times a day as long as she could be doing ranch work.

"Wouldn't mind at all," she answered as she unzipped the parka to prepare for indoor work.

Once Ethan showed her where everything was and left the barn, Maggie set to work with wheelbarrow and pitchfork. One by one, she led each horse from its stall and tied it in the aisle to clean its hooves and give it a quick grooming. Pleased to find she wasn't too far out of practice, she fell into a steady rhythm of checking each horse, mucking out its stall and spreading fresh straw before she led the animal back in and gave it a measure of grain.

She made several brief trips out to one side of the barn to empty the contents of the wheelbarrow before she rushed back inside. The weather, as they'd heard on the radio at breakfast, wouldn't be letting up much within the next few hours.

Maggie felt herself relax as she worked. The storm, though a hardship for men and livestock alike, had assured her a place to stay, if only for a short time. It eased the pressure of where to go next.

Ethan had been his surly self at breakfast, but Maggie knew she wasn't the main cause of his bad mood. He was a rancher who stood to lose livestock to the storm. Not only could lie lose a large part of his calf crop, but the storm severely hampered his efforts to get hay to the feed grounds. It was a situation Maggie had faced herself, and she knew well the stress of waiting.

She'd finished with the stalls and had the wheelbarrow emptied and stored when the door opened and Harv Bennett leaned in.

"Boss says to pitch some fresh straw into that big corner stall and get some feed in the trough. We'll be movin' one of the stallions soon as we can get hold of him." The old ranch hand started to back out when he hesitated. "By the way, the black devil we're movin' up here is short on manners and long on bad temper. You keep a lookout for yourself." Harv ducked out then, and the door banged shut.

Maggie quickly spread fresh straw in the stall and measured out the grain. When she was done, she hurried to the door and opened it a crack. Harv and Ethan came into view leading the stallion between them.

Only the stallion wasn't leading well. In spite of the two stout ropes cinched snugly around his neck, the big horse reared and threw himself wildly to the side. The instant Harv and Ethan got Mm under control, he lunged: forward until the ropes tightened painfully and he tried to whirl back on his handlers.

Maggie stepped out and braced the door. The gusts of wind were so fierce she had to squint her eyes against the ice crystals that whitened the air and made it difficult to see. Meanwhile, the stallion continued to fight Ethan and Harv's every effort to lead him to shelter.

When the animal finally gave in, the snowy air cleared and Maggie got a closer look at him. Recognition thundered through her as the horse crossed the threshold of the barn, a cloud of snow blowing in after him.

"Rounder." The sound of the big horse's name was lost in the roar of the storm. Shock jolted through her, and she let the force of the wind push both her and the door along until it closed. Her hands shook as she secured the latch, unable to take her eyes from the stallion who had renewed his fight against the ropes.

This was her stallion, she realized dazedly. She'd helped bring him into this world, had raised and trained him herself. She'd had so many plans for him, then seen them all come to nothing when she'd been forced to sell everything. To find him so unexpectedly rocked her.

"You damned fire breather," Harv grouched as the animal resisted being led into the stall. Ethan said nothing, but his face was flinty with determination.

The fact that Rounder was unmanageable filtered through Maggie's shock. He was enraged and in such a state of wildness that she suddenly had difficulty believing he was the intelligent, well-behaved animal she'd known and raised.

It crossed her mind to offer to take over, but Rounder was so out of hand now she doubted he would calm down, even for her, even if he recognized her—

Her heart thudded painfully. Something had happened to make him behave like this, she reasoned. The moment she eased away from the door and walked closer, she saw stark evidence of what it had been.

To her horror, Rounder's black hide bore the unmistakable marks of a beating. Though faded by time and masked by his thick winter coat, several long scars, striped his sides, from his shoulders to his powerful hindquarters. When he finally calmed enough to notice her approach, lie swung his proud head in her direction and she saw two vicious scars just above his soft muzzle. Though the scars appeared to have healed well so as cot to be prominent, they were as plain to h.er experienced eye as if they were still fresh.

A rage she'd never felt before exploded inside her. If Ethan Kincaid or some man in his employ was responsible for this, she'd take a whip to him herself.

Maggie took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Neither Ethan or Harv were doing anything out of line with the stallion at the moment, judging from the firm yet persistent way they were dealing with hint. Truth to tell, the stallion's utter refusal to cooperate would have stretched even her patience to the limit. But other than an occasional curse or verbal rebuke, neither man gave any sign that they would use anything but firm pressure on the ropes to persuade the stallion to submit.

Maggie stepped closer, and Rounder again turned his head in her direction. He abruptly went still, standing almost statuelike except for the tremors of excitement that flared his nostrils and brought his ears rigidly forward. He let out a questioning nicker, then snorted and reared a few inches off the ground as if to test the tauteess of the ropes. He dropped down and pranced fretfully, but made no move toward her and gave no further sign of recognition.

Ethan gave a prompting tug on the rope and spoke quietly to the horse, who miraculously allowed himself to be finally led into the stall.

A bit of Maggie's tension subsided as Rounder stepped inside and Ethan got the ropes off him before he secured the stall door. The stallion immediately set up a ruckus to signal his displeasure at being confined, his hooves sounding sharply against the wooden stall side.

"I don't reckon that knothead is ever gonna let anyone handle him without a fight," Harv remarked as he recoiled his rope and watched the stallion paw irritably at the hard-packed dirt beneath the straw. " 'Spect the best we can hope for are some handsome colts and the chance he won't pass on his charmin' disposition."

Maggie bristled, unable to keep the angry tremor from her voice. "His colts will be some of the finest horseflesh in the state. And you know as well as I do that kind of disposition only gets passed on with a whip."

Ethan glanced her way, his dark eyes sweeping briefly over her before they connected with the blue fire in her eyes. Maggie's chin lifted.

"After seeing how well taken care of your other horses are," she said, "I wouldn't figure you'd let any animal you owned be abused like that one." She paused, unable to get a firm enough grip on her emotions to keep from adding, "Unless it was you with the heavy whip hand."

The accusation hung like lead between them. Ethan's features hardened, and his dark eyes took on a dangerous intensity. "Any man working for me who'd do that to a horse would get the same from me, double."

As if Harv wasn't certain Ethan's reply would defuse the angry tension between Maggie and his boss, he stepped in. "Boss and I went over to a sale last fall and found this one. He was awful torn up and mean as blazes, but Ethan liked his bloodline and decided to take a chance on him."

Some of Maggie's rage subsided at Harv's words. Emotion rose in her throat as she glanced toward the big horse who'd calmed, but was still edgy. She could feel the angry intensity of Ethan's gaze and realized she could let no more of her feelings for the stallion show.

Ethan would be furious if he found out her connection to the horse. His suspicions about her were already strong because of her conviction. If he didn't remember offhand that Rounder's original owner was listed on his papers as M. A. Deaton and figure out that she was M. A. Deaton, she wasn't going to offer the information. Her prior ownership, coupled with his belief about her, might prompt him to forbid her access to the barn—and to the stallion.

And if there was one thing she wanted before she had to leave the Kincaid Ranch, it was access to the stallion.

"That enough for you?" Ethan's gaze burned into hers. It couldn't have been plainer that he didn't figure her past entitled her to question him on anything, much less receive an explanation.

Bright flags of anger rose in her cheeks. "It's enough," she answered stiffly.

"Then if you're finished here, you might as well head up to the house."

There were at least two hours before Alva served lunch. Maggie could tell by the irritable flex of Ethan's jaw that he'd suddenly realized sending her to the house this early would put her in close contact with his daughter. Her lips took on a bitter slant.

Keeping the knowing gleam in her eyes locked tightly with the annoyance in his, she stayed where she was and waited for him to think of some chore that would delay her return to the house. She didn't feel charitable enough to let him off the hook easily, and she was certain he recognized that.

As was swiftly becoming a habit with him, Harv dove into the taut crosscurrent between them. "I could use some help fixin' the stall that got kicked down in the stud barn."

Ethan glared at Maggie a moment more, then turned away to recoil his rope. "That'd be up to Maggie," he said tersely, his swift, deliberate movements as he worked with the rope communicating his sour temper.

Maggie smiled at Harv. "Sounds like as good a way as any to pass the time." Besides, Harv was the talkative kind. Not only did she want to learn about a job someplace, but maybe she could do some probing and find out a few things about Rounder.

She knew without looking the moment Ethan turned his head and looked her way, as if he had second thoughts about letting her spend time with Harv. But that was too bad, she decided. She would cooperate with being kept from his daughter, but if he expected her to isolate herself from everyone else on the ranch, she'd challenge him at every turn.

Harv seemed pleased. "Good. We'll stop over at the supply shed and pick up what we need. I 'spect we'll get the worst of it done by noon."

Harv headed for the door as if eager to get the job started. Maggie hesitated, glancing toward the stallion, who now stood quietly, his large dark eyes fastened on her, his nostrils flaring as if trying to catch her scent. Caution kept her from lingering long enough for the stallion to give anything away, so she hurried along after Harv, bracing herself against the shock of bitterly cold air as she followed him out.

CHAPTER FIVE

Maggie stepped off the porch and closed the back door gently. With Alva preparing Jamie for bed and Ethan nowhere in sight, she'd decided to slip out of the house. It was after eight, and the harsh wind continued to build huge drifts against anything in its path. She pulled her hat brim lower and adjusted her scarf to more fully protect her face, then trudged down the path from the house to the barn. The weather forecast had predicted no new snow, saying the wind would die down by noon the next day. Her time at the Kincaid Ranch was coming to an end, and Maggie was aware this might be her only opportunity to see Rounder alone.

She and Harv had repaired the damage done to Rounder's stall in the stud barn, including the broken gate in the partition that kept him apart from High Card, the ranch's other stallion.

According to Harv, Rounder had broken out of his stall, damaged the gate, then entered the older stallion's quarters on the other side of the barn, where the two horses began to fight. High Card could have stayed safely out of reach in his huge stall, but the younger animal's challenge had drawn him within range of Rounder's sharp teeth. Maggie and Harv had tended the two bite marks on High Card's neck, but neither wound was serious. By the time they'd finished repairing the barn, the older stallion had calmed and was dozing in his stall.

She'd gotten no leads on any jobs from Harv, but then, she'd had to maintain the lie she'd told about wanting to get a job farther south. To ask Harv outright would have given her away.

She did learn something about Rounder, however. Though she was aware the old cowhand seemed to have undertaken a mission of sorts to put Ethan in a favorable light, what he'd told her about the stallion and the difficulty he'd caused Ethan had been enough to soften her.

In the six months since he'd bought the horse, Ethan had suffered several injuries, from a vicious bite that had required thirty stitches to a mild concussion when Rounder had slammed him into the side of a corral. Harv's account of Ethan's attempt to ride the stallion for the first time had been little more than a depiction of outright warfare.

The stallion had come to tolerate Ethan's handling him and even riding him, but the animal remained dangerously volatile and unpredictable. Harv's opinion that Rounder be used solely for stud was one that Ethan, despite his determination to win the horse over, was beginning to share.

Maggie had felt so downhearted about Rounder's diminished potential she'd almost missed the remark Harv made later about the rustlers who had been plaguing Kincaid stock in the past year. It took little more than a casual question to set Harv off on a new topic. She'd pretended faint interest as Harv recounted the thefts, but the thread of intuition that had quivered to life when he began blossomed into suspicion long before he'd finished.

The first thefts had targeted stock on smaller ranches. Only a few head had been stolen and careful fence repairs had delayed discovery. The small numbers suggested a small-time operation. Then the larger, well- organized thefts began. From what Harv said, everyone believed there were two sets of rustlers with two different methods of operation.

The thefts back home had gone the same way, but only one set of rustlers had been at work—Bret's.

Could her stepbrother be behind these thefts? Bret had vanished the night of her arrest, but what if, after she'd been sent to prison, he'd relocated to this part of Wyoming to take up where he'd left off? She'd not been able to calm the excited racing of her heart until she reminded herself that it didn't matter if she'd been lucky enough to end up in an area where Bret was. Ethan had refused to hire her, pointed out that no one else around here would, and she'd likely be leaving early the next morning. In the end, she'd talked herself out of the idea that Bret might be close by.

Maggie reached the door of the stable where Rounder had been housed for the night, her heart heavy as she entered the barn. There was no reason to think the stallion would behave any better with her than he now did with anyone else. Perhaps the abuse he'd suffered had been too severe.

Only a few lights lit the long stable aisle. One of the ranch dogs who'd bedded down on a hay bale near the door opened his eyes to watch her, but offered no response to her presence other than the thump of his tail. She pulled the big door closed and started down the stable aisle.

One or two of the horses whickered softly to her as she passed, and she put out a hand to stroke a soft muzzle here and there. She heard Rounder let out a long, low whinny that ended with an irritable squeal when she stepped into his view.

The stallion bolted away from the aisle side of the stall, snorting when he came up short, then whirling back to bare his teeth menacingly at her. He charged the stall door, stopping the instant before he would have struck it. He pawed viciously at the straw, bad temper in every line of his powerful body.

Maggie stood unmoving for several moments to let the stallion adjust to her presence. Then she slowly removed her hat and unwound the scarf from her neck.

Rounder watched warily as she took off her parka and the denim jacket beneath it. There was no sign of recognition in his dark eyes and Maggie's hopes plummeted. She started to speak, but the emotion that knotted her throat choked off her voice.

Acting on impulse, she turned the soft lining of the jacket toward the stallion, pressing it against the wired-in top half of the stall door. Rounder jerked his head as if she'd struck him, but he didn't retreat.

"Remember me?" She found her voice and spoke in little more than a whisper. "Come on, big fella," she coaxed. "Two years isn't all that long."

More out of aggression than curiosity, the stallion thrust his long nose toward the jacket. A moment later, he yanked his nose back, then thrust it forward again, as if the whiff of scent meant something.

Maggie continued to hold the jacket against the diamond pattern of the wire, waiting patiently as the stallion inspected it. The big horse seemed to calm a bit, and she slowly lowered the jacket so that only the heavy stall door with its top half of wire separated them. The stallion didn't shy away, but stood alertly watching her.

"Sounds like you've had a hard time of it, boy." The stallion's ears swiveled forward as if to catch the sound of her voice. Encouraged, she unlatched the top half of the door. The stallion watched her every move, his statuelike stillness giving no indication of what his reaction might be once the wire was no longer between them.

Maggie cautiously put out her hand, speaking in gentle tones to the big horse, who extended his long nose toward her. Though she didn't move, he suddenly jerked his head back as if she'd slapped him. It wasn't hard to imagine that Rounder's abuser had struck him about the head frequently enough for him to expect that from everyone. The thought sickened her.

"Hey, Rounder," she chided him in a voice thick with tears, "you know me better than that."

The stallion let out a low whuffling sound, then stepped forward, putting his head over the top of the door to nip at the hem of her sweater. Maggie turned to keep his teeth from catching more than a bit of sweater and rubbed a gentle hand over his velvety muzzle.

"Whoa, there, go easy on the clothes," she murmured as he released the sweater and bumped his head against her in the first show of affection she guessed he'd given in a very long time. Maggie continued to talk to him as she stroked his neck. Though there was still an edginess about the big horse, he seemed to relax under her touch.

Emotion overwhelmed her control. Eyes blurred with tears, she slipped her arms around Rounder's neck and leaned against him. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry," she whispered hoarsely.

As if to commiserate with her, the stallion began to nuzzle the soft weave of her sweater. Maggie gave herself up to the heartache of the past two years, grieving more fully over the loss than she'd ever allowed herself to do before.

Too high-strung to remain sedate, Rounder shifted, but didn't draw away. Maggie released his neck, laughing a little as her spirits lifted. "Don't get too mushy, huh?"

Rounder tossed his head as if to agree.

"How about a good brushing, instead?" Maggie stepped toward the tack room to get a brush and currycomb before she spied one of each on a hay bale nearby. She picked them up and returned to Rounder's stall, plucking a stout halter and lead off the peg by the stall door.

Rounder allowed her to slip the halter on his head and buckle it. She snapped the lead rope to the halter ring, then unlatched the stall door.

Maggie hesitated. Though she intended to tether the stallion inside the stall to groom him, she knew it wasn't wise to trust him too far. The memory of what he'd been like that morning flashed through her mind. Rounder knew her, that was plain, as was the affection he'd shown her. But it wouldn't take much to trigger an explosive outburst in a horse who'd been abused as severely as he had.

Just then, Rounder nudged her, swaying her decision. Vowing to be cautious, she started into the stall.

Unease crept over her. The moment she was inside, the eerie panic she hadn't felt since her first day on the ranch surged into her chest and spread painfully. Her heart was suddenly beating too fast, her palms were sweaty and her breathing was too rapid and shallow to satisfy her need for air.

As if aware of her sudden fear, Rounder sidestepped away and tossed his head fretfully. Oblivious now to the stallion and intent only on escaping the fear that increased by the second, Maggie succumbed to the strange urge to flee. She backed into the aisle, but neglected to close the stall door. She didn't notice as she leaned weakly against the wall that the stallion had also walked out and stood nervously beside her. The inquisitive thrust of his nose against her shoulder made her give a startled jump.

Rounder jerked his head back, the whites of his eyes showing. Maggie's preoccupation with her panic began to recede, but her reflexive tightening of the lead rope incited the nervous horse. Rounder reared a few inches off the floor and yanked back on the lead. The suddenness of the movement galvanized Maggie.

"Whoa, there," she soothed as she eased the drag on the rope to avoid triggering the stallion's urge to fight the restraint. Rounder dropped his front feet to the hard- packed floor and stood fidgeting. Slowly she closed the few feet that separated them. Rounder shuddered, but let her approach. She held out her hand, palm up, and the stallion blew against it.

"Sorry," she said softly as she gave his neck a reassuring pat. "It might be there's more than one of us with a problem." The admission brought with it a fresh sense of dread. She'd thought—hoped—the problem she'd had the day she'd arrived had been a one-time thing. She'd explained it away and put it out of her mind. It distressed her to think that such horrible, unreasonable panic had the power to return. As if he sympathized, the big horse found her hand and tried to shove his muzzle into her palm.

Grateful for the distraction, Maggie led him back to the aisle in front of his stall. She bent to pick up her parka and tossed it, along with her jacket, scarf and hat, into a neat pile on top of a hay bale. After tying the end of the lead rope to a thick iron ring fastened to the wall, she retrieved the brush and currycomb and began to give Rounder a careful brushing.

Ethan stood in the shadows of the darkened tack room, his teeth clamped testily on his unlit cigarillo. He'd expected Maggie to show up here tonight, so he'd come down almost an hour ago. From the moment she'd entered the barn, he'd been witness to everything that had gone on, including her odd behavior just now and her remark about a problem.

He could have confronted her earlier about what he'd discovered about her connection to the stallion, but he doubted she'd have given him a straight answer. After all, she'd not offered the information that morning, even when she must have known her behavior had aroused his suspicions.

The stallion's interest in her had attracted his notice, too. The way Rounder had allowed himself to be led into the stall was something he couldn't overlook even if Harv had. Following that, some dim memory had teased at the back of his mind until he'd gone up to the house and dug out the stallion's papers. What he'd read in them made him furious. Whether or not Maggie Deaton was the M. A. Deaton listed as Rounder's original owner, he was damned certain she was at least related.

Seeing her tonight with the horse and hearing the things she'd said turned out to be better than trying to browbeat answers out of her. By the time she got the stallion put up for the night and he let his presence be known, he'd have her dead to rights.

He looked on as Maggie finished brushing the stallion, then carefully inspected his hooves and cleaned them. The woman was either a daredevil or a fool. She was doing things with that horse that he'd had to hobble him to accomplish, and she appeared to give it no more thought than she'd have given to grooming a docile mare.

A nervousness that was alien to his nature kept him ever alert to the stallion's mood. Though he grudgingly admired Maggie's competent manner with the horse, handling Rounder was like walking through a mine field- Either the bond between the two was strong, or Maggie was too blinded by sentiment to show good sense-

Some of his tension eased when Maggie at last straightened and gave the horse a firm pat on the rump. Ethan watched as she looked the stallion over again. The horse was in excellent condition, aside from his scars. A glimpse of her expression told him she could see that. She walked to Rounder's head and took a firm grip on his halter before she pressed her cheek against the side of his long nose and closed her eyes. The stallion stood quietly, clearly basking in the gentle stroke of her hand and the sound of her soft voice as she crooned nonsense to him.

Ethan bit down on his cigarillo. Maggie had worn her dark hair loose, letting the cascade of curls riot carelessly about her head and shoulders. Her small hands were competent and sure on the stallion, but it was the obvious affection in the way she touched the animal that worked on Ethan.

