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  Her mind made up, she quickly showered and dressed, downed her coffee and debated borrowing the twenty-odd dollars Noah had left on his dresser. She still had a twenty from her pool winnings, but if the bank wouldn’t release her funds right away she wanted to make sure she had enough to buy the things she needed. Deciding she should purchase extra ingredients in case the first quiche didn’t turn out, she grabbed the money off his dresser, then headed to town.

  * * *

  NOAH CROUCHED DOWN CLOSE TO where the wire had been cut from Cy Heber’s fence and inspected the faint tread marks in the hard dirt. No cattle were missing, because Cy had heard something early that morning and come running out with his shotgun. But the old man was right—someone had been up to no good out here. No telling what might’ve happened if Cy hadn’t been battling insomnia.

  “You hired any help lately?” Noah asked, standing.

  “Nope. Can’t afford it. You want coffee? Shirley just made a fresh pot.”

  “Yeah, I’ll take a cup. Thanks.” Noah watched the stooped older man turn and limp toward the small clapboard ranch house. “And leave the rifle inside.”

  Cy didn’t turn around, but raised a hand as he kept walking, acknowledging he’d heard.

  The guy had been making Noah nervous, waving that Winchester around. Not that he blamed the old-timer for being guarded. He and Shirley were pretty isolated this far east of Blackfoot Falls. That was part of what made this alleged robbery attempt so puzzling. Someone had to be real familiar with the area to know the Hebers were out here. And hell, they didn’t even have that much stock.

  Noah’s cell rang, and before he answered, he saw that it was Roy.

  “I’m sorry, boss. I lost her.”

  “What do you mean, you lost her?”

  “I did just like you told me. I sat in my truck, watched her come out of your house and walk to the bank. I kept waiting and waiting, and when she didn’t come out, I went inside. Real calm like, as if I was doing personal business and—”

  “Roy.” Noah’s patience slipped. “The bottom line.”

  “Herman told me she asked him to call her bank in New York City. The fella on the other end knew who she was right away, and they’re sending her money. A lot of money.”

  That was good news. Noah relaxed a little.

  “After that, she left, didn’t say where she was going. I swear I was watching the door the whole time. I didn’t look down once at my new Sports Illustrated.”

  Jesus. “Go check the Watering Hole. She might be with Sadie. Call me back.” He started to slip the cell into his pocket, but for the hell of it, called his home phone. No answer. He hadn’t expected her to be there, but he was relieved that she’d had no problem at the bank. The housekeeper thing still bothered him, though….

  Cy returned with a mug of coffee for each of them, and Noah tried his best to keep his focus on their conversation. But his thoughts kept drifting back to Alana and Roy, and why there’d been no call assuring him she had gone to the Watering Hole. When Cy asked him to help mend the cut fence, Noah agreed. His job, including fence mending, came first.

  * * *

  A READY-MADE PIE CRUST would’ve solved so much of Alana’s problem. However, she’d learned that the Food Mart had never carried such an item, and the manager couldn’t imagine why they ever would. After all, a pie crust was one of the easiest things in the world to whip together.

  Yeah, and Alana really loved being patronized by a smiling, pimply-faced twenty-year-old who’d probably majored in Home Economics, if the schools still had such a horrifying option as part of their curriculum.

  Sighing, Alana used the back of her wrist to wipe the flour off her nose. It wasn’t the poor woman’s fault she still had acne problems, and Alana felt duly ashamed for the mean thought. But that wasn’t going to help her pathetic quiche. She doubted starting over for the third time would do any good, either.

  Crap, she was just too much of a perfectionist, she decided, tilting her head and eyeing the lopsided baked crust. So what if it was uneven. Most of it would be hidden by the filling, and who the hell had thought up fluted edges, anyway?

  Her decision made, she poured the egg, spinach and mushroom mixture into the crust. The oven was already heated, so she opened the door and slid in the quiche. She heard Dax bark at the back door and felt badly for making him go outside on such a chilly day, but he’d kept getting underfoot.