She wore a dark blue sweater that clung faithfully to her breasts and traced the line to her narrow waist. The color seemed to electrify the vivid blue lights in her eyes and enhance the soft rose of her cheeks. And though her jeans weren't skintight, he couldn't help but notice the snug fit of denim across her backside. Her legs were long and graceful, but the subtle definition of muscle beneath the cloth suggested things to him that started a blood-firing heat deep down.

Added to her physical appeal was her knack for getting to him. Looking on while she'd hugged the stallion's neck and cried had made him feel low-down for spying on her. He'd felt untold relief when she'd stopped. Then something strange had happened when she'd stepped into the stall. The remark she'd made to the stallion about it was something he'd likely never get her to clarify, though there'd been no mistaking her look of panic. It wasn't hard to figure that being in prison might account for it. But instead of being repelled by the reminder that she'd served time, Ethan felt a strange kind of sympathy for her.

It was lucky she'd be gone soon. The storm would blow out by noon tomorrow and that would be that. The sudden letdown he felt at the thought thudded in his chest like a dirge. Damn it all, what was there about her that unsettled his hormones and shattered his good sense?

Winter had hung on too long, he finally decided. He'd been restless and bored and in she'd walked, a handful and a half with a pretty face and a body to go with it. It was one of life's little ironies that the first truly interesting woman to come around in a long time had a past too tarnished for him to risk.

Yet he'd seen for himself that she wasn't a danger to the ranch or his daughter, even if she did have a habit of going toe-to-toe with him like no other ranch hand he'd ever had—or would have tolerated.

Kincaid. Even the way she said his name when she got the least bit stirred up aimed a challenge at him. He didn't like discovering that this woman provoked something savage in him, something that made him itch to grab her up and carry her off to a deserted line shack somewhere.

His mouth twisted arrogantly as he considered what it might take to gentle her down. He might even have some success, but he knew instinctively that Maggie Deaton would never be a woman to follow submissively behind some man and cater to his whims.

Strangely, it was that knowledge that attracted him most and had allowed her to get a satin-clad iron hold on his insides. Damn, but she'd be hard to send away!

Ethan finally bit off the end of the cigarillo. Irritated, he reached up to snatch the stub from his teeth before he pitched it into the corner. He'd given up cigars along with cigarettes years ago, but when he'd found an old box of stale cigarillos in a drawer, he'd lit one as automatically as he had when he'd been smoking. He credited his being stirred up over Maggie as the cause for the lapse and his renewed craving for tobacco. In the end, it reinforced the decision he'd made. Maggie Deaton might be hard to send away, but he was sure as hell going to do it.

Her goodbyes to the horse finally said, Maggie untied the rope and led Rounder to his stall. She slipped off his halter and stepped back to urge him inside before she swung the door shut. With a heavy heart she secured the latch, then did the same with the top half of the door.

The scuff of a boot and the scrape of a match on rough wood sounded behind her. Startled, Maggie whirled toward the tall, hard-faced man, who watched her with cold eyes. Ethan touched the match flame to the tip of his thin cigar, then shook out the match with a casual flick of his hand. The dead match fell unheeded to the dirt floor.

His teeth flashed as he bit down on the cigar, the relentless intensity of his dark eyes probing the liquid blue of Maggie's. A grim smile stretched his mouth into a thin line. "Have I had the pleasure of meeting M. A. Deaton?" The mild rumble of his deep voice was at odds with the harsh set of his features.

So he had read Rounder's papers, after all. "Why ask, Kincaid? No doubt you've seen enough here tonight to confirm it."

The dark fire in Ethan's eyes intensified. "That I did." He worked the cigar to the corner of his mouth, then closed his lips and drew on it a moment. His suspicion was as palpable as his presence. "Care to fill me in on the details?"

Maggie turned away from him to gather her things. "We both know I'd be wasting my breath."

"Why's that?"

She let out a humorless chuckle. "You made up your mind about me the minute you found out about my prison record, Kincaid. As far as you're concerned, my past disqualifies me from your lowliest job, much less the possibility that I could provide you with credible information." She put her jacket on with quick, jerky movements. "I was the original owner of the stallion—you own him now." She grabbed up the rest of her things and turned toward him, her face flushed with anger. "End of story."

"If I thought it was, we'd leave it at that." As if he realized he was in danger of mangling the cigarillo with his teeth, he reached up, yanked it from his mouth and pitched it irritably to the floor.

The angry tension in Maggie pulled tighter as she watched him grind out the hot ash. He was after a confrontation, and it was clear he was determined to have it.

"What is it you want from me, Kincaid?" she asked bitterly. "Or maybe I should ask what is it you think I'm going to do?" She hesitated, but he didn't seem inclined to answer. Nettled, she went on, "Just taking a job on a ranch puts my parole at risk, since I'll be the first person investigated if any stock turns up missing. Do you really think I'd be foolish enough to break the law when a violation means another five years behind bars?" The shudder that raced through her at the thought had put a quaver in her voice.

Ethan's harsh expression smoothed a fraction, but his gaze was still sharp. "So why work on a ranch and take the chance?"

"If you—" Her voice broke on the surge of emotion that welled up. "If you lost all this—" she gestured to mean the ranch "—what kind of job would you be qualified to do?"

When he again answered her with silence, a feeling of futility closed around her. The man was as unbending as a plow blade.

"I'm no threat to you, Kincaid," she said, her voice husky. Embarrassed at revealing even that small vulnerability to him, she started for the door.

Ethan caught her arm, halting her. Her quick tug to gain her release only made him tighten his grip. She whirled on him angrily.

"Now what?"

He stared down at her upturned face, seduced by the appeal of her strong will. She was a threat to him, all right, but not in the way she thought. Her eyes flashed blue sparks and her cheeks were ruddy with temper, but it was the stubborn set of her mouth that drew his gaze and sent his male urges crashing through the restraint of good sense. Everything about the woman was a challenge, and everything dominant and lusty in him was compelled to meet the challenge.

Maggie sensed the change in him. He suddenly pulled her close, and she lost her grip on the coat and hat. Disbelief made her a second too slow to react. In that scant second, his mouth came down on hers.

Desire spiked through her like lightning. Ethan's hand came up and his fingers speared into her hair to angle her mouth more fully beneath his. His tongue mated forcefully with hers, and she couldn't prevent her hands from sliding up his chest to wind around his neck and urge him on. The low growl of his response triggered an onslaught of passion so intense she felt her knees almost give way.

The knowledge that she and Ethan were matched to each other in a way that went beyond the physical registered in some deep part of her. The impression was fleeting, but forceful enough to stoke the fire that blazed within her.

As if he couldn't bear another moment, Ethan dragged his mouth off hers and tightened his arms around her. Whatever he'd meant to do when he'd started the kiss, something wild had been unleashed in them both. As reason returned, it occurred to her that this, too, would be another black mark against her in Ethan's eyes.

Ethan slowly eased back and Maggie deliberately blanked her expression. She would have stepped away from him if he hadn't kept his hands at her waist.

Pride brought her eyes up to meet the turbulent blackness of his. He scanned her flushed face, then let his blatant gaze wander down the length of her before he lifted it to linger on her kiss-bruised mouth. With every inch his gaze had traveled, her tension had increased. When at last his eyes leveled on hers, something intense kindled in them before he abruptly shuttered it from her. His grip on her waist relaxed until his hands dropped away.

The few inches that separated them was charged by an electric silence neither of them broke. They were like two fighters who'd gone the first round and were trying to gauge how much damage they'd inflicted on their opponent while they recovered from a battering. Ethan's granite expression gave nothing away, and Maggie prayed hers didn't, either. The sexual crosscurrents between them were escalating again, and suddenly she needed to flee.

It took no more than recognizing that to send her reaching for the things she'd dropped. Then she started for the door, not breaking her brisk stride as she slung the scarf around her neck, jammed on her hat and shoved her arms into the sleeves of the parka. Her hands trembled as she unlatched the big door and stepped outside.

Ethan didn't follow her to the house until much later.

CHAPTER SIX

It was the stillness that woke Maggie just before four in the morning. The wind had stopped blowing at last; the storm was over. Ethan would want her gone as soon as possible, and she was anxious to get it over with. She dressed and gathered her things, then made the bed and carefully removed all traces of her presence.

Carrying her cases, she stepped quietly into the dark hallway and made her way through the silent house. The aroma of brewing coffee greeted her when she reached the kitchen. Alva must have set the timer the night before, as there was no sign the woman was up yet.

Maggie carried her things through to the porch and put them out of the way.

She wasn't eager to face Ethan, especially after what had happened between them the previous night. To not only allow Ethan to kiss her, but to welcome it and crave more had to be sick. He'd made his estimation of her character brutally clear—but that had meant nothing once his lips came within a heartbeat of touching hers.

The memory of her response drove her back inside to the kitchen. She took a mug down from the cupboard, then hovered in front of the coffeemaker until the coffee was ready. A dash of cold tap water cooled it enough to drink quickly, but her restlessness wasn't soothed by the hot drink. She needed something to do to take the edge off, but short of pacing the floor, the only thing she could think of was to shovel snow.

A sound from the bedroom end of the house prompted her. If she wanted to avoid getting stuck in the kitchen, she needed to be on her way outside.

She left her cup at her place on the table, then headed to the porch to put on her boots. In moments she'd pulled on her coat and gloves, grabbed the snow shovel and stepped outside.

Moving briskly to keep warm, she shoveled the steps and cleared the sidewalk of all but a thin layer of snow to keep the ice beneath covered. When she reached the drive, she turned to clear a path to the front of the house. It was slower going there, since in places the snowdrifts reached to her thighs.

The effort she expended in the predawn darkness did little to counter her restlessness. The knowledge that she had nowhere to go and limited funds to get there worried her. She tried to concentrate on something else, then groaned when her thoughts returned to Ethan and their encounter in the barn.

Finally she finished the front walk, then shoveled off the steps and the snow that had drifted onto the porch. She might have found a reason to linger outside and avoid facing Ethan, but she'd put it off long enough. It didn't help that the restlessness she'd sought to burn off still clung to her.

Resigned to what lay ahead, she started around to the back porch. If there was one thing she could count on with Ethan, it was that he wouldn't drag out the inevitable. He'd have her off his ranch the moment he could send a snowplow down the drive.

Which was all right with her, she told herself as she stepped onto the porch and used the bootjack to pry off her boots. The sooner she was on her way, the quicker she could find someplace to go. The restlessness that plagued her suddenly yanked into a tight knot of dread.

Maggie finished the last bite of the ham-and-eggs breakfast Alva had set before her. Only the knowledge that she needed to fortify herself for the uncertain day ahead had induced, her to force food on her jittery stomach.

Ethan had barely said two words to her, and she'd said nothing to him at all. It hadn't put her at ease to realize that Alva had taken note of the oppressive tension that had descended the moment Maggie walked in. There was nothing of the pleasant chatter that usually accompanied the generous breakfasts she prepared.

Maggie had just poured more coffee from the server and taken a fretful sip when Alva left the room. Ethan leaned back in his chair, draping one arm over the chair back next to him. Maggie's gaze went his way only long enough to note the movement. Despite his casual posture, she could feel his dark eyes on her.

"How much money have you got?"

The question startled Maggie. "What?"

"I asked you how much money you've got." His harsh expression gave nothing away.

Shame and resentment stiffened her spine. He wasn't entitled to ask her that, much less get an answer. Besides, he was the last person she would tell that the contents of her three bags and fifty dollars were all she had in the world.

"Why? Do you figure I haven't worked off room and board?" she tossed back before another, more bitter thought occurred to her. "Or is someone missing some money?"

If possible, Ethan's expression grew even harsher. He dropped his arm from the chair back and leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. "Pride doesn't put a roof over your head or food in your belly."

Maggie's spine went stiffer. "I don't recall anyone putting you in charge of that worry, Kincaid."

Ethan's relentless gaze never wavered. "What is it the prisons give out for cut-loose money these days?" Though her lips parted indignantly, he went on before she could get a word out. "It wasn't too far back that it was fifty dollars and a new set of clothes."

She came to her feet so quickly that her chair rocked back on two legs and nearly fell over. "Damn you, Kincaid, don't you ever let up?"

Desperate to control her anger, she started to pick up her cup, then noticed that she'd spilled her coffee when she'd jumped up. After grabbing her napkin and blotting the spread of dark liquid, she moved to the sink for the dishcloth. Ethan watched her with a steadiness that unnerved her more.

She returned the dishcloth to the sink, rinsed it under the tap, then stood with her back to him and her fingers clenching the edge of the counter. "When do we leave?" She heard the creak and scrape of the chair and guessed he was on his feet.

"We've got business to settle up first."

Frustration brought her around to face him. "So how much do you figure I owe you?"

Ethan scowled as he noted the challenging lift of her chin. "You came here expecting at least two weeks of work. That means two weeks' pay. I'm not giving you the work, so I figure I owe you the two weeks' pay for the hardship we both know it's gonna cost you."

Maggie was thunderstruck at the offer. So this was what he'd been getting at. The restlessness she'd been tormented with that morning burst into white-hot anger. "I came here for a job, Kincaid, not a handout."

"It's not a handout," he said with a firm shake of his head. "It's payment in lieu of the two-week trial you were promised."

Her lips twisted scornfully. "More like payment to ease a guilty conscience." She took satisfaction in the temper that kindled in his dark eyes before she added pointedly, "And a conscience that seems to run on a three-day delay, at that."

A dull flush edged Ethan's hard features. "Take it or leave it, Maggie. No honest rancher in a four-county area from here will hire a convicted rustler, not with what's been going on the past year," he told her. "Fifty dollars wouldn't get you a bus ticket to the state line, much less more than one, maybe two, nights in a rundown motel. If you expect to eat, it'll run out even quicker."

Maggie suppressed a shudder at the blunt words that detailed her worst fears. As if he meant to drive the point home, he added, "Like I said, pride won't get you what a pocketful of greenbacks will."

She stood her ground in defiance of the secret fears he'd laid bare. Fifty dollars might not get her far, but if that was all she had—that and her self-respect—somehow it would have to be enough.

"Keep your conscience money, Kincaid," she said, forcing a finality to her voice she didn't feel. "Unless you can bring yourself to give me two weeks' worth of work, I can't bring myself to take two weeks' pay."

Ethan's jaw flexed with irritation. "Suit yourself."

With that, he turned and headed toward the porch. Maggie followed, and in silence they put on their boots and outer clothing. She started to reach for her bags when Ethan tossed her the parka.

Though she caught it reflexively, she tossed it right back. "It doesn't belong to me." She was insulted that he would try to give it to her.

"It's yours while you're here," he said gruffly. "And that damned summer jacket you've got on isn't enough for a trip to feed cattle."

Maggie's confusion must have shown because he added, "The drive won't get cleared till midmorning. I've got cattle to feed and a calf crop out there to rescue." He tossed the parka back to her and she caught it again. "If you'd rather sit around up here, hang it on the peg." As if it made no difference to him what she did, Ethan shoved open the door and stalked outside.

It took her a moment to recover. Since she had to leave, she wanted to get it over with. But if there was a delay involved, she'd go stir-crazy sitting around the house. Her frustration gusted out in a heartfelt "Damn it" as she put on the parka.

She'd thought Ethan's number-one priority was getting her off his ranch, but she'd obviously overestimated his eagerness to do so. Of course the livestock came first after a blizzard as harsh as this one had been, but Ethan's impatience to be rid of her had led her to expect an early start.

Grumbling, she zipped the parka up snugly. She gave her bags a last glance to make certain they were out of the way, then hurried outside.

She didn't catch up with Ethan until she reached the steel-roofed pole barn that stood well past most of the other ranch buildings. Two mammoth tractors, hay wagons hitched, stood idling, the ferocious sound of their big diesel engines thundering in the stillness. As she approached, the first of the two tractors was put into gear and rumbled off toward a wide gate she assumed led to open range.

Maggie glanced around for Ethan, then noticed the cab door of the second tractor swing open. The shout she heard over the growl of engine was unmistakably Ethan's. She slogged through the snow to the tractor, then used the hand- and footholds on the side of the tall vehicle to climb into the cab.

Ethan said nothing as she settled inside and closed the door. She tried not to show her dismay at the cramped quarters. The limited space left her wedged between Ethan's seat and the cab wall. Any jostling when the tractor started to move would bring his shoulder brushing against her. Disturbed by that, Maggie held herself stiffly.

Ethan glanced her way, his dark gaze caught briefly by the soft curve emphasized by the bulk of the parka before his eyes met hers. Maggie gritted her teeth against the warmth that stole into her cheeks. It didn't seem to matter to her wayward body that Ethan Kincaid had no use for her as a person. Being so close to him and having him take such obvious note of her female attributes only heightened the wild clamor of sensuality his nearness set off.

A rare hint of humor flashed in his dark eyes, and he shifted slightly. Maggie nearly jumped through the roof of the cab when his gloved hand closed firmly over her thigh and gently squeezed.

"Relax," he said, then turned away and removed his hand. The big engine revved, then the tractor gave a small lurch before the weight of the hay wagon dragged at the hitch.

Maggie scrambled to recover. She hated that he had such a strong effect on her. She hated more that she'd been obvious enough about it for him to notice. One of the more cruel lessons prison had taught her was to mask any thought or emotion that might make her appear vulnerable. It distressed her to think there was a chink in that hard-won armor.

"Mind satisfying my curiosity about a couple of things?" Ethan's question jolted her from her thoughts. When she didn't answer right away, he glanced at her.

"That depends on what you want to know," she answered warily.

His attention returned to steering the big tractor over a route that would avoid the deeper sweeps of drifted snow. Maggie's hope that he might be too distracted to follow through was quashed when he spoke again.

"You hinted ranch work was all you know. That right?"

"That's right." If he was waiting for her to volunteer more without a specific question, he'd wait a long time.

As if he knew that, he went on, "Did your folks ranch?" He looked her way long enough to catch her nod before he faced forward. "Do they still?" He was staring out ahead of the tractor, prompting her to voice a soft no. "Are they still living?"

Maggie's terse response to that earned her another brief look.

"Did they pass away before your trouble with the law or after?"

Her tension became more acute with every question he posed. "Maybe I should have limited you to three questions, Kincaid. You're as nosy as an old lady."

"And you're more closemouthed than a rusted clamp."

Maggie was surprised at the frustration in his voice. She debated with herself a few moments, then decided there wasn't much point in refusing to satisfy some of his curiosity. There wasn't a lot in her background he could use against her, even if he chose to. She wouldn't be here long enough for that.

"My mother passed away when I was small. My father raised me to take over the ranch one day. When he passed on five years back, I did." She took a breath to steady herself. "What the taxes didn't take, market prices, defense fees and fines finished off. Once things reached that point, I couldn't have generated enough profit to bring it back even if I could have ran it from prison." Maggie hesitated, grateful she'd been able to get all that past the emotions that seemed to have collected in her throat. "Is that enough, or do you want more?"

Ethan's grant could have meant anything, but she guessed from his silence and his absorption with peering out at the snow-covered land that he was finished.

The sky had already begun to lighten and the stars gradually winked out as the sun climbed steadily toward the horizon. At last they reached one section of the cattle herd, and Ethan slowed the tractor to a halt several yards from the nearest cow. They could hear the bawl of hungry cattle above the ramble of the big engine.

Maggie climbed out ahead of Ethan. He'd stopped the tractor on a wide patch of rise that had been blown nearly clear of the snow that had altered most of the landscape- Maggie walked to the back of the hay wagon and clambered up, using the wood braces for foot- and handholds. When she reached the top of the stacked bales, she dug out her pocket knife and opened the blade.

Her muscles strained as she tried to maintain her footing while gripping the tight twine of a hay bale and lift- ing it on top of the others. She used her knife to cut the twine, then hefted ragged sections of hay as far from the wagon as she could. Ethan worked as she did, throwing hay off as the cattle ambled toward them. They'd scattered nearly twenty of the eighty-pound bales when Ethan decided it was enough.

Maggie was only too glad to climb down from the wagon and return to the tractor. The relative warmth inside the cab felt almost balmy. This time, she didn't hold herself away from contact with Ethan in the cramped space. He dug out a thermos and twisted off the cap, then poured a cup of strong hot coffee. She took it gratefully.

Ethan didn't speak and neither did she as he put the tractor in motion. The sun was fully up now, and they both scanned the breathtaking expanse of white- mounded range for signs of another part of Ethan's vast herd. Three hours later, they'd emptied the wagon and arrived back at the barn for another load.

After he backed the wagon into the hay barn and they'd gotten down from the tractor, Ethan led the way to the ladder nailed to one of the tall posts that ran down the center of the bam on both sides. He grabbed a pair of hay chaps off a peg and handed them to Maggie before he started up the ladder to the loft.

The sweet scent of hay lavished Maggie with nostalgia as she glanced around the mammoth hay barn. She stood a moment savoring the smell as she slipped off her gloves to manage the leather ties on the chaps, then realized with surprise that she was precariously close to tears. A few stem words to herself brought her emotions under control, and she yanked on her gloves to get to work. Grabbing a pair of hay hooks, she swung up on the wagon.