  She set the timer, then grabbed a treat from the jar and headed out to join him. Even though she still hadn’t forgiven the mutt for turning his nose up at the proffered piece of crust from her first attempt.

  It was the middle of the afternoon, the air crisp and the sky a beautiful clear blue. The mountaintops in the distance were already capped in white, and she tried to imagine what the place would look like covered with a pristine blanket of fresh snow instead of the slushy gray stuff she was used to in New York. Oh, the snow always looked pretty when it first came down on Manhattan, but it didn’t take long for the plows and taxis to push everything into depressing heaps against the curbs.

  Dax left her sitting at the picnic table and ran to the kitchen door, barking. Was someone knocking? She hadn’t heard a car. Could be Noah, though she hadn’t expected him this early. Her pulse quickening, she sprang to her feet. God, she was going to have to break down and buy some sensible shoes. Or maybe even a pair of Western boots. She would never wear them again, but had to have something besides these unsuitable heels. She’d started losing hope her luggage would ever be recovered.

  Blocking Dax’s entrance, she slowly opened the door. A creepy feeling slithered up her spine. The house seemed eerily quiet, and reconsidering, she let the dog in ahead of her. He took off into the living room, and the barking stopped.

  “Noah?”

  No answer.

  She entered the living room, craning her neck to see if his truck was parked in front.

  “Alana.” Noah appeared from the hall, and she nearly jumped out of her jeans. “You’re here.”

  “I’m here,” she confirmed, laughing nervously, her hand at her throat. “Where else would I be?”

  “I heard you went to the bank. If they wired your money, then you’d be free to skip town.”

  “What?” She laughed. “Why would I do that?”

  He seemed to relax, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “What does a woman like you want with a small-town sheriff like me?” He smiled, but there was still something troubling about the way he looked at her…and that he hadn’t kissed her yet.

  She thought about the note he’d left her, how it hadn’t even sounded like him. Did he really think she would ditch him the minute the money came through?

  “What’s got into you?” she asked uneasily. He was too confident a man to be that insecure. More importantly, she’d believed last night had meant something to both of them…. A thought struck her. He’d just come from his room. Probably noticed the money was missing from his dresser.

  “For God’s sake, I’m going to pay you back. The bank will be releasing my funds later this afternoon or first thing tomorrow morning. I needed something from the grocery—” To her horror, her voice cracked. Emotion swelled in her throat. She didn’t have to take this crap. “Forget it. Okay? Just forget it. The minute my funds clear, I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Alana.” His arm shot out to stop her when she tried to make it past him, but she jerked out of his reach.

  If she could just get to her room, lock the door, not come out until the bank called. Or better yet, crawl out the window so she didn’t have to see him. He knew she’d gotten choked up, and that pissed her off.

  “Would you please wait?” He caught her from behind, pulling her back against his chest.

  She tried to pry his arm away, but it was like a steel band around her waist, trapping her body snugly to his. “Let go of me.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “I’ll scream.”

  “No, you
won’t.” His lips brushed the side of her neck, his moist breath tickling her ear.

  “I will,” she said, and would’ve sounded so much more convincing if she’d been able to breathe. She could blame the tightness of his arm under her breasts, but that would be a lie. He’d loosened his hold, and she was staying pressed against his chest of her own volition.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered. She should’ve torn his head off for using the term, but coming from him she actually liked it.

  “I’ve just had one hell of a day. I don’t have any problem with you borrowing—” His abrupt retreat left her reeling. “Something’s burning.”

  * * *

  “BURNING?” SHE SPUN AROUND to look at him, her brow furrowed. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, God.” She pushed past him and ran to the kitchen.

  He followed, watched her pick up a dish towel and open the oven. Smoke drifted out, but not enough to make him grab the fire extinguisher. The acrid smell seemed to be the worst of it. She coughed and backed away, waving furiously at the smoky air.

  “You okay?” He drew her toward him, turned off the oven and used the toe of his boot to shut the door.