While she stood out of the way, Ethan tumbled down several bales that landed toward the front of the wagon.

Then he moved to where he could send down more hay to the opposite end of the wagon. Maggie got to work, swiftly organizing the haphazard bales into the neat rows that would form a solid foundation for the load.

Ethan kept track of Maggie's progress as he sent hay down, more than a little impressed that she kept up with him. The brisk, efficient way she moved the heavy bales into a tight-packed pattern vexed his sense of fairness. He had men working for him who didn't move half that fast or with that level of competence. He sent several more bales cascading down, then took a moment to watch as she snagged bale after bale and wrestled each into place. The care she took in placing the bales just so reminded him of the pride she seemed to take in any work she'd done for him in the short time she'd been here, no matter how lowly or difficult the task. It struck him suddenly that Maggie would be a credit to anyone she worked for, an asset to any rancher.

If it weren't for her prison record. The reminder jarred him, and for a moment, as he watched her work, a wave of disbelief moved over him like a roll of thunder. Those clear blue eyes, rose-hued cheeks and remarkable face didn't fit his image of a lady ex-con. And her vulnerability. According to her, what she'd done to land herself in prison had cost her everything.

If you lost all this, what kind of job would you be qualified to do? she'd asked him last night. He'd heard the pain and desperation in that but had hardened himself to it. Instead, he'd focused on the powerful appeal she had for him as a woman.

As if his brain had been waiting for him to allow that much memory of the night before to surface, it suddenly swamped him with all the rest. He was momentarily lost as he remembered the wild sweetness of her mouth, the exact instant her shock vanished and the moment her hands crept up his chest to wind around his neck and give back as good as she got.

Between them they'd generated enough heat to burn down half his barns, and—God help him—he suddenly wanted to start something with her again just to play in the flames.

Good thing she'd be gone in a few hours, he told himself grimly as he shoved another bale over the edge of the loft. Out of sight, out of mind. He'd forget about her before spring was in full bloom and wonder then what all the fuss had been about. But until she was actually gone. . .

Ethan felt a monster of guilt squirm to life. He didn't want to acknowledge that she deserved the two-week trial she'd come here expecting. He hated that she was working so hard in the bitter cold when she knew he wouldn't hire her. His determination to be rid of her was weakening dangerously, and his objection to her prison record didn't seem strong enough anymore to shore up his resolve.

He didn't realize he'd been standing for several moments watching her work until Maggie finished aligning the bales and glanced up expectantly for more.

She straightened self-consciously, taken aback by the smoldering look in Ethan's dark eyes. Like yanking down a window shade against the slant beams of a rising sub, Ethan abruptly shuttered the look and; turned away. Before long, he was sending down bales at a rate that made her strain to keep up.

The wagon was loaded in record time. As Maggie climbed carefully down from the stack to join Ethan on the ground, she felt a stirring of apprehension. Ethan waited casually, but his closed expression warned her he was distancing himself from her.

Of course he would, she reminded herself. However well they'd worked together that morning, he still meant for her to leave. Because of that, it surprised her a little when instead of bluntly informing her it was time for her to collect her things, he led the way to the tractor and climbed up. Maggie climbed up after him and settled in as he started the engine. By the time they made it to the feed grounds, the silence between them had turned into brief spurts of conversation.

Maggie tried not to read anything hopeful in the easy way they worked together. It was bitterly cold and Ethan had hungry cattle to feed. There was no other reason to delay her departure.

"What do you mean, you can't spare someone to drive me to town?"

Maggie blocked Ethan's path, keeping him from taking another step toward the barn. Morning and the noon meal had come and gone. At two in the afternoon, she was worn out, and Ethan still hadn't found time to drive her to Red Horse. Worry over the late start and anger at Ethan's delays made her bold enough not to care whether or not she riled him. He was in a bear of a mood now, and her mood was almost as fierce.

"Just what I said," he growled down at her. "We're too damned busy." He started to walk past her, but she grabbed his arm.

"I need to get as far as possible before nightfall." Too aware of the thickly muscled forearm beneath the layer of coat sleeve, she released him. "I think you're trying to make this harder."

The shadow of his hat brim did nothing to dim the glitter of his eyes. Suddenly she could take no more of the frustration he seemed determined to provoke. She must have imagined the companionable way they'd worked together all day. She wouldn't have thought Ethan capable of putting her off in order to create further hardship. He'd already guessed how meager her resources were.

Maggie brushed past him and stomped to the house. She'd catch a ride along the highway if she had to, she vowed. Though she knew the hazards of hitchhiking, she was too furious to care.

"Maggie!"

She didn't so much as slow her determined stride at Ethan's shout.

"Maggie!" He bellowed her name this time. She had no doubt it was loud enough to carry for miles across the snowy landscape, but she gave no sign she'd even heard. She threw open the porch door, then stepped in just far enough to reach for her things.

Only they'd been moved. Maggie froze, her hand stopped midway down to where they'd been. A quick glance the length of the porch revealed that the bags were no longer on the porch at all.

She straightened and yanked, the door closed when she heard the crunch of Ethan's boots coming up the walk.

"Alva!" she called out as she stripped off her outer clothing and pried her boots off on the bootjack.

Alva came bustling in from the living room. "What is it, Maggie?"

"Where are my things?" she asked hurriedly.

The older woman frowned. "Why, the boss said to put them back in your room."

Maggie started toward the bedroom. Ethan came onto the porch after her, but she intended to retrieve her things and leave, no matter what kind of scene he made in front of his housekeeper.

She'd entered the guest room and crossed to the foot of the bed to grab her things when Ethan came barreling through the door.

"You're one hell of a piece of work, Maggie Deaton." The grim line of his lips would never pass for a smile. He reached out and gripped the edge of the open door to shove it closed. Though it hadn't slammed, the suppressed violence of the action was somehow more unnerving. Maggie took an unconscious step backward.

He hadn't bothered to remove his boots. Clumps of snow dropped off as he came toward her, his expression fiercer than she'd ever seen. It was then that she sensed the impending confrontation wasn't between Ethan and her so much as it was between Ethan and himself. Still, she had no confidence in her ability to read the man and discern his true motives. Right now in particular.

"I'm a piece of work?" she challenged, knowing if she didn't rally and meet him head-on he'd overwhelm her. "You could give les—"

He seized her upper arms, hauling her up against him until they were face-to-face. Fatigue had deepened the lines around his eyes and lengthened the slashes that bracketed his mouth.

"You get the damned two-week trial, got that?" he said in a low voice, his warm breath gusting over her astonished face. She went still as she tried to absorb what he'd said. He was furious, yet he was giving her the two-week trial. It took her a moment to think of something to say.

"Why?" That one word earned her an abrupt release. Ethan glared down at her, then swung back toward the door. He'd reached for the knob and yanked it open when she repeated the question.

The look he tossed over his shoulder was only marginally less harsh. Some of the fury seemed to leave him then, but he held himself just as rigidly. "Do you want the job or not?"

She nodded. "I want it."

"Then don't give me cause for regret, Maggie. I've already got misgivings." He was out the door and gone before she'd quite recovered.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Maggie was as happy as a child at Christmas. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to look forward to getting up in the morning. The best part by far had been that many of the chores Ethan assigned her centered primarily on the horses, Rounder in particular. She'd been given free rein with the stallion and all went well—until one afternoon late that first week.

The weather had mellowed considerably in the past few days. Since much of the snow had melted, Maggie saddled Rounder and led him to the small pasture west of the house. Though he made a big show of trying to buck her off, he'd been too eager to run to put his whole heart into throwing her. It took all her skill to keep the energetic animal restrained to a trot, but the slush underfoot made a faster pace out of the question. Before long, an audience of ranch hands—which included Ethan—had collected along the fence.

Only Maggie seemed to notice the forbidding line of Ethan's mouth. She was grateful he didn't call her down in front of the men, but she expected fireworks once they were out of earshot.

As if he meant to keep her in suspense, Ethan said nothing about the incident until that night when he called her to the den. She had no more gotten the door closed when he began.

"I credited you with more sense than to climb on that outlaw and run him through snowdrifts." Ethan's stance was no-nonsense, his feet braced slightly apart and his arms crossed firmly.

Refusing to let him intimidate her, she affected a calm facade. "I kept him to a trot, and there was more mud than snow," she countered reasonably.

"What about the little rodeo he put on before that?" he demanded, uncrossing his arms to gesture in the general direction of the pasture. "It's a wonder he didn't pitch you into the next county."

Maggie resented being made to feel like a naughty child taken to task by the teacher, and her challenging tone conveyed it. "I've had to top off horses before and so have you," she said, referring to the quirk some horses have about bucking or acting up before they get it out of their systems and allow themselves to be ridden. "He was just feeling his oats."

Ethan shook his head. "No more risks, Maggie." The order was emphasized by his steely look. "You're letting sentiment cloud your judgment. Even without his problem, you know as well as I do that stallions are hard to handle and potentially dangerous."

Maggie bristled at the reminder, but kept her response level. "I'm careful."

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "If you can't show some caution, you won't be working him at all." He turned away and paced toward his desk to shake a cigarillo from the flat box that lay on the corner of it.

Maggie clenched her fists in frustration. "He needed exercise and I wanted to see how he would do under a saddle. You're the one who gave me permission to work him. I figured you meant for me to use my own judgment." Ethan peeled a match from a matchbook, the brisk way he did it communicating his ire. "If you think I'm that far out of line. . ."

Her voice trailed off. Ethan had allowed her a lot of leeway with the stallion, not to mention giving her two weeks to prove herself. Even she had to admit he was taking a gamble when he believed what he did about her conviction.

Besides, she wasn't boss here. She knew how it rankled when a hired hand—and a new one at that—figured they knew better than the boss. Though it was hard for her to bow to someone else's judgment, it was something she'd be doing no matter who she worked for.

"If you think I'm that far out of line," she began again as she watched him strike the match, "I won't put him under a saddle again until you agree the time's right."

The look of surprise on Ethan's face when he turned back to her was almost comical. He pulled the thin cigar from his lips and absently shook out the match as he studied her. A rare smile tilted his mouth. "Well, hell's bells, Maggie, I didn't know you had it in you." His smile stretched wider as he tossed the dead match into an ashtray. "Saying that must've about turned your stomach."

Maggie frowned when he chuckled, but the sound of it was so compelling and unexpected she couldn't help the wry smile that touched her lips. "Don't let it go to your head, Kincaid. It's harder than you think."

Ethan chuckled again. "No doubt." Maggie didn't realize the significance of the move when Ethan picked up the box of cigarillos and dropped them, along with the one he'd taken out, into the trash can. He motioned her toward the wing chair in front of the desk as he settled himself on its edge. "Had trouble with any of the men?"

"Nothing I can't handle," she said as she sat down and casually rested her elbows on the chair arms.

There'd been the expected resentment of a couple of the men who didn't like working with a woman, but it was the lewd remarks from one of the younger cowhands that she found obnoxious. Frankie Wilson had the potential to make a real pest of himself, but she considered the problem too trivial to bother Ethan with. Besides, any acknowledgment of it would signal she was less than equal to the other ranch hands. She would deal with it herself.

Ethan eyed her with faint skepticism, but didn't challenge her statement. A soft knock on the door snared his attention. "Come in."

The knob turned and Jamie came skipping across the room to her father. Ethan leaned forward and reached out to catch the child up. "What is it, squirt?"

"Can Maggie come see my kittens?"

Ethan's jaw firmed. His dark gaze met Maggie's.

"You told me we can't carry them around till their eyes get opened," Jamie chattered on, leaning to the side to block Ethan's visual contact with Maggie. "But their mommy won't mind if Maggie just peeks in the closet."

Maggie's fingers tightened on the chair arms. She could tell Ethan was trying to think of an excuse to give the child. He hadn't thought it best for Maggie to take the separate quarters at the end of the bunkhouse just yet—as long as she minimized her contact with Jamie. That Jamie was trying to include Maggie in the household, even in this small way, didn't improve her chances to pass the two-week trial.

"I-I'm awfully tired tonight, Jamie," she offered. "Maybe I can go see them another time." Maggie got up to leave.

Jamie twisted around in her father's arms to look at Maggie. "Aw, please, Maggie?" The crestfallen look on the little girl's face made her feel ashamed to have put it there. Maggie sensed Ethan was watching her closely and that this was what he expected her to do.

"It's been a long day, honey," she insisted gently as she edged toward the door. "Maybe tomorrow." Maggie said a hasty good-night, then left to go to her room.

Once there, she closed the door and leaned against it, feeling terrible for rebuffing Jamie. She was such a bright, friendly child that Maggie secretly enjoyed being around her.

Jamie was also a pint-size tomboy. Maggie found it amusing that Ethan's and Alva's attempts to feminize the child were met with loud resistance at every turn. Maggie had been a tomboy herself, scorning ribbons and dresses and dolls in favor of jeans and horses and cowboy work. She suspected she and Jamie were cut from the same cloth and that Ethan was destined to realize the futility of trying to raise his daughter like a hothouse plant.

Maggie moved away from the door, lost for a moment in memories of her own childhood. Her father had been a stern man, not given to emotional displays. His fatherly pride in her precociousness and her childlike determination to work at his side and demonstrate an ability to do so had been enormous.

Though he'd initially discouraged her attempts to follow him around when she'd been three or four, he'd given in by the time she was five. He'd let her ride out every day with him then, assigning her regular chores to both test her and teach her responsibility. Maggie still carried a picture of herself on the full-size cow pony he'd let her ride on her first roundup just before her sixth birthday. After that, she'd done whatever task her small size and her father's nerves didn't prohibit.

A bittersweet ache went through her. Life had been so uncomplicated then, so safe. Her heritage had been a proud one. She'd grown up thinking she'd pass it on to her sons and daughters one day as it had been passed on to her. But that heritage—at least the greater part of it—had been lost along with the ranch. Maggie was painfully aware that the only heritage she had to offer now was a shameful one. Unless she cleared her record and her name, her conviction would shadow her for the rest of her life, and perhaps her children, as well. And now that she was a cowhand instead of a rancher. . .

Impatient with the unhappy turn of her thoughts, Maggie got ready for bed. She lay awake a long time, thinking about her stepbrother and the possibility he was in the area.

Eventually the long day caught up with her and she slipped off to sleep.

"Psst, Maggie!" Jamie's childish whisper startled Maggie. She'd been on her way to the kitchen for breakfast and had passed Jamie's door. Surprised the child was up this early, Maggie stopped and turned back.

"What is it, Jamie?" she asked, careful to keep her voice low. She could hear Alva out in the kitchen, but she didn't know if Ethan was there yet or not.

"I want to show you the kittens," the girl whispered, opening her door to catch hold of Maggie's hand. "You said you'd come see them today."

Unable to think of a plausible way to refuse, Maggie reluctantly let herself be led into the child's room.

"Could you turn on a light?" Maggie asked softly, then stifled a yelp when her toe jammed into a chair leg.

"I got a flashlight," Jamie whispered. Maggie winced when it suddenly clicked on and shone directly in her eyes. She put out a patient hand to redirect the light from her face to the floor in front of them. The closet door stood partway open, and she assumed this was the closet the new kittens were in.

Jamie released her hand to open the door wider and Maggie obligingly looked inside. A row of frilly dresses hung on the clothes rod. Beneath them, a veritable avalanche of dolls and stuffed animals cascaded from the overflow on the shelves and lay in a jumble on the closet floor. Jamie squeezed in beside Maggie and slipped her small fingers into her hand.

"Where are they?" Maggie asked as she tried to see the kittens amid the clutter. Outside of a catalog or a toy store, Maggie had never seen so many dolls and stuffed toys in her life. The picture of hard-edged Ethan Kincaid tucking a huge pink panda under one arm and a purple unicorn under the other, then marching up to a toy counter to buy them struck her as both comical and endearing.

Jamie swung the flashlight and directed the beam to a back corner of the closet. She and Maggie had to lean over to see better. By then, the mother's gentle purr could be heard. Jamie pulled one of the larger stuffed bears aside, revealing the calico mama and her litter of six. Her small hand found Maggie's again and together they watched the kittens nurse. Each kitten was spotted, from the plain black-and-white ones to the three-colored calico that was just like its mother.

"Daddy says I can pick one to stay in the house," Jamie said, "but I can't make up my mind which one I like best."

Maggie didn't realize Ethan had entered the room until she heard the soft creak of a floorboard beneath the carpet. Unease rippled through her and she glanced over her shoulder. The reflected light made his expression unreadable.

As if she felt Maggie's sudden tension, Jamie looked back, too, her small face brightening with a smile. "Hi, Daddy."

"How are the kittens this morning?" he asked gently, the stem planes of his face magically softening for his daughter.

"They're havin' breakfast. They woke me up meowing for their mama to come," Jamie told him. "How much longer till their eyes get opened?"

Maggie slipped her hand from the child's, but her move to step back and out of the way was blocked by Ethan's body.

"Another day or two," Ethan answered mildly as his hands came up and settled briefly on either side of Maggie's waist to steady her. She stiffened against the chaos his touch set off, then stood helplessly, sensing his hard body behind her as he leaned over her shoulder to glance obligingly at the kittens.

The memory of being crushed in his arms while his mouth did devastating things to hers swept through her. The craving that had followed made her ache to turn around for more. As if to torment her, the heat from Ethan's body warmed her back, and the closet was suddenly thick with sensuality. Maggie marveled that no more than a fleeting touch and Ethan's close proximity could set off such a strong response in her. She didn't realize Jamie had said something to her until the prompting brush of Ethan's fingers on her arm penetrated.

"W-what?"

"Which one do you think I should pick?"

"I-it's a hard choice with so many," she got out, dismayed at the breathless quality of her voice. "Maybe you should wait until they get a little older."

Jamie frowned, as if considering the wisdom of Maggie's advice. Fortunately she seemed oblivious to Maggie's distress. "Yeah," she agreed as she turned back to watch the kittens. "Unless I can get Daddy to let me keep 'em all."

Ethan's soft chuckle sent his warm breath across Maggie's flushed cheek. "No chance of that, squirt. They'll be around for you to play with, but only one can live in the house."

"But, Daddy. . ." Those words, accompanied by the exasperated tone of her childish voice, was a frequent refrain, and Maggie couldn't help but smile at it. Ethan's response was an equally frequent one.

"Don't 'but, Daddy' me," he said good-naturedly. "It's too early in the morning to start that."

Jamie gave him an exaggerated frown. "Yeah, I know, you haven't had your coffee yet."

"That's right." Ethan moved one hand past Maggie to reach over and tug playfully on a long, unbound lock of his daughter's bright hair. "Alva's waiting breakfast on Maggie and me now, so we'd better leave those kittens to finish theirs."

Maggie felt a confusing mixture of disappointment and relief when Ethan stepped back, robbing her of the warmth that had radiated from his big body.

"Thanks for showing me your kittens," she said softly to Jamie as she sat down amid the tumble of dolls and stuffed toys.

"You can come see them anytime you want, Maggie," Jamie replied, then turned to watch the kittens.

Ethan moved aside to let Maggie exit the closet and walk ahead of him to the door, then into the hall. Her nerves had only begun to settle when he caught her elbow and pulled her to a halt while he reached back to close Jamie's door.

Maggie turned toward him, but the hall was too dark to see much of his face. Of course she didn't need to see to know he was upset with her.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't think of a way to put her off again. I didn't expect—"

"I know." His voice was more frustrated than harsh. "It wouldn't occur to her that there are some people you don't—" Ethan abruptly cut himself off.

It took a second for what he'd been about to say to sink in. When it did, a cold anger seeped into her, banishing the last of the warm sensuality that had overwhelmed her only moments ago. She made a move that freed her arm, then started briskly down the hall.

The atmosphere at breakfast was decidedly hostile. Once again, Alva took note of the tension between them and dropped their plates before them in a manner that left no doubt of her displeasure. She grabbed the dishcloth and gave the countertop a wipe before she draped the cloth over the faucet. Maggie was reaching for a piece of toast when Alva suddenly untied her apron and whipped it off.

"If the two of you happen to kill each other before you finish eating, one of you'd better stay alive long enough to clean up the mess." The apron sailed through the air and landed on a chair at the end of the table. Alva picked up her coffee cup and stalked from the room.

Maggie glanced at Ethan, not surprised by his stormy look. In the face of his unbending attitude, she lost her grip on her anger. The helplessness that rose up to take its place washed away the tension and left a deep hurt in its wake. He'd never change his mind about her, she realized. It was foolish to think he ever would. The bite of toast she'd taken tasted like sawdust and it took more than one swallow of coffee to get it down.

"I think I'd better move my things to those rooms at the end of the bunkhouse."

Ethan's soft no was at odds with his fierce look. "I don't want you down there with the men."

"And you don't want me around your daughter, either," she replied coldly. "I'd say the only choice left is for me to leave." Maggie pushed her chair back and got to her feet. Ethan's hand shot across the table and caught her wrist.

Her anger returned full force as their gazes clashed over the tabletop. "I've had enough of your black looks and bad temper, Kincaid."

Ethan watched her tight expression, knowing instantly that she didn't realize how thinly her anger hid her pain. The tenderness that stirred in him played dangerously against the desire her strong personality provoked.

He was crazy to let her stay, yet not crazy enough to send her away. Keeping her on with all the problems her presence caused flew in the face of common sense, but he was suddenly tired of common sense. In spite of her prison record, having Maggie here was like taking that first invigorating breath of biting spring air. There weren't many women like her, and no woman, not even Jamie's late mother, had ever made quite the impact on him Maggie did. His grip on her wrist tightened a moment, then eased.

Maggie jerked her hand back, but didn't flinch away as they stared each other down. To her surprise, Ethan's stern expression softened.

"I'm no more likely to change to suit you than you are to suit me," he said, the texture of his voice almost gruff. "But I need a good cowhand. You passed the two-week trial the day I decided to give you the job. As long as you don't go out of your way to befriend Jamie and don't stir up trouble with my men or the lav/, I reckon the job will stay yours for as long as you do it right." He paused, and a hint of a smile angled across his mouth. "Or as long as you want it. The choice is yours."

With that, Ethan reached for his fork. Maggie was left standing awkwardly until he motioned her to sit. She hesitated before she did, then picked up her fork almost absently as she tried to sort out the conflicting thoughts and emotions that roiled through her. She'd passed the two-week trial? Somehow the relief she felt at that announcement made her feel less threatened by Ethan's blustery moods. But there was still the matter of being quartered at the house and having to rebuff his daughter. He glanced up, noticed she wasn't eating and frowned.

"Something wrong with the food?"

"I don't like being rude to your daughter. If I stay at the bunkhouse and take my meals at the cookshack—"

"I don't buy what you said about not having problems with the men," he said bluntly. "I think one of them has the potential to get out of line with you. But until he does and gets fired, you'll sleep up here and take your meals with us."

Maggie couldn't let that go by. "Setting me apart draws attention to the fact that I'm a woman doing a man's job. Your men might figure you're playing favorites." She hesitated, then added, "Or worse."

The "or worse" seemed to echo in the silence. Maggie found it difficult to maintain eye contact with Ethan as they were both reminded of that night in the barn. Heat crept into her cheeks, but she didn't look away. Ethan's dark gaze settled briefly on her lips before it lifted to blaze purposely into her eyes.

"I don't reckon we'll escape the 'or worses' of the situation even if you didn't sleep at the house." His lids lowered slightly, but didn't quite conceal the smoldering gleam in his eyes. "Whatever happens between you and me in private is nobody's business but ours. If it prevents either of us from doing the job, we'll either rein it in or say adios."

Ethan's astonishing words were a blatant statement of intent. Maggie was as taken aback by them as she was by the answering flutter deep in her belly. She scrambled to recover her composure.

"I'm not looking for a fling with the boss, Kincaid," she said firmly.

"I'm not offering you one," he responded. "But good intentions have a way of getting misplaced when certain urges come into play."

Maggie shook her head. "Not with me."

Ethan's low chuckle slid along her nerves like a caress, but he didn't voice a contradiction she could refute again. Her meal was cold, but she attacked it with enough determination to get most of it down before she and Ethan started their workday, the tension between them as fine and tightly drawn as piano wire.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Maggie and Ethan passed the next few days immersed in the routine of spring work. Their truce was fraught with a sexual awareness that kept Maggie on edge when they were together. That Ethan could so bluntly acknowledge the attraction between them, then as much as make provision to indulge it, still unsettled her.

There was no denying the excitement she felt whenever he was around, or the hot looks he sent her from time to time. Yet his actions toward her were always within the bounds of proper behavior. During the workday, he treated her like just another ranch hand. It was over a meal at the house, or during one of those rare times they were alone together, that the attraction between them escalated.

Maggie told herself she was relieved neither of them acted on that attraction. But she couldn't deny that some part of her still craved the pressure of his mouth.

Although distracted by her feelings for Ethan, she hadn't been able to overlook her growing problem with Frankie Wilson. Frankie had ventured closer to the limit all week, with a suggestive remark or an unnecessary brush of his hand. Maggie had rebuffed him each time, treating him to a coldness guaranteed to discourage most men. That his interest in her was only whetted by her aloof manner was becoming increasingly clear.

She dismissed the idea of going to Ethan about it. A female who needed a protector against her male coworkers needed to find another line of work. Besides, Frankie had only been at the ranch a few weeks and had already been put on notice about his work. Because he didn't seem to have taken the warning seriously, she doubted he'd be around after the end of the week. She could handle him until then.

Focused on the bay colt she planned to work before she quit for the day, Maggie stepped into the tack room in search of a hackamore. She was sorting through half a dozen on the back wall when she felt the first uneasy prickle that signaled another bout of panic. Determined to suppress the sensation, she examined the hackamoies more closely. The creak of the door closing startled her and she glanced over her shoulder.

Frankie gave her a cocky grin as he let the door swing shut. Maggie frowned and turned fully toward him.

"Well, now," he drawled, his gaze roaming over her as he took a strutting step closer. "Some of you gals sure get a kick outta playin' hard to get."

"Get out of here, Wilson," she said coldly. The door was open only a crack now, and her gaze veered nervously toward it. Dizziness tilted the room and her heart shot into a jerky rhythm. Desperate to get a grip on her rising panic, Maggie reached back and took from the wall the first hackamore that came to hand. When she tried to step around Frankie for the door, he raised his arm and braced it against the side wall to block her.

"No need to rush off," he murmured, leaning close to her face.

Maggie's mouth went dry as the space seemed to shrink to suffocating proportions. "I've got work to do," she said tersely, then shoved his arm away and pushed past him. Frankie chuckled, let his arm drop, then caught her around the waist.

Alarmed, Maggie swung the hackamore, whipping it forcefully around his back. Frankie yelped as he flinched away from the stinging lash, but he recovered quickly. She'd caught hold of the door latch to pull it open when he threw his bulk against the door and slammed it against the door frame.

Fear surged through her at the realization she was trapped. The claustrophobia that suddenly gripped her was so unbearable that the threat Frankie posed seemed trivial by comparison. She couldn't catch her breath, and the shallow puffs of air she did get weren't enough to ease the rising pressure in her chest.

Mistaking her momentary stillness for surrender, Frankie turned her to face him. His head swooped down and Maggie instinctively struck out. Frankie yowled when her fist smashed into his mouth. Though he staggered back in surprise, he didn't let go. Maggie clawed at his hands, but only succeeded in angering him. His grip on her upper arms tightened cruelly as he tried to shove her to the floor.

The scuffle that ensued was as brief as it was violent, and Maggie fought against his brutish strength. Enraged, he slammed her into the wall at her back, knocking her head against the wood. Stars danced in front of her eyes as his face blurred close and his open mouth mashed down on hers.

She tried to twist her face away when suddenly Frankie lurched backward, half dragging her with him. She'd barely registered the move when she was released completely to stumble to her knees.

"You son of a—" Ethan's bellow thundered in the small space and was followed by the sound of wood splintering. Maggie glanced up to see Frankie pinned helplessly against the open door and Ethan's big fist crashing into his face.

Unable to bear another second of the confining space, she got dizzily to her feet and slipped past Ethan to the stable aisle, then rushed through the barn to the afternoon sunshine beyond the open doors.

I must be losing my mind. The thought was almost as terrifying as the phobia, and Maggie hurried on, intent on reaching safety.

Alva and Jamie weren't around when she let herself into the back porch and quickly shucked her boots and jacket. As she made her way to her room, the familiarity of the ranch house began to blunt the sharp edge of fright.

Maggie closed her door and dropped into the armchair. Still shaking, she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She bent her head and roughly shoved her fingers into her hair, then clenched her hands into fists.

Her terror had been worse this time, so far beyond her control it made her doubt her sanity. If Ethan hadn't come by at the right moment, there was no telling what Frankie would have done. Not even the violence of his attack had jolted her from the terror of being trapped in that small space. The instant the door had swung closed, her normally strong defenses had crumpled. Though she was smaller than Frankie and not nearly as strong, she could have held her own if she'd been thinking clearly and her responses had been quicker and more decisive.

Maggie's head came up when she heard Ethan enter the house by the back door and tromp onto the porch. He'd warned her against getting into trouble with his men, and she reasoned that being stupid enough to let Frankie get the drop on her would qualify as trouble. Especially when Ethan had had to take it upon himself to intervene.

The sound of his booted feet striding purposefully through the house prompted her to retreat to the bathroom. She was relieved when the panic didn't so much as stir. Bewildered at its on-again, off-again unpredictability, she switched on the light before she closed the door.

She heard Ethan knock, then charge into her bedroom as she twisted on the cold-water faucet in the bathroom. One look at her reflection in the mirror above the sink made her wince.

Her hair was wild, her eyes red rimmed and her lower lip swollen and bleeding. She leaned down to splash water on her face.

"Maggie?" Ethan's rough voice carried over the sound of running water.

"I-I'm here." She got a handful of water and held it to her lip, then reached for the glass nearby and filled it to rinse her mouth.

The door opened a crack. "Are you all right?"

"I'll live," she answered briskly.

"I'm going to call the sheriff, then I'll—"

Maggie didn't hear the rest. The sheriff. Alarm brought her gaze up to meet that of her own reflection. What if. . . She didn't let the thought finish itself before she grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open. Ethan had turned away and was halfway to her door.

"Ethan—don't!" She hated the panicky sound of her voice as she rushed after him. He turned back. "Don't call the sheriff."

Ethan put out his hand and gently caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger to turn her face more toward the light. "That son of a bitch," he muttered as his expression grew fierce.

Maggie reached up to grip his wrist and tried to pull his hand away. "Don't call the sheriff, Ethan," she repeated. His gaze lifted from her injured lip to her eyes.

"Why the hell not?"

Her gaze fled his and she tried to avert her face. He took hold of her and forced her to look at him. "Why not?"

She took a quick breath to steady the nervous roil of her stomach. "I don't want trouble. I don't want my name on any arrest report or investigation."

He looked surprised and promptly released her. She turned away. "I'm a parolee, and there are any number of things that could jeopardize that." She combed a nervous hand through her hair. "I hit him, Ethan. If he wanted to, he might be able to press a countercharge."

"That was self-defense."

Maggie glanced back skeptically. "Did you see me do it?" His frown told her he hadn't. "Then it's my word against his. I'm the one with the prison record, so guess whose story they'd believe. Besides—" she looked away "—you know as well as I do that men like Frankie Wilson always claim that the woman teased him, then didn't put out, and that a lot of other men believe the woman brought an attack on herself and somehow lost her right to say no." She tensed when Ethan didn't respond right away. She heard him release a slow breath.

"Did you?"

The question was like a slap. She wasn't a flirt, not even with Ethan. That he thought it necessary to ask was another indication of his low estimation of her character. An incredible weariness washed over her. She thought she'd been proving herself to him these past days.

"Get out of here," she said quietly. "Go call your sheriff and let's get it over with." Maggie retreated to the bathroom. Woodenly, she picked up her brush and pulled it through her hair. By the time she'd splashed her face again with cold water and come out, Ethan had gone.

As strong as her panic had been earlier, the fatigue she felt now in the aftermath was drugging. There didn't seem to be a part of her body that didn't ache from her struggle with Frankie. She dreaded the sheriff's arrival but suddenly felt too defeated to pay it much attention. Figuring someone would call her, she stretched out belly down across her bed and lay her cheek on the quilt.

She tried to ignore the soft tap that came at the door. When it came again, she called out a surly "Go away." The door opened, anyway, and she reluctantly sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. Ethan came in carrying a tray, then used the heel of his boot to kick the door closed.

"I told you to go away," she repeated ungraciously as he walked to the bed and set the tray on the bedside table. He sat down and caught her hand when she automatically tried to get up.

"Here." The glass of straight whiskey he handed her was half-full.

"What's this?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nerve medicine," he said, then refused to take it when she tried to hand it back to him.

"I can't have whiskey on my breath when the sheriff gets here, Kincaid."

Ethan swore. "I didn't call the sheriff. Drink that."

Maggie searched his stony expression a moment. "What about Wilson?"

"Harv and one of the boys are taking him over the state line to dump him in Colorado. He knows better than to come back." He swore again when she continued to watch him skeptically. His voice lowered to a growl. "Drink it."

Maggie cautiously raised the glass, then took a couple of swallows, struggling to suppress a cough as the fiery liquid burned all the way to her stomach. The next two swallows went down a little easier.

"Not the whole thing at once," he groused as he took the glass from her, "or you'll be howling at the moon. Let's see that lip."

She started to refuse, but he caught her chin and let one finger feather over the area of the cut. Maggie winced. "It's sore enough without you digging at it." She jerked her chin away and caught sight of the bowl of ice on the tray. "I could use some of that ice."

Ethan obligingly wrapped a chunk in a washcloth and handed it to her. Instead of applying it to her lip, she pressed it gingerly over the bump on the back of her head. Seeing that, Ethan reached up and nudged her hand out of the way.

"I'm not a prize heifer you have to vet, Kincaid," she told him as he gently probed the bump on her scalp.

A smile tugged at one side of his mouth, and she caught a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he finished his inspection. He turned away only long enough to pick up another chunk of ice from the bowl. He got to his feet, then nodded toward the head of the bed.

"Slide up there and lie down. Alva won't have supper ready for another hour, and it wouldn't hurt you to take it easy for a while."

Assuming he would leave, she did as he suggested, cupping the hand with the cloth-wrapped ice behind her head to keep it in place. She'd just gotten settled when Ethan stretched out on his side next to her. He ignored her warning scowl and leaned over her to gently touch another chunk of ice to her cut lip.

"What's this all for?" she demanded, dismayed at the breathless quaver in her voice. A slow smile crossed Ethan's face.

"TLC. Shut up and let me give you some."

The flutter of excitement in her stomach burst softly into warmth as he trailed the ice chunk back and forth across her lower lip. The heat from his fingers and her skin began to melt the ice, but before the first drops of water could run onto her chin, he lowered his head and sipped it. The ragged breath she took gave her away and she felt color surge into her cheeks. She turned her face to escape both the ice and his mouth. A tremor of longing went through her, but the heartache she felt at having to deny it was much stronger.

"Is this a test?"

"What?"

When Maggie turned her head, her blue eyes blazed up at him. "I asked you if this was a test," she said. "You asked if I'd led Wilson on. Is that what all this TLC—" she emphasized the letters scornfully "—is about?"

Ethan's stern features softened as he stared down at her. Slowly his head lowered. She stiffened as he came closer but didn't close her eyes. He didn't close his eyes, either, until a scant second before his mouth eased tenderly onto hers. After a moment, he drew back slightly.

"No, Maggie." His lips came down and caressed hers again, astonishing her with the care he took not to inflict hurt, while at the same time stoking the fire that began to burn low inside her. "If there's anybody here who's—" he hesitated to nibble gently "—being tested, it's me."

With that, he angled his mouth more firmly over hers. He didn't hurt her, yet she sensed the effort it took for him to restrain the kiss. His hand curved around her waist, then stroked slowly upward until it settled over her breast.

Without conscious thought, Maggie let her arms circle his shoulders and neck. Ethan's hand wandered up and began working open the buttons of her shirt.

The callused warmth of his fingers grazed her skin as he eased the facings of her blouse aside. She gasped when his palm settled warmly over her lace-clad breast. She turned her head to break contact with his mouth. Her thoughts were chaotic, but she was still lucid enough to be suspicious.

"I hear some men get a kick out of dallying with 'bad' women." Her breathless statement didn't hinder him from continuing his erotic play as he slid down and let his lips play over the sensitive skin at the side of her neck. Maggie gave a helpless sigh at the wild sensations that cascaded through her. The hand that had been at her breast skimmed warmly down to her side to curve possessively around her hip and shift her more fully beneath him.

She managed to get out a shuddering "S-stop," but the restless move of her body against his made a mockery of her breathless demand. Desperate to regain control of herself, she bit down on her injured lip, but even the pain of that didn't grant her release from the passion Ethan had so aggressively built. She didn't realize she'd been clinging to him almost desperately until she tried to let go and force him away.

But the moment her fingers encountered his shoulder, they closed reflexively on the well-defined muscle beneath the smooth cloth. Overwhelming need surged through her, and the sudden hunger for more shattered the last of her resistance.

Suddenly she didn't care what Ethan's motives were. The power of her desire for him blotted out everything else. Her hand came up and speared fiercely into his thick hair, then guided his mouth back up to hers. She was dimly aware of the care he tried to take with her lip, but it frustrated her, and she raised her head to pursue the rough pressure of his mouth.

Ethan's low moan as he tried to keep the kiss gentle spurred her on. She wasn't aware of how far he'd retreated until she realized he'd rolled onto his back and she was draped over him. Sensing the control Ethan was imposing on them both, Maggie pulled her mouth from his and dropped her head to rest it in the curve between his shoulder and neck.

Sanity returned by increments, each more painful than the last. What was she doing?

As if he knew everything she was thinking, Ethan chuckled. "Goes against the grain to go down so easy, doesn't it, Maggie?" The rough velvet of his voice was like another touch of his lips. Maggie squeezed her eyes closed as if doing so would help her in some way.

"Did you plan this?" She lifted her head to see his face when he replied.

Ethan sighed harshly and opened his eyes to meet hers. The unappeased hunger she saw there surprised her.

But that was lust, she concluded dismally, knowing full well that the woman who appealed to a man sexually didn't necessarily have the power to win his heart.

"I didn't plan this, no," he told her, "but I can't say I didn't have hopes." His fingers flexed strongly on her backside, shifting her more fully over him as a smile prowled across his lips. He raised his head to feather a kiss on her mouth. "How 'bout it, Maggie?" he breathed as his tongue stole out and laved tenderly over her lower lip. "We could have us some wild times." The lazy sensuality of his words inflamed her, but she vowed to resist them.

"For how long?" she asked, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it. She had the awful fear that she was starting to fail deeply in love with him, in spite of everything. It was better if he crushed the life out of that feeling now rather than later, when it would cost her much more.

He was still playing with her lip when she repeated the question. She pulled away from his mouth to catch his attention.

Ethan let his head fall back against the pillow and studied her flushed face. The odd glint that came into his eyes was a subtle warning of what was coming. "For as long as it takes to put out the fire, sweetheart."

Though she'd expected it—needed to hear the words— she'd not been fully prepared for the pain they caused her. "I told you I wasn't looking for a fling with the boss," she reminded him, wondering why she was pushing the issue. He'd made it clear he was only interested in something cheap with her.

It was then that she realized what she really wanted was an argument, the hotter the better. She suddenly needed a release from the storm of frustrated desire and hurt that swirled inside, and a fight with Ethan would have to do. The spark in his eyes told her he might be more than willing to oblige.

"You're making a mistake if you think holding out will get you a better payoff," he warned silkily. "You haven't got the right set of chips to barter in exchange for a ring and a ceremony."

The ice that crackled through her veins chilled the last of her desire, and from the cold look Ethan was giving her, she knew the same thing had happened to him.

A grim line tilted her mouth. "I think you had Harv throw the wrong SOB off the ranch." She levered herself off Ethan and rolled away. Her hand encountered the washcloth that was now wet with melted ice. She tossed it in the general direction of the tray, then dropped back against the pillow and closed her eyes, The sting behind her eyelids was strong, but she was determined not to shed so much as one tear over Ethan Kincaid.

Finally she felt the mattress lurch as he got up. Maggie lay stiffly until she heard the door close. Desolate, she rolled to her side and opened dry eyes to stare blankly at the waning daylight beyond the ruffled curtains,

Maggie was relieved when Ethan had her drive into town to pick up the special horse feed he'd ordered. He was almost unapproachable now. Though he treated her no differently than the other ranch hands, the chill in his eyes when he looked at her cut deep.

Since Frankie Wilson was no longer around, Ethan allowed her to take the separate rooms at the end of the bunkhouse. That spared her haying to be under the same roof with him, but there was no escaping the times she had to work with him. Though those times were few, she'd expected him to become critical of her work or find some reason to fire her. He never did, though his indifference to whether or not she stayed on was almost harder to deal with than outright conflict.