  “It’s not the quiche. I mean, it is, but not the one baking now, because it hasn’t been in long enough.” Her shoulders slumped. “I think the smoke is from a spill from my first attempt.” She sighed. “But now our dinner isn’t finished and I don’t know what to do about it. I’ll have to wait for the oven to cool in order to clean it.”

  “Quiche?” He’d tried it once. That was enough.

  She studied his face. “I knew I was taking a chance that you wouldn’t like it, but that’s all I know how to make.”

  He tried to control a smile. Obviously she wasn’t an ace at quiche, either. Fine with him. “We’re going to remove the pan, let the oven cool, then go from there.”

  “All right.” She picked up the dish towel again and inhaled deeply, as if bracing herself for the ordeal of opening the oven once more.

  “Here.” He took the towel from her and did the honors. Then frowned at the sunken blob in the pan he put on the stove. He thought he knew what quiche was, but this wasn’t what he remembered.

  “What happened?” Alana was staring at it, too.

  “Beats me.”

  “I think I put in too much cream the second time. Or did I forget the eggs?” She bent to peek into the oven, then abruptly straightened with a look of dread on her face. “I’ll have money soon. Anyone you think will do it…I’ll pay them a hundred dollars to clean that oven.”

  Noah chuckled. “It’s a newer model, so it’s got a self-cleaning feature.”

  She flushed. “I’m really a very capable advertising executive. I am, I swear. Some ads you see on TV—the man in the polo shirt on a horse, the razors and shirtless guys? That’s me. I thought of those.” She made a little sound of exasperation and looked so miserable that he sucked up a laugh. “This kind of stuff…” She spread a hand. “I’m not so good.”

  He discreetly wiped the smudge of flour dusting her jaw by finger-combing her hair back from her face. Her cheeks were warm, still flushed, her eyes a soft chocolate-brown. She looked beautiful. “I came home to sweep you off your feet and make mad passionate love to you, but now I don’t know….” He shook his head. “A woman who doesn’t know how to make quiche? I’m thinking, deal breaker.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “That’s not why you came home.”

  “You doubt me, woman?”

  Her warning glare didn’t quite come off. “Oh.” She put her hands on his shoulders, and he placed his at her waist. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you call me sweetheart.”

  “Ah, right, sorry. Won’t let it happen again.” He winked. “At least I’ll try not to.”

  Smiling, she slipped her arms around his neck and sniffed. “You smell like smoke.”

  “You’re not smelling like a rose yourself.”

  Her grin widened. “We could take a shower together.”

  Dammit, he still had to go to the office, and though he said nothing, he could see by the disappointment that flickered in her eyes that she knew he couldn’t stay.

  “It’s okay,” she said gamely, “I understand. You’re still working.”

  “I have to write a report.” Sliding his arms around her, he lifted her off the floor and kissed her soft lips. They eagerly parted for him, and he knew he was in trouble.

  Only twenty minutes ago he’d walked into the house, tired and cranky and full of doubt. He’d expected that she’d left town right under his deputy’s nose, but not because she was a con artist.

  A few minutes under her spell and he was back to appreciating how lucky he was to have found Alana, even if it was just for a little while.

  14

  ONCE THE OVEN WAS SET TO self-clean, there wasn’t a whole lot for Alana to do except obsess over every single word Noah had said before he’d gone back to work. Which she refused to do. She wasn’t fifteen, she wasn’t writing “Mrs. Alana Calder” in her notebooks, and God, she barely could believe she’d let herself come to this over a man. Over a small-time sheriff.

  It had to be the water.

  Clearly, what she needed to do was get out of the house.

  She’d go to the bank to check on the money, then to the Watering Hole to look in on Sadie. Alana was strongly considering having herself that cosmo she’d wanted on day one.