Maggie tried to put the situation out of her mind as she enjoyed the drive to town. The afternoon sun was warm, and the spring air bore the subtle scents of renewal. The midsixties temperature let her crank down her window, and she welcomed the fresh air that breezed in. She hadn't been behind the wheel of a vehicle for more' than "two years, and the sense of freedom and mobility was exhilarating,

She'd been thinking of giving Ethan notice, then heading out in search of a new job. She had two weeks' pay and almost a third, so she'd have enough to carry her until she found employment. Yet the feeling of independence driving to town gave her made her reconsider moving on right away. Working for Ethan wasn't intolerable, so she might do well to stay on until she saved enough to buy a used pickup or car. It would be a step toward regaining at least a small part of all she'd been forced to give up, and the idea of having something of her own again was irresistible.

Once she got to the feed store, she found she had to park behind the building to load the feed, which was waiting on the loading dock. Maggie handed Ethan's check to the clerk.

"Need a hand with that, miss?" he asked.

Maggie shook her head and smiled. "I can get it." The clerk looked a little uncomfortable letting her load the feed on her own, but he went back inside as Maggie got to work.

She was half finished when a blue pickup pulled into the loading area and parked alongside her truck. She spared it no more than a glance and went on with her work until the last bag was in place and she climbed down from the truck bed. She was shucking her gloves when the doors of the other pickup opened and three men got out. Maggie glanced up, then froze.

The man who blocked her path smiled down at her. "What's the matter, Sis? You look like you've seen a ghost." Clearly enjoying her surprise, Bret Morgan grinned conspiratorially at the two men who loitered casually against the side of their pickup.

An impulse to flee struck Maggie. Seeing Bret so suddenly was unnerving, but it was the terrible sense of foreboding she felt that shook her.

This was what she'd hoped for all those interminable days in prison, she reminded herself dazedly. The only problem was that she'd intended to find Bret first, then keep a low profile until she found a way to expose whatever illegal activity he was involved in. She'd never imagined he was living somewhere as an upstanding citizen, and the arrogant way he looked down at her told her she'd been right.

It was his look—that cocky smile—that tore across her temper like a jagged knife. "What are you doing here?"

"I figured you'd still be put out with me," he told her, affecting an injured look calculated to provoke. "But me and my boys got only the best intentions." He raised his right hand as if swearing an oath.

Maggie's lips twisted scornfully, trying to cover a resurgence of dread. He was up to something, and she sensed he meant to tangle her up in it somehow. If she could get away and go directly to the sheriff, she might be able to stop him. Though the risk of trusting another sheriff to ferret out the truth was terrifying, she had no choice. Time hadn't mellowed Bret. He was more dangerous to her now than ever.

"What do you want, Bret?" It was less a question than an acknowledgment.

"Why, honey, there's no need to be so suspicious," he scolded in the wheedling tone she'd always hated. "The boys and me need a little information, that's all."

She stiffened. "Then you'll have to talk to someone else. I'm fresh out of information." She started away, hut the two men with Bret moved and leaned against the side of her truck, deliberately blocking the door.

"As I was sayin'," Bret went on as Maggie tamed back to him, "we need information. After all, it was you who got our inside man at Kincaid's fired, so we was figuring you'd want to do something to make up for it." The malicious smile he gave was chilling. "Like takin' his place."

A queasy feeling hit her stomach. The inside man she'd got fired? Frankie Wilson was a sleaze, but she hadn't suspected he was involved in a rustling operation.

"You see, the boys and me don't like traipsin' around pastures in the dark tryin' to get our hands on the best stock. Then we got the problem of somebody comin' along at the wrong time." Bret shook his head. "No tell- in' what might happen if one of our warnin' shots went a little wild and got somebody hurt." He chuckled as if the prospect was amusing. "Besides, we like to take our time, mosey in and mosey out, keepin' the stock calm so they don't worry their weight off and cut into profits. It's better business to have somebody on the inside. When I heard you was around, hell, I just naturally thought you'd wanna help out." He grinned at the look on her face. "You bein' family and all."

Maggie called him a foul name that made one of his men snicker. Rage turned Bret's expression ugly and he lashed out, the back of his hand cracking sharply across Maggie's cheek. The impact threw her against the side of the pickup, and Bret's big body crashed against hers to hold her there. His face came down and Maggie turned her head away.

"Don't go to the sheriff thinkin' he'll help you," he gritted menacingly in her ear. "He's not as stupid as old Sheriff Harper, but he's the most suspicious badge I ever met. By the time you tell him about our little talk, he'll know you're fresh out and figure he'll save himself a headache and report a parole violation. It won't matter to him whether you have or not 'cause he's hell on ex-cons. Rags 'em half to death till he can get somethin' on them. Keeps his county squeaky clean."

Maggie tried to push him away as a feeling of helplessness stole over her. Dread clawed at her, but she tried to conceal it.

"Plus, I got me somethin' goin' already that'll change your mind."

Maggie adamantly shook her head. "Nothing will change my mind."

Bret's face surged close. "Then maybe I'll fix it so you'll look guilty as all hell."

Maggie felt the blood drain from her face as her dread escalated. "What?"

Bret shrugged. "All you gotta know is what happened before. Those were your neighbors and friends who judged you guilty, and you'd never had a brush with the law in your life. Now you ain't got any friends." He seemed to take delight in telling her that. "All you got is a prison record and a county sheriff who likes ex-cons about as much as he likes rotten eggs for breakfast."

He eased away, then shoved her toward the door of her pickup. Maggie stumbled, preventing herself from falling by catching the brace that held the side mirror.

Summoning her courage, she looked back. "I won't help you, Bret, no matter what you do."

The confident smile he gave her was frightening. "You'll change you're mind quick enough, honey." He grinned toward his men. "Told you she was mulish." The three of them moved away and got into their truck. Gravel spattered her legs when Bret started the engine and roared off.

The shock of the encounter left her trembling. She glanced around, half hoping the clerk had wandered back toward the door and had happened to hear the exchange; a witness would have helped considerably. But the doorway was empty and there didn't seem to be anybody about.

Shaking, Maggie fumbled open the truck door and climbed inside. Her first impulse was to drive directly to the sheriff's office, but the terrible fear she had of attracting his notice was only made more frightening by what Bret had said. She thought about telling Ethan and trying to enlist his support, but discarded that idea. Ethan had such an aversion to her prison record and was so unapproachable now that she didn't have the nerve to trust him.

Her hand shook as she started the truck. The idea that Bret could involve her in something that would guarantee her return to prison terrified her. Any parole violation could mean five more years in those small, confined spaces with harsh, unfriendly people, some callous, some crazy, some who were totally heartless—and not all of them inmates. Nausea swamped her at the thought, and she waited tensely for it to dissipate.

Somewhere in the midst of her panic, Jason Sawyer came to mind. He might be able to help, she thought, providing he was back home now. It was worth a try, and Maggie felt a glimmer of hope.

Hastily she put the truck into gear and started off down the alley. The only phone booth she saw was beside the post office. In no time, she got the number for Jason Sawyer's office from the operator and dumped several more coins in the slots to cover the call.

Moments later, she hung up. Jason had taken a few days off and wouldn't be back in the office for another week. No, his secretary said, she wouldn't be able to locate him, but she took Maggie's message and promised to give it to him when he called in.

She walked back to the truck and climbed in, feeling worse than before. Jace had been her only hope. If he could talk to Ethan, or better yet, pave the way for her with the sheriff, then staying on and turning Bret in would have been possible. As it was, Maggie couldn't bring herself to go to the sheriff alone.

Exposing Bret and clearing her name didn't seem so important now. No amount of vengeance was worth gambling her freedom on, she told herself. She might eventually live down her prison record, but if she didn't, there were worse things. She couldn't face prison a second time.

Maggie closed her eyes in despair. The cowardice she felt shamed her. Common sense insisted Bret couldn't make good on his threat to involve her in another of his ^ criminal schemes. Experience warned her he could. Maggie opened her eyes to stare blindly at the street in front of her as she tried to reason away her fears.

By the time she started the truck and put it into gear, her decision was made. She'd quit her job as soon as she got back to the ranch, then ask Ethan to spare someone to drive her to the bus station. She'd get on the first bus going anywhere and pray she could put as many miles between her and Bret Morgan as possible.

With luck, by the time Bret did whatever he was planning, she'd be too far away for it to pose a threat to her freedom. Later, when she was safe, she'd give the sheriff a call and put him on to Bret's activities. She'd place the call anonymously, and though it wouldn't get her name cleared, at least she wouldn't have to worry about Bret's showing up at a later time, when she might have settled and made a good life for herself.

Heartsick at what she had to do, Maggie pulled out and turned the truck toward home, stunned at the realization that the Kincaid Ranch had somehow become home to her.

CHAPTER NINE

"What did you do to your face?''

Ethan's question was sharp. Maggie merely gritted her teeth and hefted another sack of feed off the tailgate. She raised a gloved hand and pressed it to the place Bret had backhanded her. It was still tender, but she hadn't thought it was noticeable. She turned to grab another sack of feed.

"I got careless," she said evasively. She'd started to drag the sack of feed onto the tailgate when he reached past her to grab the next one. Maggie glanced toward him and noted the probing intensity of his gaze. The chill she'd seen there for days was tinged now with suspicion.

She was right not to tell Ethan about Bret. He'd never support her if she went to the sheriff. If anything, his mistrust would imperil her further.

"It's a good thing you're here, Kincaid," she said, once she'd swung the heavy sack to the floor. As she turned for another sack he set down the one he'd grabbed. "I'm quitting today." She kept her voice casual, but it was harder to do than she'd anticipated. Her nerves were still shaky. "I'd appreciate it if you could spare someone—" she pulled the sack onto the tailgate "—to drive me to the bus station."

A heavy silence fell between them as they unloaded the pickup. Ethan didn't respond to what she'd said until the feed was stored in the grain room. Maggie stood stiffly to one side while he secured the door. When he turned toward her, she focused her attention on pulling off her gloves.

"Why now?" His gruff demand wasn't easy to answer. Not when she had to lie.

Guilty color stole into her cheeks. "I've decided to move on."

"Because of the other night?"

Maggie met his gaze briefly, then looked away. She hadn't expected him to bring that up, though she should have. Ethan was too blunt a man not to.

She shook her head, her soft "That has nothing to do with it" drawing a faint scowl from him. Though he seemed to accept her answer, the determined set of his jaw warned he wasn't about to let her off that easy.

His hand came up and he brushed the back of a finger over the light bruise on her cheek. "Something happened in town today." The perceptive gleam in his dark eyes held a flash of anger.

Maggie's lashes fluttered down. He was so doggedly suspicious. She couldn't imagine his taking her side, even if he knew everything. She'd lost hope that he'd reached Jace to ask about her. Without Jace to back her up, Ethan would be enraged if he knew she'd had contact with the rustlers who had been targeting his stock. And if he found out the ringleader was her stepbrother, he wouldn't wait to hear the rest. She'd be behind bars again so fast her head would swim.

She recalled the help-wanted ads posted on the bulletin board at the feed store. Though she resented having to give Ethan an excuse for quitting so abruptly, she knew he wouldn't let it rest until she did.

"I saw a couple of jobs posted at the feed store," she began, struggling to sound convincing. "One was for a quarter horse operation close to Cheyenne."

Ethan let the silence stretch until she ventured another look at him. The harsh expression that came most easily to his rugged face wasn't there. Instead, there was a softening of his hard features that affected her emotions, making her doubt her resolve to tell him nothing.

"There's more to all this than that." The question in his voice was clear.

Maggie hesitated. His gentle look was as unexpected as it was persuasive, and she struggled to harden herself against it. Ethan didn't know her, and much of what he thought he knew, he didn't like. He was still the man who'd wanted some wild times with a woman he didn't consider worthy of a more respectable place in his life. In the end, her only real chance to escape from Bret and thwart his blackmail was to quit and leave the area. Trusting Ethan for more than her final pay and a ride to the bus station would be foolish.

She looked away from the subtle entreaty in his dark eyes and fidgeted with her gloves. "I'm sorry I can't give more notice than this," she said, trying to prevent further questions about what had happened in town. "I'd still appreciate a ride to the bus station," she added. "It won't take more than ten minutes to get my things together." Unable to bear the sudden restlessness that surged through her, she started off to pack.

Ethan's voice stopped her. "Won't be a bus out of Red Horse until tomorrow."

Maggie turned back, searching his stern features for any indication that the information he offered about the bus wasn't true. She had to leave right away.

As if he'd read her mistrust clearly, he scowled. "Call them yourself, then. Alva can get the number." With that, he stalked past her and left the barn.

Maggie stood for a moment watching him go before she headed toward the house. She hoped he was wrong about the bus schedule, but if he wasn't, she needed to know the departure time of the next one out.

She didn't linger in the kitchen once she'd dialed the bus station and learned that the next bus wasn't until noon tomorrow. She could only pray that noon wouldn't be too late.

The next morning, Maggie overslept. Her travel alarm had wound down during the night, and she'd slept until almost seven. She got up groggily, feeling that the day had a two-hour advantage over her. Though she wouldn't be leaving until midmorning for the bus station, she'd meant to help out with a few chores before she went to the house for her final pay. She'd tidied her rooms and was almost ready to head down to the cookshack for coffee and something to eat when there was a fierce pounding at her door.

"Maggie!" Ethan's roar sent an arrow of foreboding through her, and she dashed to the door and flung it open.

Ethan stood on the doorstep, his face dark with fury. His gaze slipped down the length of her, then shot back up to her startled expression. He came toward her so forcefully that she automatically stepped back.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Maggie frowned. "I overslept."

A sarcastic light came into his angry gaze and he pushed the door closed. "Restless night?"

She'd never seen him so angry. That she appeared to be the target of his wrath both frightened and perplexed her. Something was dreadfully wrong.

"What's happened?" she ventured. Ethan took another step toward her, and she barely managed to stand her ground. Fie stared down at her from beneath the brim of his Stetson, his stony expression threatening.

"Someone got in the stud barn last night and stole Rounder."

It took a moment for Ethan's statement to sink in. Her shock must have shown, because the anger that darkened Ethan's face eased a bit.

"Stolen?" She shook her head in disbelief. "But how-"

She cut herself off, suddenly able to comprehend Ethan's fury. She was probably the only person who could have taken Rounder out of his stall in the middle of the night, and even she might not have been able to keep the volatile animal quiet. Maggie searched Ethan's face, drawn to the look in his dark eyes. She felt the force of his scrutiny to the depths of her soul. "You think I did it." The words came out on an astonished whisper. She shook her head emphatically. "No, Ethan."

"Then tell me who besides you could have done it," he insisted.

Maggie shook her head again and turned away from him in distress. "My God, Ethan." She covered her mouth with trembling fingers. "I can't believe you'd think I'd do that."

"Yeah," he said on a harsh sigh, "must be a crazy thought out of the blue. It's not like you have a history of rustling."

Ethan's sarcasm hurt and she turned back, unable to conceal her pain. "If you'd give it some thought, you'd know I didn't do it."

Ethan's mouth was a grim line. "You're right," he conceded, dealing her another surprise at his quick capitulation. "No truck, no trailer, no place to hide him. . ." he listed. "But why a stallion that no one but you can handle easily? If he'd been on fee range somewhere, anyone with enough fast horses and ropes might have gotten their hands on him. But taking him from the stud barn?"

A sick feeling crept over her as Bret's words came back forcefully. I got me somethin' gain' already that'll change your mind,.. I'll fix it so you'll look guilty as all hell Was stealing Rounder what he'd meant by doing something to change her mind? The theft looked more like a fulfillment of his threat to make her look guilty.

Maggie turned her back on Ethan, thinking frantically. Bret must have taken the stallion. That he would step outside his normal realm of operation and take such a big risk to prove a point was terrifying. How he planned to use tills to force her to help him, was beyond her, when her connection to a stolen horse might very well land her back in prison.

And how had he managed to steal Rounder in fee first place? Rounder had never behaved well when Bret got too close. Though she'd never caught him mistreating a horse, the potential was there, she was sine of it. The fact that Rounder was difficult to handle might make Bret abuse him. Or worse. Maggie felt ill as the even darker thought occurred to her. Bret knew the stallion was special to her. Any blackmail concerning his treatment would guarantee her cooperation, however reluctant. Suddenly she knew Rounder was the real lever Bret planned to use,

"Maggie?" Ethan's demand for her attention had her glancing back at him.

"You're certain he was stolen?" she asked. The brief hope quelled the rapid escalation of panic. "Is there any way lie might have broken out?"

Ethan scowled and Maggie's wild hope sank.

"Get your coat." As if to hairy her along, Ethan reached over to grab her jacket and Stetson off the peg,, then thrust them at her. Maggie quickly put them on, anxious to go down to the stud barn and see for herself any evidence left behind. Surely there'd be some sign of a straggle, since Rounder would not have let himself be led meekly away.

They had stepped out onto the bunkhouse porch when Ethan spoke again. "Sheriff Cody'll have a few questions for you." Maggie froze, her blue gaze streaking to Ethan's in alarm. He saw it, and his month slanted cynically.

"If you go down there looking like that, he'll arrest you for sure," he muttered, then headed off.

Maggie started after him as panic began to gnaw at her. "I suppose you've already told him you think I did it," she said resentfully.

"You haven't got anything to worry about if you're innocent," he shot back.

Maggie nearly choked on the emotion that welled up her throat. Being innocent hadn't mattered a whit before. "I-if you think I did it, then he's sure to."

Ethan stopped abruptly, catching her arm to pull her to a halt.

"Can you look me in the eye and tell me you don't know anything about this?" he demanded roughly

Maggie stared up at him, caught off guard by the wording of the question. She could tell him truthfully that she hadn't stolen the stallion, but she would be lying if she told him she didn't know anything about it. She- was convinced Bret was Involved, but she didn't quite know how to tell Ethan, or even if she should. Her hesitation was damning.

"That's what I thought," he snarled, then released her as if he were loath to touch her. He stalked away and Maggie hurried after him, feeling doomed.

Two county patrol cars were parked in the ranch yard between the stable and the stud barn, and a few of the ranch hands loitered about. A sick feeling gripped her as she walked past them and stepped into the stud barn with Ethan.

The sheriff and two deputies stood outside Rounder's stall. All three looked their way when they walked in, but only the sheriff came over to join them.

"This is Maggie Deaton." Ethan's gruff announcement was the only introduction she was going to get.

The sheriff smiled, but his hazel eyes looked into hers with a directness that made her heart beat erratically. His military bearing underscored the authority she guessed he would exude regardless of whether he wore his sheriff's uniform. She felt her face go rigid in self-defense.

"Miss Deaton, I'm Sheriff Cody." Maggie wasn't put at ease by his greeting, though he reached up and touched the brim of his Stetson in a show of respect. A quiet nod of acknowledgment was all she could manage. It was hard to keep the fear and mistrust from her face. Her sudden hostility toward him was even harder to conceal.

"I'm sure Ethan filled you on what he knows so far," he began, then paused, turning to Ethan. "Harv Bennett found your watchdogs in the supply shed, sleeping off tranquillizers. He says they'll be okay." Ethan nodded, grim-faced, and too soon the sheriff's attention returned to Maggie. "I've got a few questions I'd like you to help me with." He was starting out mildly enough, but his almost offhand manner distressed her.

"I understand you're about the only person who could handle that stallion without raising a ruckus," he said, then chuckled. "I've watched Ethan try his hand at him a couple of times, so I figure you must be some kind of horsewoman to accomplish that."

Maggie's gaze fled from his. His compliment was crafted to give her a false sense of security, she was certain.

"Cut to the chase, Sheriff," she said hoarsely as she raised defiant eyes and glared at him.

A slow smile angled across his rugged features. "I will, Miss Deaton, but humor me a little. You wouldn't ever need to use a tranquillizer on the stallion, would you?"

His question baffled her, but she answered. "No, I wouldn't."

He nodded. "To your knowledge, has anyone else used them on him in the past few days?"

Maggie shook her head, but glanced toward Ethan to confirm it. Ethan muttered a terse "no."

The sheriff looked satisfied with that. "Can you tell me why you're quitting without notice and planning to leave today, Miss Deaton?"

The little arrow of anxiety she felt burst quickly into alarm. She stared at the sheriff's waiting expression, not at all comforted when he gave her a small smile of encouragement.

"Wait a minute," he said, then opened his uniform jacket to dig into his shirt pocket. He pulled out some snapshots. "Have a look at these," he said, handing them to her. "Do these men have anything to do with your rush to leave?"

Maggie's hand trembled as she glanced at the top photograph. She was only dimly aware that Ethan was looking on as she stared numbly at Bret Morgan's face. Her lips tightened as she shuffled through the next two photos, one of each of the men who'd been with him behind the feed store the day before.

She handed the photographs back, murmuring a soft yes, a little dazed that Sheriff Cody knew. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out how he'd connected Bret Morgan to her haste to quit and leave right away.

"How did you know?"

The sheriff returned the snapshots to his pocket. "I've been keeping tabs on them for a while now. The clerk at the feed store told me they approached you there yesterday afternoon."

Ethan tensed beside her, but said nothing. Maggie searched the professional blandness that settled over the sheriff's features and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

"If you've been keeping tabs on them, are they. . . part of an investigation?'' she probed cautiously. If he was investigating them, then he suspected what they were up to. She was suddenly terrified that her accidental meeting with them behind the feed store could somehow be construed as a parole violation. Bret had said Sheriff Cody was hell on ex-cons and looked for any excuse to send them back to prison.

The sheriff's gaze narrowed perceptively. "You're pretty nervous, aren't you, Miss Deaton?"

Tears of distress stung her eyes so sharply that she had to look away. Her breath gusted out on a wave of intense emotion. "What do you think?" she challenged bitterly.

"I think you're under a lot of pressure, Miss Deaton." The sheriff's almost gentle tone drew her wary gaze back to his. "I don't reckon prison is something you care to experience a second time."

She couldn't contain the burst of hostility she felt. "Is that a threat?"

"No threat, Miss Deaton, just a statement of fact. I think you're so frightened of getting tangled up in something that could land you back in prison that you'd do just about anything to avoid it. Including quitting Kincaid without notice and hightailing it out of here. If there's anyone in my jurisdiction I could count on to walk the straight and narrow, it'd be you."

The sheriff's surprising words struck her with enough impact to weaken her knees. The hostility she'd been feeling toward him faltered, and she couldn't mask her confusion.

"You aren't a suspect in the stallion's theft," he went on. "Pending a lab analysis of a piece of broken syringe we found, my guess is someone used a tranquillizer on him—and on the dogs—to get him out of here. My understanding is that drugs wouldn't be needed if you had anything to do with it. Despite your prior conviction, I'm not obliged to do more than ask you a few questions and let you go about your business. Of course," he added wryly, "I wouldn't want you to leave the county until my investigation is complete." He paused and glanced at Ethan. "I don't think Kincaid's going to have any serious objections to your staying on awhile longer." The smile that edged the sheriff's mouth was some sort of message to Ethan.

Maggie looked Ethan's way, still dazed by what Sheriff Cody had said. That he didn't consider her a suspect in Rounder's theft was still too astonishing for her to grasp fully.

Ethan was staring at her, a mixture of sternness and guarded relief in his dark eyes. "It wasn't my idea for her to quit in the first place," he said. "But I'd like to hear about what happened in town to bring ail this on."

"So would I," Sheriff Cody put in, "but maybe she'd feel more comfortable talking over a hot cup of coffee at the house." The smile he sent her way was meant to put her at ease. "I know I would."

The three of them left the stud barn and headed for the house. Maggie couldn't relax—she was still too tense for that, despite the sheriff's friendly manner. Even discounting what Bret had said, Sheriff Cody wasn't at all what she'd expected. There was neither the professional callousness she'd feared nor so much as a hint that he felt pressured to make an arrest. What had come through to her was his perceptiveness and the impression that he went about his work with unhurried thoroughness. He was nothing like the inept yet politically driven Sheriff Harper, and if he had any sense of fairness or justice, she might have some hope.

When they reached the house, Maggie and Ethan went on to the den, while Sheriff Cody let himself be waylaid by Jamie for a look at the kittens. The easy friendship between the child and the sheriff told Maggie he was considered more a family friend than a law-enforcement officer. The realization helped calm her, but her stomach was still in knots.

Ethan motioned her to the wing chair in front of his desk while he dragged the other one over and placed it nearby. The sound of laughter from Jamie's room down the hall served to heighten the awkwardness between them. Ethan sat down on the front edge of his desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his arms folded across his wide chest.

"I was a little hard on you," he admitted, the warm gruffness of his voice sliding persuasively over her turbulent emotions. Maggie's eyes closed as she tried to resist falling prey to it. "I should have thought of the possibility of tranquillizers being used."

Maggie shook her head. "You might have given me the benefit of the doubt." That he hadn't done so hurt. She didn't realize when she opened her eyes and looked his way that he saw her pain. "Will we go through little scenes like that every time stock turns up missing?"

Ethan's expression darkened. "You're expecting a lot, Maggie."

"Not from my point of view," she said brusquely.

Just then, Alva came in carrying the coffee tray. Sheriff Cody and Jamie followed, but Jamie stopped in the doorway.

"Hi, Maggie."

Maggie turned her head at the shy greeting and looked over at Jamie's uncertain face. Jamie still wanted to be friends—that was clear from the hopeful look in her eyes. Maggie couldn't bear to give even a hint of the aloofness Ethan expected.

"Hi, Jamie. How are those kittens?" The smile Maggie gave the child banished the uncertainty from her face.

"Their eyes got opened, but I still can't make up my mind which one to pick. Will you come see them when I get home from school?"

The eagerness on the child's face was irresistible. Despite the negative reaction she expected from Ethan, Maggie answered, "Sure I will."

Jamie fairly beamed, then rushed off. Maggie took the coffee Alva handed her and Sheriff Cody sat down in the other wing chair with his. As if she was aware of the seriousness of the conversation about to take place, Alva left the room and quietly closed the door. Sheriff Cody started as soon as they'd tasted their coffee.

"What happened in town yesterday Miss Deaton?"

Maggie glanced briefly in Ethan's direction, suddenly uncomfortable with his presence. Ironically she had more confidence in the sheriff's reception to what she had to say than she had in Ethan's.

Focusing on Cody, she related the account of her trip to the feed store, repeating the conversation between Bret and herself word for word. Every detail had been etched on her memory, and recounting them seemed to bring back the emotional turmoil she'd felt then. The sheriff's mouth hitched up in a half smile at Bret's description of him, but his face had turned thoughtful by the time she'd finished.

"You said the clerk at the feed store saw them with me," she reminded him, "but I didn't see him."

The sheriff nodded. "He was there."

Ethan's voice was a near growl. "That's where you got the bruise." Maggie gave a silent nod, but didn't look his way. After several quiet moments, Ethan spoke again. "So Frankie Wilson was working for me as this Morgan's inside man." The thought obviously made him testy. He briefly told the sheriff about Wilson's attack on Maggie and that he'd had him carted off and dumped in Colorado.

Cody gave an unconcerned shrug. "We can have him picked up after I get the other three behind bars." He aimed a question at Maggie. "Do you think the stallion's theft is what Morgan meant by having something arranged that would make you look guilty?"

Maggie shook her head. "He first threatened to do something that would change my mind about helping him. I think he took the stallion to blackmail me."

"How's that?"

"I think he'll threaten to abuse Rounder unless I help him. He knows the stallion is special to me." The helplessness she felt churned within her. If that truly was Bret's plan, there was nothing she could do to stop him. Her voice lowered. "And I think if Rounder gives him too much trouble, it would be easy for Bret to destroy him— if he hasn't already."

A heavy silence settled over the room. The sheriff sipped his coffee as he appeared to think over all she'd told him. Finally he leaned his head back against the chair and looked at her.

"You said Morgan made a statement. . ." He hesitated as if trying to recall the words accurately. "'All you gotta know is what happened before,' then something about your friends and neighbors judging you guilty. What did he mean by that?"

The unexpected question stunned her. Ethan shifted and her eyes flew to him, catching the grim look he was giving her.

"What did he mean by that, Maggie?" the sheriff prompted gently. She glanced over at him uncomfortably.

"No one. . ." She paused, nearly choked by the emotion that surged up before she could start again. "It's a pretty wild story," she hedged, striving for a lightness that fell flat. She'd wanted Ethan to know, but now that the opportunity was here, the idea that he would believe her, or that the sheriff would—however kind he was—seemed impossible.

Sheriff Cody gave her a smile of encouragement. "I consider myself an open-minded man, Maggie. Besides—"

Maggie sprang to her feet and paced restlessly to stand behind her chair, her sudden agitation cutting him off.

The sheriff seemed untroubled by her reaction. "Besides," he repeated, "I did my homework on you when I was notified you were on your way into my jurisdiction." His statement got her full attention and Ethan's. The two men exchanged a look.

"Then you already know," she said bitterly as she gripped the top of the leather chair back.

The sheriff shrugged. "I haven't heard it from you, and Kincaid here looks like he's dyin' to hear it. Go ahead."

Maggie, noting the hard lines and angles of Ethan's face, was unable to credit him with more than mild interest—if any.

"Maggie?" The sheriff's prompting increased the nervousness she felt, and her gaze shifted toward him.

Slowly, she began the story that had been received with disbelief by law officers and a jury two and a half years earlier. She detailed the financial problems she'd been having and Bret's late-night disappearances, which had roused her suspicions. By the time she told of following Bret one night and discovering he'd arranged to have the sheriff arrive in time to catch her at the scene of a rustling, her composure began to falter. She'd meant to tell it all calmly, showing no emotion, but she had to stop and take a steadying breath before she went on. She hesitated a bit longer when she glanced from the sheriff toward Ethan, then away. She could tell nothing from their sober expressions.

"Sheriff Harper discounted the idea that Bret was connected to the rustling. His investigation had turned up a set of account books and forged bills of sale that indicated huge income from thousands of head of stolen cattle. Since my name was the only one on any of those papers, he used that as an excuse to drop pursuit of Bret."

Sheriff Cody questioned her doggedly then, and Maggie stepped around to ease back down into her chair. The longer it took Ethan or the sheriff to express either belief or doubt about what she'd told them, the more her hopes dwindled. She barely got the sheriff's last question answered when she was overcome with emotion and forced to stop. The fortifying breath she took was ragged and she lowered her face to rub shaking fingers across her forehead.

Sympathetic to her distress, the sheriff waited, giving her a chance to recover. Ethan got up and refilled her coffee cup, then handed it to her. Her startled gaze came up and connected with the tender concern in his, but she made herself ignore it. She couldn't risk mistaking that look for anything more than simple compassion.

Determinedly she went on. "My plan was to find Bret and see that he was caught at whatever he was involved in now." Her lips twisted in self-mockery, and she couldn't keep the disheartened tremor from her soft voice. "Of course I was also hoping he'd make some grand confession that would clear me."

She leaned back, dispirited. She sipped the coffee, secretly depending on the strong brew to revive her in some way. Midmorning had barely passed, but she was bone weary.

It was the sheriff who finally broke the silence. "Well, Maggie, I can't promise Morgan will ever make a confession that will clear you, but if you're willing to give me a hand, I think you can see him arrested and behind bars for the next few years."

Heartsick that the sheriff hadn't expressed belief in her story or even bothered to credit the possibility that she might be telling the truth, she focused, instead, on the thought of seeing Bret put away. "How?"

"By letting Morgan think his blackmail has worked."

Ethan objected instantly. "I don't want her anywhere near that bastard."

Cody looked at Ethan, his dark brows rising as a smile played about Ms mouth. "Maggie has the right to make up her own mind, Kincaid.'!

"I don't like it."

"I don't like it much myself, but she might be able to help me cut through a lot of the guesswork about whose livestock is going to turn up missing next." The sheriff's eyes glinted meaningfully.

A look of comprehension crossed Ethan's face, and he muttered a disgruntled curse. To Maggie's surprise, a smile tugged at his mouth as he shook his head. The angry intensity in him eased. "Damn it all, Cody, I've already lost more livestock to theft than any other rancher in the county."

The sheriff grinned more widely at that. "That's mostly because you own more stock than any other rancher in the county. Besides, if Morgan had Frankie Wilson as his Inside man here and now wants Maggie's help enough to blackmail, her into it, then I'm afraid it'll have to be your stock we use as bait."

Ethan's smile flattened into a disapproving line. "You can use my cattle to bait the trap, but I don't want Maggie involved."

Maggie stared at Ethan, taken aback by his vehemence. Was he that concerned for her safety? A frail hope sparked inside her, but she ruthlessly crushed it. Now that they'd heard her story, Ethan might figure Cody would no longer insist she stay on until the investigation was complete. Aware that she'd been trouble for Ethan, perhaps he preferred her to follow through with her plans to leave.

But what would happen to the stallion if Bret wasn't caught soon? Even if Cody had reconsidered his request for her to remain in the county, what would Bret do to the horse if she weren't around to be blackmailed? It suddenly occurred to her that if he hadn't already destroyed Rounder, the horse was as good as dead if she left the area.

The sheriff leaned over to place his empty cup on the tray. "How about it, Maggie? Would you like to help me put Morgan out of business?"

She hesitated and glanced at Ethan. His dark eyes drilled into hers, but there was nothing in his hard features to indicate the reason behind his obvious disapproval.

She glanced away from him and released a slow breath. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

The sheriff smiled at that, but Ethan's expression pierced her heart.

CHAPTER TEN

Later that morning, it was decided Maggie would drive into Red Horse. The sheriff figured that if Bret truly were behind the stallion's theft and meant to recruit Maggie, he'd be eager to find out if his blackmail had worked. Ethan gave her a list of odds and ends to pick up at the hardware store, and the trip was planned so she'd arrive just before noon and have a plausible excuse to eat lunch at the cafe.

Too tense to do more than pick at the sandwich she'd ordered, Maggie lingered in the cafe a reasonable length of time before she left. She'd gone a few steps down the sidewalk when she heard a low whistle. Accurately gauging its direction, she walked on, then turned into the alley two doors from the cafe.

Bret's blue pickup was parked halfway down, but she wasn't about to let herself be drawn that close. The sheriff hadn't needed to warn her to be cautious.

Bret's triumphant grin sent her temper skyward, and it took every bit of her self-control to keep from fully venting it. "Where's the stallion?" she demanded.

Her stepbrother didn't bother to deny he was behind the theft. "Now, Sis, surely you've figured out that horse is insurance for me and incentive for you. Besides, ol' Buzz is still too mad about that black devil takin' a bite outta him." He grinned at the worry that creased her brow. "I managed to hold him off with the promise of you helpin' us get enough of Kincaid's cattle to compensate his pain and suffering."

"I want to see the stallion first," she said, not needing to mask her very real anxiety about Rounder's condition.

"Now that's a stupid idea, Maggie. I ought to be offended that you'd expect me to do somethin' that lamebrained." The smile he gave her was chilling. "But then, I figure you're too upset to be thinkin' straight." His dark eyes narrowed speculatively on her. "You must have made out okay with Sheriff Cody."

Maggie glanced away, pretending to be worried about the sheriff. "Just barely. If it wasn't for that broken piece of syringe. . ." She let her voice trail off meaningfully.

Bret's smile widened. "I had to leave something behind to keep you out of hot water. I can't use you if you get sent back to prison." Something in Bret's lazy drawl alerted her, and it was all she could do to carry on with her pretense. Suddenly she knew that Bret's plan for her included a trip back to prison when he was finished with her and ready to move on. She clenched her teeth against the outrage she felt.

"Well, now," he said, his smile fading. "Time to get down to business." He dug into his shirt pocket and held a scrap of paper out to her. Maggie reached for it, but he jerked it back. "Memorize it."

She stared a moment at the phone number scrawled on the paper scrap before she glanced back up at him.

"Let me know by tomorrow night which part of Kincaid's range has some quality stock. I want some that's easy to get to from the highway, and I'd better not run across any of the hired hands." The warning in his dark eyes was clear. "Jack—that's the little sandy-haired fella with me yesterday—is a dead shot."

Bret took a step forward that brought him a mere hand span from touching her. Maggie managed not to flinch when he brought his fist up and chucked her roughly beneath the chin.

"Something goes wrong, someone tips off the sheriff—" he paused "— if I even think you'll try to set me up, you'll get back what's left of that stallion in a cardboard box."

Maggie knocked his hand away. "How do I know you haven't already destroyed him?"

Bret grinned down at her, satisfied that she was suitably upset. "I'll mail you a Polaroid."

With that, he turned and strode unhurriedly to his pickup. She stayed where she was, seething with rage and frustration as she watched him open his truck door. She forced herself to endure the cocky grin he flashed her before she left the alley to walk to the ranch pickup.

Maggie climbed inside and started the engine. The sheriff had promised he'd have someone drive by the ranch Bret and his men were staying at to check for any sign of the stallion. But that was a waste of time, she thought resentfully. Rounder would be too well hidden. If he were still alive. . .

Pushing the grim thought from her mind, she put the pickup into gear and pulled out. The return trip to the ranch took little time. The impulse to drive on past the ranch road was strong, but Maggie slowed the vehicle and turned onto the gravel, using those last moments to try to calm herself. She wasn't successful.

Ethan turned from his vigil at the front windows when he saw the pickup crest the hill from the highway. He was as nervous as a cornered barn rat and felt about as lowdown. He'd said some harsh things to Maggie, not only that morning but other times, as well. The crack he'd made that night in her room about her not having the right chips to barter in exchange for a ring and a ceremony slammed into him like a punch to the gut.

The moment she'd begun telling Cody her story, he'd known she was telling the truth. In case he'd had any doubts, Cody had told him later that, because of what he'd learned about her before her arrival in the county, he'd already credited her claim of innocence. Cody had also admitted to prompting her to tell it with Ethan present because he'd realized from the heat Ethan was giving her that he either didn't know her story or didn't believe it.

Ethan remembered her asking that first day if knowing the truth about her prison record would make a difference in his refusal to hire her. He'd been too stubborn to hear her out. Later she'd been too proud to offer again. Until she'd told it all to Cody.

He should have given her some sign he'd believed her, he realized now. When he hadn't, Cody had rushed on to lay out his plan and solicit Maggie's cooperation. By the time Cody hustled her out the door and off to town, it had been too late. Ethan hadn't needed to hear his best friend tell him he was a horse's ass; he'd already come to that conclusion himself.

He felt worse as he watched Maggie come through the porch door and hesitate inside the kitchen. There was no mistaking the emotional turbulence beneath the calm facade she presented. Fine lines of strain bracketed her lips and her normally healthy coloring had faded. He sensed that she was walking an emotional high wire and that it wouldn't take more than a faint puff of air to topple her.

Maggie felt the grave intensity of the gaze that met hers. Ethan stood on the other side of the kitchen, his booted feet braced apart and a long-necked beer bottle in his hand. The masculine appeal of tough muscular leanness beneath his worn denim and well-washed chambray sent a shaft of longing through her. Her emotions were roiling wildly, and the impulse to throw herself at his male strength and feel the rough comfort of his arms was overwhelming.

Her gaze fled the sight of him and her lashes lowered on an unexpected sting of tears as she yanked off her Stetson and ran shaking fingers through her hair. "Cody wanted me to call," she reminded Ethan briskly.

"You look like you could use a stiff drink," he said bluntly, unsettling her even more.

She shook her head to that, more restless than ever as she walked to the wall phone next to Ethan and quickly punched the number for the sheriff's office.

"You can use the phone in the den if you want some privacy," he told her, but she murmured a low "No, thanks."

Ethan stepped over to the counter and set his beer down before he opened a cupboard door and selected a stout tumbler. While he listened to Maggie give an account of her meeting with Morgan, he took a bottle of whiskey from another cupboard and splashed some into the tumbler, filling it within an inch of the rim.

Judging from what she was telling the sheriff, the meeting had gone as Cody had hoped, but Ethan wasn't fooled by her calm voice as she related it. He leaned casually against the cupboard, frowning at the way she rubbed her fingers across her forehead in a gesture he recognized as a distress signal. Twice she started to pace before she stopped and clenched a fist as if to check the impulse. The air around her seemed to vibrate with restless energy, and Ethan sensed again the precarious hold she had on her emotions.

"You mentioned Bret and his men were staying at a ranch someplace," she was saying. "Where?"

Ethan half smiled as he instantly realized why she wanted to know. He, too, had tried to get the same information from Cody. He didn't trust those bastards to treat the stallion humanely, and it was clear Maggie didn't, either.

"I want to know," she said next. Cody had evidently refused her, too, and she was no more willing to let it go than he had been. "But—" There was a long pause, then she stiffened and adamantly shook her head.

"If the stallion's there, I want to get him out," she insisted, then gave in to restlessness and began to pace the small area the phone cord allowed. "Bret'U have to leave the place sometime. He'll never know I was there," she argued, then took a quick breath to say more before she halted. Her breath came out on a frustrated huff. "He broke out of his stall at the stud barn here a few weeks ago, and he's probably kicking hell out of wherever they've got him now. It'll look like he got out by himself."

The sheriff apparently interrupted her again. "I don't give a damn, Cody, I want to get the stallion out before—" She all but stamped her foot in frustration, then glanced toward the ceiling, her eyes suspiciously bright. She gave a humorless chuckle at what Cody was saying to her, then said in a low, bitter voice, "That's the problem, Cody, I don't trust any of you."

As if she'd just remembered Ethan was standing nearby, her blue gaze flashed in his direction then away, but not before he got the message that her remark included him. Her shoulders sagged a bit as the sheriff went on talking, then she shook her head tiredly. "I won't do anything to foul it up," she said wearily before she struck back, "I hope you don't, either."