  Dax barked when she left, which probably put the whole town on alert, but even Noah couldn’t believe they were anything close to a secret anymore. Alana had grown so used to the anonymity of Manhattan that she barely thought about it. She knew the names of the doormen and her immediate neighbors. Other than that, all her acquaintances were useful. The maître d’ at Per Se, her hairdresser, the assistants who worked for her important clients. It boggled her mind that you could know every person in a town. Know their history, their secrets.

  Frankly, she was surprised there weren’t a lot more crimes of passion in small communities.

  It didn’t take her long to hit the center of town. Tempted to stop in to see Noah at the sheriff’s office, she purposely headed for the bank. Three steps later, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

  “Still here? Oh, that’s right. I heard you were shackin’ up with Calder. The Sundance ought to change its name to Whorehouse.”

  Stunned speechless, Alana spun around, suddenly steady on her four-inch heels. It was Gunderson, of course; she’d have recognized that weasel’s voice if she’d run into him in Times Square. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  The man who’d been so put together the other day had apparently been drinking. It wasn’t obvious, but he was leaning against a big truck that she doubted was his. It wasn’t fancy enough. Although, was that Tony in the front seat?

  She didn’t have to wonder for long, because the passenger door opened, and sure enough, the stocky kid who’d just turned twenty-one stepped onto the street. Behind him, another big guy slammed the back door shut. The two of them looked like football players. But she was more interested in Gunderson.

  “That’s quite a mouth you’ve got there,” she said. “You in the habit of spitting out that kind of accusation when you don’t have one fact to go on?”

  “I’ve got all the evidence I need. I saw you come out of his house.”

  “Funny how you managed to see me leaving a house down the street and around the corner, but you couldn’t see a person directly behind me steal my luggage.”

  The two husky kids, cowboy hats low on their foreheads, shirts stuffed with muscles, took a step closer to their boss. Tony looked around, stalling when his gaze fell on Abe’s Variety.

  “You’re crazy,” Gunderson said, wiping a hand across his mouth. “You made up that story.”

  “You’re a bald-faced liar, Gunderson. And you know it.” She said the words calmly, but firmly. The man was a pig. What she couldn’t understand was why people in this town were so afraid of him.


  “And you think I’ve got a mouth,” he said, only now he was speaking low and close, even if they were at least ten feet apart. “You don’t come into my town and call me a liar. Not if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Gunderson opened his mouth, but before he could get the next word out, another voice interjected. “What the hell’s got into you, Gunderson?”

  Alana felt the tight knot that had gripped her stomach ease up as soon as she heard Noah. How long had he been listening? Surely he hadn’t witnessed the opening volley, or he’d have been at her side in seconds.

  “I’m thinking you’d better be gettin’ on home,” Noah said, approaching the old man. “You’re not looking well.”

  Gunderson seemed ready to argue, but he ended up staring at Noah for what felt like a long time. Then he swiped his hand through the air as if he was finished with the whole business. His boys picked up his signal fast, Tony walking him straight to the front passenger seat. The other one got behind the wheel, and in a moment they’d driven off, leaving Alana buzzing with frustration.

  Noah was staring after the truck. Across the way a woman Alana hadn’t seen before was standing stock-still, holding on to her restless child’s hand.

  When Alana turned toward the Watering Hole, she saw two other people, a man and a woman, gazing at her as if they’d never seen such a sight.

  “What was that about?” Noah asked, touching the back of her arm.

  “All I know is that he is one horrible man. I don’t care if he is drunk, that was…that was abhorrent. I’ve never had anyone speak to me like that before.”

  “What did he say?”

  Of course Noah hadn’t heard the worst of it. She doubted there was any reason to be specific. She didn’t need him getting worked up, not on that bastard’s account. “He cast aspersions on the McAllisters ranch and their guests. And he denied having seen the thief who stole my things. Again. Dammit, he was right in front of me. There’s no way he didn’t see what happened.”

  Noah stepped closer to her. “I believe you,” he said, lowering his voice, marking the conversation as private despite the fact that there were four people watching. “Let’s talk it through inside. I want to hear everything he said.”