Ethan might have been amused by her impudence if he hadn't sensed the fear behind it. Her prior experience with law enforcement virtually guaranteed skepticism and hostility. He didn't worry that Cody would hold it against her, though. Cody had made it clear he not only expected it but also wouldn't let it influence him one way or another. That he wasn't caving in to her plan to improve her opinion of the police was proof of that.

He watched grimly as she returned the receiver to its cradle. He didn't quite know what to say to her. The apology she deserved wouldn't be an easy one to word, and now might not be the best time to offer it. If her emotions were as ready to boil over as he sensed they were, she didn't need his adding something else to the mix. She was too proud and too stubborn to accept what he had to say, then tumble gratefully into his arms. Hell no, he thought mirthlessly. He'd be lucky if she didn't take his head off—even if he had it coming.

Maggie glanced Ethan's way, hesitant to meet his gaze as she jammed her hands into her pockets. "Do you know Cody well?" She forced her eyes up to his as he nodded.

"Cody and I grew up together."

Ethan held out the whiskey he'd fixed for her. She pulled her hand from her pocket and took it, careful to avoid touching him. Though she'd initially rejected his offer of a drink, she took a cautious taste, anyway, almost welcoming its bracing burn. She had another couple of sips, then asked what she most wanted to know about the sheriff. "Do you trust him?"

"He's nothing like that jackass sheriff back where you came from, if that's what you're asking."

Maggie straggled to hide her surprise. Earlier, neither he nor the sheriff had given her any clear indication whether or not they'd believed her story, and that infuriated her. The least Ethan could do was be as blunt and straightforward about this as he was about everything else. That he hadn't been and was only now hinting at an opinion riled tier more than she could bear. She gulped down the rest of the whiskey as if it could douse her fury. When she finished, her lips slanted and she gave Mm a glittering look. She'd wanted Ethan to believe her, but his hesitancy made her afraid of what he really thought. The only way to spare herself the added pain of hearing the words from Ethan was to say them herself.

"You didn't believe that tall tale 1 told Cody, did you?" she scoffed.

As she spoke, the tenuous hold she had ob her emo- tions weakened dangerously. Suddenly the stormy feelings she straggled to contain were about to burst forth in a deluge of tears. The instinct to flee was overpowering.

Almost trembling with the effort it took to maintain fear composure, she ieaehed past him and set her empty glass on the countertop with a sharp crack. "Cody might have fallen for it, but I figured you knew me well enough by now not to be taken in."

Ethan's face was like chiseled, rock as he stared down at her, his dark eyes piercingly intent, yet she could tell nothing from his expression.

"Besides/' she went on, "even though you offered some wild times, you never lost sight of who you are and what I am."

Ethan was so still, absorbing her bitter words with such calm, that she was more acutely aware than ever that she was close to breaking down. Giving la to the impulse to flee, she turned. The room swayed alarmingly. The effect of the potent liquor was as strong as it was immediate.

Ethan caught her arm in a gentle grip to steady her, but she yanked away and started determinedly toward the porch door.

"Maggie. . ."

She stiffened against the appeal in his low voice. There was a wealth of meaning in the way he'd said her name, but she blamed the liquor for the impression. Still, in case her perception hadn't been muddled, she stopped and glanced back in his direction when she reached the door.

"I'm the same person I've always been, Kincaid. What I told Cody didn't change a thing." She twisted the latch and stepped outside, grateful to make her escape.

She'd meant to head for the barns and find something to do to work off her awful tension, but instead, ended up at her room at the bunkhouse. By the time she'd locked the door and shucked her jacket, the drugging sensation that drew her toward the bed had her shedding the rest of her clothes. The moment she slid between the cool sheets and closed her eyes, the fatigue and alcohol combined to ensure that she slept long and deeply.

She didn't hear the sound of a key in the lock and was unaware that Ethan checked on her sometime before midnight. After that, he spent the hours sitting in the overstuffed chair in her room. Just before dawn, he slipped soundlessly out and returned to the house.

The next morning, Maggie awoke feeling rested and much more in control of her emotions. A dose of aspirin dispelled the dull headache she assumed was a consequence of the whiskey. Once she'd had breakfast at the cookshack, she went up to the stable to feed the horses and muck out their stalls. When she finished there, she went outside to one of the corrals to give some green- broke colts their workouts.

It was early afternoon when Ethan came down to the stable. Maggie had finished putting a new cinch strap on the saddle she'd used that morning and was in the tack room storing it when Ethan stepped inside.

The tension that had been blessedly absent that day returned full force the moment she saw Ethan's somber expression. On top of that, she was still hazy about what had gone on in the kitchen the afternoon before. She'd tried not to speculate about what Ethan might have been trying to say when he'd made the remark about the jackass sheriff back where she'd come from. But she remembered enough about what she'd said to know she'd given him the clear impression that she rejected the possibility of—or the need for—a change of mind on his part. An acute feeling of awkwardness swept over her, and judging from the remote, almost cautious way he was looking at her, Ethan felt just as awkward.

"Are you finished up in here?" he asked, his dark eyes glittering across the few feet that separated them. Maggie nodded, automatically moving toward the door to avoid triggering the sense of being trapped in the small room. Ethan stepped obligingly aside, but she didn't see the understanding in his expression. "I figured we should ride out to the spot you're going to be directing Morgan to."

Maggie murmured a soft "All right." They saddled two of the horses and rode out, the silence between them setting her nerves on edge. The spring sun felt good; her denim jacket was more than adequate. The ground was drying rapidly, and the horses trotted side by side until they cleared the ranch buildings and corrals and broke into a canter.

Maggie stole a swift glance at the easy way Ethan sat his horse. His gaze caught hers, and one corner of his mouth lifted. She read clearly the challenge in his eyes. Her answer was a slight shift of her body. The sorrel shot forward into a ground-eating gallop, with Ethan's gray right beside him.

The two horses raced neck and neck along the ridge of pasture that stretched for miles ahead of them. Maggie could feel the powerful bunch and release of the sorrel's muscles slowly propelling them ahead of the gray. An exhilaration, a sense that she was at last fully alive, surged up in her as the sorrel fought to keep the lead. She was no longer only half living, as she'd been all those grim months in prison. A spark that had been in danger of dying had been rekindled; something essential to her mental and emotional well-being was suddenly burning painfully bright.

She almost didn't hear Ethan's shout over the profound clamor of inner happiness, but the instinct that seemed to keep her ever aware of him had her exerting pressure on the sorrel's reins. By the time they gradually slowed the two horses to a walk, Maggie could see by the forty or so head of cattle partway down a shallow valley to their left that they'd reached their destination.

"Is this it?" she asked as she turned her smiling face toward Ethan, unaware that the glow of happiness on her face had a powerful effect on him.

Ethan reckoned he'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Maggie had attracted him from the moment he'd laid eyes on her, but seeing her now, witnessing the transformation that had come about in her in the space of minutes, might have sent him to his knees if he'd been standing. Her body seemed to vibrate with life, her eyes blazed with excitement and her cheeks were ruddy with joy. But the wide, carefree smile that parted her lips and the loose-jointed absence of tension in her told him this was a side of Maggie Deaton that few people saw. That he was one of the privileged few both humbled him and filled him with regret.

"Ethan?" A shadow dimmed her smile, and her brows drew together.

Ethan nodded and forced his eyes toward the valley where the cattle he'd set aside for the trap grazed. "This is it." He pointed toward the strip of highway visible through a fold of land to the south. "The only thing that would make it look easier would be having the cattle already loaded on a truck for him." Maggie's smile had faded entirely by the time Ethan glanced back at her. The sorrel shifted, pressing her knee into his. Ethan reached over to grip the slim hand that rested on her thigh. "Worried?"

Her lips went stiff and she nodded. To his surprise, she responded to the gentle squeeze of his hand by squeezing back.

Maggie couldn't help the misgivings that spoiled the happiness of moments ago. She tried not to think about Rounder, knowing that worry wouldn't help. But her fear that the sheriff's plan would somehow go awry persisted.

"Maggie?" The concern in Ethan's eyes was irresistible, and she suddenly found herself confiding in him.

"I'm afraid." The admission was not nearly as hard to make as she'd thought.

Ethan's grip on her hand tightened. "There's no need, baby. Cody knows what he's doing." He hesitated, but whether he understood the root of her fear or was guessing, she couldn't tell. "There's no way in hell you'll ever be in danger of going back to prison."

She pulled her hand from his and, eyes lowered, began to fidget with the reins. "Is there anything else I should see?"

She heard the creak of leather as Ethan shifted in his saddle. "There's nothing more to see here, but we can ride on awhile."

Maggie looked up and caught the concern in his eyes. "I'd like that."

She urged the sorrel into a trot that the gray matched. The exhilaration she'd felt earlier didn't return, but the spring air and the comforting sight of rolling range soothed her. Neither spoke as they angled off the long ridge.

Ahead of them, a line of cottonwoods marked one of the creeks that cut through the ranch. They rode parallel to the trees until they came to a place where the creek widened. Ethan turned his horse toward it and rode through a break in the trees to the pebbled bank. Maggie followed, then dismounted and led her horse to the water's edge, waiting while it lowered its head for a drink.

When the gray had had its fill, Ethan led his horse to a grassy spot to graze and loosened the saddle cinch. Maggie did the same with her horse, then wandered over to stand by a rotted log closer to the trees.

The chaotic rush of the swift-running creek, which the melting snow had widened several feet, was a fitting accompaniment to the twitter of birds in the heavily budded trees overhead. It was a peaceful spot, and the seclusion afforded by the trees and occasional deadfall seemed to enhance the sense of isolation.

Maggie shoved her hands into her pockets as she sensed Ethan had purposefully picked this place to stop. Though he was standing somewhere behind her, she could feel his eyes on her. There was a waiting in the silence between them, a hesitancy as strong as the confrontation she knew was coming.

She was past expecting Ethan to tell her he'd believed what she'd told Sheriff Cody. Ethan was too forthright to let something that important go this long. He'd been gentle with her earlier, but that didn't mean an apology was coming. The fact that she was willing to help put a stop to the rustling might be enough to account for his attempt to reassure her earlier.

She heard the crunch of his boots as he started toward her.

"Maggie?" His voice was firm, and she automatically tensed. "I owe you one hell of an apology." The words rumbled through her like thunder, and she didn't move. Hope and wild emotion welled up and she felt tears burn behind her eyes as she struggled to bring them under control.

"What for?" she got out, summoning every self- defense she could muster. Ethan had known her only a few short weeks and had believed the worst about her the whole time. In spite of what she sensed he was trying to say, it was almost too much to hope that he'd believed her story.

He seemed to have trouble forming the words. "You asked me the day you came here if knowing the truth would make a difference to whether I hired you or not. I can't say it would have then," he admitted. "But after having you around all these weeks, I reckon I know when you're lying and when you're telling the truth."

Maggie looked up to stare unseeing into the trees and blinked rapidly to soothe the sting in her eyes. "So you fancy yourself that good a judge of character, huh?"

"Good enough to know you don't want to hear me tell you I'm sorry, because you're too proud to do something as sissified as cry a few tears." She could hear the grim smile in his voice as he said it. "Good enough to know you're still mad as blazes about that crack I made about a ring and a ceremony." He paused. "And I'm damned sure I'm a good enough judge of character to know that romantic woman's heart of yours expected me to take one look at you that first day and see you were no criminal."

She heard him walk up behind her. "But the truth is I made my share of mistakes with you. I knew for sure I had when you told Cody about Morgan and your arrest. Everything you'd tried to let me know about yourself suddenly made sense."

His hands settled warmly over her shoulders, then slowly turned her toward him. Maggie lowered her head, but Ethan slowly lifted it with a gentle finger under her chin.

"I don't know how to do a pretty apology that'll make everything go down easy, or make it all right, but I'm sorry, baby."

Maggie shook her head, as much to deny the hope in her heart as to reject his apology. Though she'd wanted this—had waited for it—Ethan's apology suddenly seemed groundless and premature.

"You only have my word about what happened," she said. "There's no evidence on record anywhere to back me up." She dared a direct look into his eyes. "There never will be any evidence, Ethan. Don't you see?" Her voice shook as the dam of tears began to break. "You can't take just my word for it, not when no one else has. There has to be proof, or the next time something happens, the next time there's suspicion, you'll—" she took a frantic breath to regain control "—change your mind again."

The harsh grip of his fingers around her upper arms helped steady her. "Damn it, Maggie, I'm past needing proof. You're no more a criminal than I am. Hearing your story just confirmed what I'd been trying to ignore about you all along. It was only a matter of time before your conviction would have stopped making a difference to me, anyway. The more I got to know you, the less it even made sense."

Maggie shook her head to that and her lips twisted scornfully. "Yeah, Kincaid, it made so little sense that when Rounder turned up missing, you were all but ready to have Cody lock me up and throw away the key."

Frustration darkened his features as he glared down at her. "If you'll remember, the circumstances pointed squarely at you. Then when I asked if you knew anything about the theft, you clammed up and looked guilty as hell." His fingers flexed gently, and his voice lowered to a husky timbre. "Stop fighting me, Maggie."

She couldn't look away from his somber expression. His regret was genuine, and suddenly she felt churlish for spurning his attempt to apologize. "I'm sorry, too." Her gaze dropped to his chest. "It's just that. . ." Emotion choked off the rest. She forced her lips into a trembling curve. Ethan's hands slid down to rest on her waist as she went on in a soft, almost childlike voice. "I lived there all my life," she said quietly. "I was the fourth generation of Deatons to ranch there. I'd never had so much as a speeding ticket." Tears she could no longer restrain shot down her flushed cheeks.

Ethan drew her close, then folded her tightly in his arms as he took up where she'd left off. "So nowadays you don't have much trust in anybody. If people who should have known better didn't stick by you, you figure everyone else will turn on you twice as fast for half as much reason."

As if hearing it aloud was the trigger, Maggie broke into fierce sobs. She turned her head to press her face against the soft flannel of Ethan's shirt. His arms tightened protectively around her as he let her cry.

Unable to keep herself from taking the comfort Ethan was offering, she slipped her arms around his waist and clung to him. She didn't know how long they stood that way before she felt the storm of tears begin to subside. Ethan was more than equal to the task as he held her, pressing a tender kiss into her hair or murmuring a gentle word to soothe her. He seemed to know when the last of the tears was finished, but his only response was to slide his hands beneath her jacket and rub them slowly up and down her back.

Maggie felt too drained to be embarrassed about treating Ethan to a crying jag. She made a move to signal it was over, and she smiled sheepishly when he released her only enough to pull a hanky from his back pocket and hand it to her. She made quick use of it as she dried her eyes and blotted her cheeks. She eased away from him and turned her back self-consciously to blow her nose, but was hesitant to turn back to him until he took hold of her arm and prompted her.

"That's got to feel better," he said quietly, and she chanced a look up at his face. His rugged handsomeness struck her more forcefully than ever, and the tender, protective way he was looking down at her stole past the last of her defenses. She was in love with this harsh rancher, and had been for a long time. She must have fallen for him a little that first moment in the den when he'd looked up from his papers and leveled his hard gaze on her.

Afraid that what she felt was as clear on her face as it was in her heart, Maggie looked away. "I do feel better," she agreed, then reached out to touch his arm. "Thanks."

Ethan's hand caught hers as she withdrew it and pulled her against him. His head lowered and hesitated until she lifted her face. His lips settled warmly on hers in a kiss so sweet she ached as she returned it. There was no wild passion in the kiss, but she felt its tender consolation to her soul. When it ended, she slowly opened her eyes to the soft darkness of his.

"We'd better head back now, Maggie." One corner of his mouth quirked in self-mockery. "Any more kisses from here on are going to lead to something best done somewhere more comfortable than a cold creek bank. And you might be a little too vulnerable right now to make a clear decision about that." The lazy sensuality in his eyes was mesmerizing, and she couldn't look away from their blatant promise. "When you and I come together—and we will—I want to know you're clear about what it means to both of us."

That Ethan would make such a blunt statement wasn't surprising, but it landed sharply on the tender feelings of a young woman who'd only just acknowledged to herself that she was deeply in love with him. She should have been grateful that he cared enough not to take advantage of her when she might be vulnerable, but to Maggie, the care he wanted to take smacked of self-preservation. The very words he'd chosen—about wanting her to be clear about what it meant to both of them—implied he still saw physical intimacy with her as something no deeper than a lusty appeasement of mutual desire. He didn't want her to mistake it for anything more.

A chill touched her heart. She moved stiffly out of his arms and started for the horses.

Ethan witnessed her emotional retreat. A vague sense of unease crept over him before he realized he'd offended her. She was a strong woman and a proud one. Breaking down in front of him had probably embarrassed her. Then to hear him suggest her emotional judgment might be temporarily diminished could have riled her.

He followed her to the horses and mounted after she did, his watchful gaze taking note that she did no more than glance in his general direction. They rode back to the ranch in silence, but long before they got there, Ethan decided the best way to deal with her was to wait until she cooled off. Once she had time to think about it, she'd realize he'd meant no offense, that he was trying to act in her best interests and in the interest of the relationship he wanted with her.

It never entered his mind that Maggie was coming closer to the conclusion that she couldn't stay on at the Kincaid ranch once Bret was caught and behind bars. She was in love with Ethan, and couldn't settle for less than love from him. She was too old-fashioned to see an affair as the zenith of all she could expect from him. But if she stayed. . .

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Late that evening found Maggie pacing the kitchen floor. She'd made the call to Bret to give him the information he thought he was blackmailing from her, then called Sheriff Cody to let him know she had. The sheriff and his deputies were on their way over. They couldn't be sure Bret would use the information she'd given him on the location of the cattle tonight, but Maggie's impatience to have it over with was increasing by the moment.

Ethan sat lazily at the table, one arm draped casually over the chair back next to him. She could feel his dark eyes track her every move and forced herself to stop pacing. She folded her arms tightly across her middle and leaned a hip against the counter. The only sound in the quiet kitchen was the gurgle and hum of the coffee- maker, which would be used to fill Ethan's thermos.

"If you don't sit down and relax, you're going to wear the linoleum down to the floorboards," he commented. "Tonight might turn out to be a dry run, anyway."

Maggie straightened from the counter, then stopped, realizing she'd been about to pace again. Instead, she ran shaking fingers through her hair. "You and Cody should have picked a better place for the trap," she grumbled, thinking that the shallow valley Ethan had shown her didn't appear to have enough cover to conceal the sheriff and his deputies. Its only advantage was the ridge north of it, but that seemed too distant from the highway for the sheriff to make a swift capture. If anything, the spot granted Bret an extreme advantage. Maggie would have preferred a box canyon somewhere.

"We picked a spot that favored Morgan so he'd drop his guard. Besides, no one's going to do a thing until he gathers the cattle and gets them into the truck. About the time he pulls onto the highway, the deputies will be waiting." Ethan took a leisurely sip of coffee.

"Where will we be?" she asked pointedly, knowing they'd never discussed the possibility of her going along, though she was determined to do so.

Unperturbed, Ethan met the challenge in her vivid blue eyes, "Cody and I will have horses on the north side of the ridge. When we hear him pull in, we'll be lying on top of the ridge to watch. After he gets the cattle loaded, we'll signal the deputies to come up the highway, then we'll mount up and close in behind the truck." His expression turned grave. "I don't want you out there, Maggie." He shook his head when she started to protest. "It's going to be a long, cold night. He might not even show up."

Maggie's lips flattened to a determined line. "I'm going, Ethan."

Ethan stood up casually, but she sensed it was a move meant to assert dominance. She bristled.

"If anything goes wrong, there could be gunplay, and I don't want to put you in danger."

"I'll be as safe as anyone else," she argued, then swung her arm in a frustrated arc. "There's no way I can sit around up here all night and wonder what's going on."

Ethan's lips quirked. "It'll be a damned sight more warm and comfortable waiting and wondering up here than it's going to be out in the dark with a cold breeze at your backside."

"I'm going."

He walked over to the coffeemaker, which had finished brewing, and refilled his cup. Maggie moved down the counter toward him.

"I'm going, Kincaid," she declared to his granite profile. "Whether I go with you or come out later, I'm going."

In the end, she couldn't persuade Ethan. But later, after the sheriff arrived, she found Cody a reluctant ally.

They waited for hours on the ridge that overlooked the valley where the cattle had bedded down. Sometime after one in the morning, they heard the sound of a semi coming up the highway south of their position.

Maggie tossed away the last of her coffee and hurriedly twisted the cup back onto the thermos. She glanced down the north slope of the ridge to where the horses were tethered. Ethan and the sheriff calmly finished their coffee as they watched the headlights on the highway and waited to see if the semi would stop. Maggie's nerves stretched taut as she listened to the big engine gear down, then the hiss of brakes as it eased to a stop.

Ethan remarked beside her, "That's not a stock trailer, Cody."

Cody chuckled. "That's right, Kincaid. If it looked like one, they wouldn't be able to prowl around without raising suspicion. He's probably had it modified inside to haul cattle. When he gets the cattle far enough down the road, he probably switches to a regular stock trailer to make the final delivery."

By the light from the headlamps, they could see a man climb down from the cab. He hurried to the back of the trailer, then turned to cut across the ditch, which in that spot was almost level with the highway.

They flattened themselves on the ground to avoid being picked up by the powerful spotlight that suddenly beamed from the cab of the semi. The powerful light swept the valley below them, and the cattle started to get to their feet and mill about at the intrusion. The spotlight was switched off, and Maggie held her breath when the truck was shifted into reverse and began to roll slowly backward. The big tractor wheels turned, angling the trailer into a tight curve that eased it over the shoulder of the highway and across the ditch. The brakes hissed, bringing the trailer to a halt between two fence posts. The man on the ground quickly cut the fence wire, then squeezed between a post and the back corner of the trailer to reach the door behind.

The truck headlights were extinguished and two other men climbed out of the cab and hurried around to the back of the trailer. Though it was too dark to see clearly, Maggie could make out the three shadowy forms behind the truck and heard the sound of the big doors opening, then the harsh scrape of a loading ramp being pulled out.

The clatter of hooves on the ramp carried across the valley to them and signaled that the rustlers were unloading horses to round up the cattle. When they seemed to take an abnormally long time to start the job, Maggie's nervousness increased.

"Is something wrong?" she asked at last, unable to keep silent any longer. Bret was so close to being arrested she didn't know how she'd stand it if he suddenly got cold feet and took off. Ethan shifted beside her, angling his long body close enough for her to feel heat radiating from him.

"Patience," he murmured. Maggie glanced his way at the smile in his deep voice. He shifted again, and she suddenly found her cold hand enveloped in the warmth of his callused one. "You've waited this long—a few more minutes shouldn't be too tough."

Sheriff Cody spoke from her left. "Morgan's too close to the prize to back off now. 'Course if I were him, I'd be a little wary of the wind direction.''

The light wind from the south was indeed in their favor. The sounds from the back of the trailer carried well toward their position on the ridge north of the cattle. Yet whatever sounds their horses made couldn't be heard as easily from the highway.

Ethan chuckled at what Cody said, and it struck her that he and the sheriff were enjoying themselves. She'd been tense and frustrated at the long wait, but the two of them behaved as if they laid traps for rustlers and sprung them on a regular basis.

The rattle of a bridle drew her attention back to the shadowy figures behind the semi. To her relief, the three men finally mounted and fanned out as they rode toward the small herd. A few of the cattle started to head for the end of the valley near the ridge they were hiding on, but one of the riders spurred his horse in an arc partway up the side of the valley and smoothly cut them off.

The three riders worked the herd, bunching them tighter as they drove them toward the ramp at the back of the trailer. Though several head of cattle balked at the ramp, the riders used coiled ropes to drive them forward. It took a while—the work must have been difficult in the dark— but the cattle were loaded at last.

The riders dismounted and a flashlight illuminated the interior of the reinforced trailer. Two of the men moved a section of fencing into place to partition off a space for the horses near the door. Eventually they finished loading the horses and got the ramp slid into its compartment beneath the trailer floor. The flashlight was switched off.

Ethan went for their own horses and returned just as the trailer doors slammed shut. The sheriff was on the radio to his deputies, but abruptly stopped to stare intently at the back of the truck. The shadowy figures moved around the right side of the truck and disappeared from sight.

Sheriff Cody hissed a curse, and Maggie glanced at him in surprise.

"What is it?"

Cody ignored the question to direct one of his own to Ethan. "Did one of them stay in the back?"

"Couldn't tell," was the clipped response.

The truck lights came on. The sheriff quickly used his radio to repeat his order for the deputies to close in, but added a warning that one of the rustlers might be in the back of the trailer.

Ethan handed Cody the reins to one of the horses, but the sheriff turned to Maggie before he mounted. "I don't like the looks of one of them hanging back in the trailer. It could be Morgan's on to us. It might be he's just looking out for himself. You told me he said he'd be armed, so I want you to stay here until you see we've got all three in the open and in handcuffs." He reached out and gripped her shoulder to emphasize the order as they heard the truck engine rev. "Got that?"

Maggie nodded. "Yes. I'll wait here." They were too close to the goal for her to chance getting in the way. She wanted to be here so she'd know what was going on, but she had no intention of interfering. "What about Ethan?" Her question had both men exchanging a look.

The answer came from Ethan. "Cody knows I do as I please on my own land and I stand the consequences." He swung into the saddle and looked down into Maggie's upturned face. A heartbeat later, he swooped down, damped a hand around the back of her neck to anchor her for a swift, hard kiss.

"Behave yourself," he growled.

"Be careful," she whispered back, then stood numbly as he straightened and rode down the ridge with the sheriff.

Wanting to be ready to follow the instant it was safe to do so, she gathered the thermoses they'd brought and buckled them into her saddlebags. She made a quick check of the cinch, then mounted and watched as Ethan and the sheriff rode swiftly across the valley toward the back of the semi.

The big truck was moving, but the weight of the cattle in the trailer slowed its lumbering progress out of the shallow ditch. Maggie's gaze raced back and forth along what she could see of the highway. She held her breath as the semitrailer wallowed over the shoulder onto the pavement.

The instant it did, the highway was suddenly flooded with light as patrol cars converged from both directions. The semi lurched forward, as if the driver's first instinct had been to run, then hissed to a stop partway into the far lane.

Ethan and Cody were bearing down on the semi when, without warning, the back doors swung open. Maggie saw a flash, then heard a sharp crack of gunfire echo across the valley. Her heart gave a startled thump. Ethan and Cody reacted instantly, swerving to opposite sides of the trailer to get out of the line of fire.

Several more shots rang out before a mounted rustler vaulted from the back of the semi. The horse he was riding stumbled when its forefeet hit the ground. The rider's rifle discharged at the same moment, and Maggie realized it had been aimed in the sheriff's direction. To her horror, Cody's body jerked, then fell heavily to the ground. Maggie reacted instinctively, spurring her horse forward.

The horse that had jumped from the back of the trailer stumbled again and fell shoulder first onto the ground. His rider rolled off, unharmed, but lost his grip on the rifle. The horse scrambled to its feet and trotted off.

Like a stuntman in a Western, Ethan rode his horse hell-for-leather at the downed rider, flinging himself at the rustler just as the man grabbed his rifle and swung it around. Both men hit the ground hard, and Maggie urged her horse on across the valley. The rifle now lay several feet from where the two men struggled, and Maggie reined her horse to a stop nearby. She saw at a glance that the rustler Ethan was getting the better of was Bret Morgan. Maggie kicked out of the stirrups and dismounted.

The deputies had the other two men lined up on one side of the semi to check for weapons, but they didn't seem to know their sheriff was lying wounded on the other side. Maggie glanced Ethan's way anxiously, then ran toward the sheriff.

Her heart thudded heavily as she dropped to her knees beside Cody. There was enough light from the headlights of the patrol cars for her to see that his eyes were closed and his face was pale. She reached for the front of his jacket, terrified of what she'd find when she drew it open.

"Sheriff?" The sound of her voice seemed to bring him around. He moved his head, winced, then opened his eyes. Maggie gently spread the jacket open and felt her stomach churn at the sight of the black stain of blood that had spread over most of his shirtfront. Her hands were shaking as she forced herself to gently search his chest for the exact source of the wound.

The sheriff's voice was a husky rasp. "Upper left chest, Maggie. Don't think it hit anything vital." His pained smile was a white slash in the shadows. Feeling the first glimmers of relief, she took a moment to go through his jacket pocket to find a handkerchief. "Felt like it took my shoulder off." Cody gasped as Maggie found the wound and pressed his handkerchief, along with one of her own, against it to stop the flow of blood.

Distinct lines of pain marred his face as she continued the pressure. She turned her head to call over her shoulder, "The sheriff's wounded."

One of the deputies came running. Maggie told him briefly about the nature of the wound before he ran back to one of the patrol cars to use the radio.

"Could have used my portable," the sheriff said in a stronger voice before he gave a smile that was less pained. " 'Course, Fm probably layin' on it."

In response to that, Maggie recalled he kept it clipped to the back of his belt. She slipped her free hand under him to pull it out of the way. Then she glanced over to notice that Ethan and Bret were now on their feet and that Ethan had Bret's arm twisted and thrust up high against his back. The other deputy hurried toward them and quickly handcuffed Bret. Ethan shook his head decisively at whatever the deputy said to him, and the deputy went back to the other prisoners.

"Did Ethan get him?"

Maggie looked down at Cody. "Yes. It was Bret."

"Good." The sheriff paused a moment. "Or maybe not so good. Kincaid wanted to spend what he called a few 'significant moments' with Morgan. Told him I couldn't allow that."

Maggie glanced anxiously at Ethan and saw him shoving, then dragging, Bret in her direction. When he came within a few feet, he yanked his prisoner to a halt. "How bad is he?"

"It looks like a shoulder wound."

"Is he conscious?"

Maggie answered that he was, and Ethan propelled Bret toward the side of the truck where the deputies had been searching their prisoners only moments earlier. Maggie could see enough by looking through the space between the bottom of the trailer and the ground to know that the deputies had taken their prisoners to their cars. She couldn't look away as she saw Ethan's legs and Bret's come to a halt on the other side.

Though she would have been tempted to spend a few "significant moments" with Bret herself, the thought of actually beating someone—or Ethan's doing it—sickened her. Her breath eased out in relief as both pairs of legs continued on. She heard Ethan call out to one of the deputies. Sheriff Cody relaxed under her hand and she looked down at him.

"I was afraid Kincaid really would beat the hell out of him." He chuckled weakly. "I would've hated to arrest him." The sheriff's eyes drifted closed and his voice trailed away as he added, "But I woulda'."

When she saw that Cody had passed out, she called to the deputies. The folded handkerchiefs she'd been using felt wet, but as best she could tell the bleeding had stopped. Awkwardly she worked her jacket off, then spread it over Cody to give him added warmth.

One of the deputies came right away, but she didn't feel better until a few minutes later, when the ambulance arrived and the paramedics took over.

The events of the rest of the night blurred together. She and Ethan were let off at the house, and several of Ethan's men went out to collect the horses and reopen the fence before they turned the stock loose. The deputies took care of the investigation from there, dealing with the semi and taking statements.

Maggie and Ethan got cleaned up, then drove to the county hospital. They waited while doctors finished surgery on Sheriff Cody, whose first name, she finally learned, was Gabe. In spite of heavy blood loss, he was resting comfortably in the surgical-care unit before they left.

Ethan had sent Harv and two others to the ranch where Bret had hidden the stallion. By the time Ethan and Maggie got home, Rounder had been unloaded and put in his stall at the stud barn. Though she was exhausted, Maggie checked him over, saw he'd suffered little more than a scrape on his neck and applied some antiseptic salve. Ethan looked on silently, but neither of them spoke.

The stress and excitement of the long night had drained them both. Maggie felt her spirits drag lower as they left the stud barn to head for the bunkhouse. She'd be leaving soon, and that made her downhearted, but the sense of victory she should have felt at seeing Bret arrested and getting Rounder back safely didn't come. She might have felt differently if Gabe Cody hadn't been wounded, but when she chanced a look at Ethan's grim profile, she doubted it.

She'd been through difficult times in her life, but as they paused near her door and Ethan pulled her into his arms for a hot, stirring good-night kiss, Maggie realized that the most difficult time of her life—leaving Ethan- was just ahead of her.

It was early afternoon before Maggie awoke and got up to shower and dress. She'd taken time to familiarize herself with the bus schedule out of Red Horse when she and Ethan had returned from their afternoon ride the day before. There was a bus leaving for Cheyenne at three o'clock. Realizing that her resolve to leave while it was still emotionally possible to do so was wavering dangerously, she threw herself into packing her things a last time.

You could stay. . . The words weakened her. But for what? she thought dispiritedly. Ethan had believed her story and Bret was behind bars. But just because that obstacle between them had been overcome didn't mean their attraction to each other would amount to anything more than the affair Ethan seemed to want. When we come together—and we will—I want to know you're clear about what it means to both of us, he'd said. She'd gotten the message.

She'd barely got the clothes from the closet and dresser drawers laid out on the bed when a brisk knock came at her door. Unease crept along her nerves. She hadn't decided on the best way to tell Ethan she was leaving, but she'd been hoping to catch him off guard with her announcement. By rights, she ought to give him two weeks' notice, but she was too wary of the emotional pressure Ethan might bring to bear if he didn't want her to go just yet.

She grimaced in self-mockery at the thought. She was probably overestimating his attraction to her. Forgoing two weeks' notice might be preferable to him, as well. After all, once he learned she'd rather clear out than fall into a shallow episode of bedroom frolics, he'd be more than happy to have her leave.

Ethan had been a widower for a long time, and he'd likely come to treasure his freedom. Strong, self-sufficient men like him didn't take easily to the idea of a lovesick female dogging their tracks. Though Maggie knew she wasn't that kind of woman, the love she felt for Ethan might make it easier than she thought to become one. She couldn't take the risk. It was better to make a quick, clean break now than to wait until his attraction cooled and they were left with the awkward aftermath of a fizzled affair.

Taking another moment to firm her resolve, Maggie walked over to the door to open it.

Ethan stood there, his dark eyes glittering down at her from beneath the brim of his Stetson. "Been up long?"

There was not so much as a flicker of surprise as his gaze veered from her face and homed in briefly on the cases and folded clothing scattered on the bed.

"I've got some good news for you if you'll invite me in," he said. The warmth in his smile sent her heart skittering wildly, and with a brief nod, she turned back to her packing. He strode in and closed the door.

Maggie picked up several rolls of thick socks and wedged them in the open suitcase. "What news?" She looked back at him, concern creasing her brow. "Is Sheriff Cody still doing well?"

"Doing well enough. The doctor says he should be out of the hospital by the weekend. He'll be laid up at home for a while, but now that Morgan and his bunch are behind bars and their bail was denied, his deputies won't have to be doing anything too far out of the routine."

"I'm glad he's all right." A shudder ran through her at the memory of seeing the sheriff fall from his horse. The news that he would recover was a relief. She reached for a cotton shirt and began to fold it.

"One of the deputies, Ed Drake, called with some news I thought you'd want to hear." He paused, waited until she met his eyes, then went on. "It seems one of Morgan's men is hoping for a lighter sentence. He's made a full confession."

Maggie looked away from the slanted half smile Ethan was giving her. "So what? They were caught red- handed." She tossed the folded shirt into the suitcase and reached for another.

"That full confession not only listed the thefts here but included a detailed statement about what Morgan did to set you up for arrest."

Maggie's hands stilled and a wave of dizziness swept through her. She straightened and turned slowly toward Ethan.

As if he understood that she was too shocked to take it all in, his voice lowered. "He insists you had nothing to do with those thefts. Not only that, he says you didn't even guess Morgan was involved until he made you suspicious enough to follow him and get arrested in his place."

Maggie's knees began to shake and she sank onto the bed. The confession she'd hoped for—and had come to believe she'd never get—had been made. Her eyes crept up to meet Ethan's.

"Does that mean I'm cleared?"

"Drake says it won't be right away, that there are legal channels. We'll give my brother-in-law a call when he gets back to see what can be done to hurry it along."

Maggie closed her eyes on a feeling of relief so powerful it made her tremble. "Thank God." Grateful tears gathered behind her closed lids. "Thank God it's over."

It took Maggie several moments to compose herself. When she did, her lips trembled into a smile. She opened wet-lashed eyes and looked at Ethan, the first glimmers of elation lifting her heart.

But Ethan had removed his hat and was now looking pointedly at the clothing she'd been packing. Her smile vanished as she stood up and reached stiffly for a stack of folded clothes, which she then put into the suitcase.

Ethan's voice was a deep rumble as he asked, "How many times have you packed and unpacked those bags since you got here?"

Maggie grimaced and kept packing. "Enough."

She heard the sound of Ethan's slapping his Stetson impatiently against his thigh. She tensed against whatever persuasion he might bring to bear, then instantly dreaded that he wouldn't try at all. Every nerve in her body was suddenly screamingly alert to his next words. Yet when they came, it took a moment for them to register.

"Then I reckon the first order of business after the wedding is to burn the damned bags."

Maggie's hands froze, then moved awkwardly to shove another small stack of clothes into the case. She forced a lightness into her voice that was as transparent as window glass. "What was that?"

"You heard me," he growled. The Stetson whacked against his thigh again. "When would you like to put us out of our misery? Now?" He paused, letting her catch the hopeful note in his tone. "Or our wedding night?"

Maggie let the clothes fall in a soft heap. She turned slowly toward him, seeing the beloved lines of his stern face. She sensed both his uncharacteristic nervousness and the iron determination that warned her any resistance on her part would only delay the inevitable.

"Is this a proposal?"

Ethan shook his head. "A proposal is what a man does when he wants a yes or no answer."

Her lips trembled as she suppressed a smile. "That's not what this is?"

"Hell, no. Do you think I'm going to give you a chance to turn me down?" Ethan sent his hat sailing in the general direction of a chair and stalked toward her. He stopped mere inches away and glared down at her from his superior height. "I figure this might be the last chance I'll get to have things all my own way. I mean to make sure I've got this one time to look back on in the years ahead."

Maggie gave a gasp of mock outrage. "You make me sound like a shrew."

Ethan's sober expression gave way to an arrogant smile. Without warning, he seized her around the waist, lifted her off her feet and hefted her onto the clothing she'd piled on the bed. His weight followed her down and he caught her wrists to draw them high over her head. He settled his lower body half over hers, then brought his face close.

"I haven't got time for a female who cringes when a man raises his voice and meekly gives in to his every whim."

He lowered his head and feathered his warm lips teas- ingly over hers. His mouth became more aggressive, and Maggie moaned as she succumbed fully to his hunger. As she moved restlessly beneath the warm crush of his weight, he released the gentle hold he had on her wrists. She brought her hands down to wrap her arms around his neck and shoulders.

Ethan dragged his lips from hers and growled in her ear, "I love you, Maggie. There isn't another woman like you in ten thousand, and I'm not going to let you get away. Marry me."

It was more of a demand than a request. She laughed softly as joy welled up in her heart, swelling it with a sweetness stronger than she'd imagined possible. When she didn't respond right away to what he'd said, he raised his head and his dark eyes glittered down into the liquid blue of hers.

Ethan Kincaid's character was stamped blatantly on his face. Tough, yet tender, harsh, forbidding, arrogant and unabashedly male. The dear familiarity of that proud, ruggedly handsome face and the irresistible appeal of the elemental man himself brought a rush of love so strong that tears stung her eyes. What she'd sensed on some level before—that they were matched in some wildly primitive way—throbbed forcefully through her consciousness.

"I love you, too, Ethan," she whispered, and laid her palm along the angle of his jaw. "But someday, when we've butted heads once too often and you get to thinking life might have been simpler with a meek, cringing female, I'm going to remind you of the time I let you have your way and married you."

Ethan broke into whole-hearted laughter. "Nothing with you will ever be dull. I won't come to the end of my life and feel like I missed out on the challenges and the fun and the spice and vinegar of living out my days with you." His smile faded and his voice grew husky. "You brought something else when you came here, Maggie, something fragile and woman-soft. Something I need every bit as much as I need the spice and vinegar." He lowered his head and brushed his lips almost reverently against hers.

"Ethan," she whispered, her arms tightening fiercely around him, her heart singing at his words. The settled feeling of finally coming home resonated with the love she felt for him. The home and heritage she'd thought had been forever lost to her had been miraculously restored, and she felt the last of her bitterness slip away.

Ethan shifted. She blinked away her tears and smiled up at him.

A lopsided grin appeared on his face. "So how 'bout it? Do we consummate us now, or do we wait until after the ceremony a week from Saturday?"

Her lips parted in surprise. "A week from Saturday?"

"Sure thing, honey. Jace and Beth'll be back in a couple of days. Alva and her four sisters volunteered to help get together a white wedding by then, so I figured there was no sense putting either of us through a long wait."

Maggie shook her head. "That's not enough time."

"It is when one sister makes wedding dresses for a living, another does fancy cakes and the other two between them have pulled off six big weddings for their daughters." He chuckled at her stunned expression. "On top of which, I know you're going to make us wait until our wedding night, and a week from Saturday is about all I'm good for."

Mischief sparkled in Maggie's eyes. "Any chance you had of previewing our wedding night just got squashed, Kincaid," she said, then gave him a playful shove.

The playful shove resulted in a tickling match that escalated into a wild frolic and tumbled clothing and cases to the floor as they rolled on the bed, each seeking to get the better of the other. Somewhere in those lighthearted moments, the passion that was so easily fired between them ignited and burst into a white-hot blaze.

And Ethan found, to his great delight, that his preference was rapidly gaining ground.