Читать книгу A Cowboy's Pride - Karen Rock - Страница 11

CHAPTER ONE

“ACTION!”

At her director’s prompting, Katlynn Brennon aimed her sincerest smile into the television camera, stuck out her forehead and tipped down her chin for her best angle. Her weary eyes chased the racing teleprompter all while striving to ignore her “slimming” undergarment’s malicious dig.

What number was this take?

Infinity?

“Babe Paley, the socialite wife of CBS founder, William S. Paley, once said, ‘A woman can never be too rich or too thin,’” Katlynn intoned, voice steady despite the boom mic’s close dip to her head. “However, many of her fellow glamour queens might have added that riches don’t guarantee contentment. Heiresses may even share a unique kind of adversity.”

Beneath blaring lights, Katlynn willed back the damp forming on her forehead.

Glow not glisten.

Glow.

“On tonight’s episode of Scandalous History, we’ll dig into the secret lives of seven ‘golden girls’ who inherited their share of troubles along with their fortunes.”

She paused, maintaining her pose for Editing, who appreciated extra room on the ends of takes. Dozens of eyes peered at her from the shadows.

Nope. This wasn’t awkward at all...

Perfectly natural to grin at nothing like a loony statue...

“Cut!” bellowed her director, Gabe French, and she blew out a breath. A gray-haired, slouchy man, Gabe’s heavy-lidded eyes and rumpled clothes belied his legendary perfectionism. “Great job, Katlynn. Just amazing. Now, can we do another take with you repeating the intro salaciously?”

Mary, the studio’s overzealous hair and makeup person, rushed Katlynn with a fistful of spritzes, brushes and powder. De-frizzing spray blasted in a coconut-scented cloud.

“Salaciously?” Katlynn choked out as Mary smoothed down microscopic hair wisps only an expert stylist or a circling hawk could spot.

“Like you’ve got a tasty, juicy bit of gossip to tell.” Gabe’s eyes gleamed. “Give me a knowing smile with your left eyebrow lift.”

“How’s this?” Katlynn shot him her best Mona Lisa impersonation while Mary scurried around in a cyclone of powder.

“Perfect!” he crowed before turning to the lighting director. “And can we warm up the lights? Katlynn’s skin looks like a corpse.”

“Give us a sec,” the gaffer grumbled, huddled with his crew.

Katlynn hid her wince, concealing her growing worries about aging in a youth-obsessed industry.

“And Mary, do something about those dark circles under her eyes.” The director peered at the camera’s monitor.

Mary whispered, “If he calls you a corpse one more time, I’ll put him in a grave.”

“I’m thirty-two,” Katlynn reminded Mary as she dotted concealer under Katlynn’s eyes. “Ancient by LA standards.”

“Pee-shaw,” Mary clucked. “You’re the most beautiful woman on TV. People magazine said so.”

“Five years ago,” Katlynn reminded her. Yesterday’s news. What would happen when she wasn’t young enough, pretty enough, to headline a show? Would she disappear, fall into the same obscurity she’d grown up in? Become no one again?

She shook the crazy thought aside. Six seasons and still going strong, Scandalous History was here to stay, her hosting position assured.

So why hadn’t the network confirmed next season’s renewal?

Mary lint-rolled Katlynn’s dress then hustled out of frame when the key grip lifted three fingers for the countdown. He curled down one finger, two, then pointed the third. The director yelled, “Action!”

Katlynn leaned forward, lifted her left eyebrow and curled her mouth conspiratorially as she delivered the next take “salaciously.”

One hour and eight takes later, Katlynn briskly strode from the taping room, every step agony as the heels Wardrobe paired with her tight sheath dress strangled her toes.

“Hi, Ms. Brennon.”

“Hey, Bob.” She flashed their set designer a broad smile without stopping. The minute she reached her dressing room she’d shut the door, kick off her shoes and wriggle free of the straitjacket masquerading as shapewear.

A couple of interns flattened against the wall when she approached, wide-eyed and silent as she passed.

Katlynn held her head high, soaking in the attention accompanying stardom on a major primetime show. Twelve years ago, she’d been a no one from Nowhere, Colorado. Growing up poor, the youngest of twelve children, she never had much, especially attention from her hardworking parents. She’d struggled to be seen and heard, to feel important, valued.

One time she’d even run away for two days to draw their attention. When she’d returned home, she discovered a humiliating truth. She hadn’t even been missed.

“Your new eyelashes arrived, Katlynn,” Mary huffed beside Katlynn, striving to match her long-legged stride. “If you have a sec...”

Despite her hurry, Katlynn slowed. “Sure.” She shoved down her need for five minutes of blessed quiet and a non-cinched waist. She was a professional, not a prima donna.

“Also, Jennifer would like to squeeze in a fitting,” Mary continued, referring to the show’s wardrobe supervisor. “You’re going to love this dress. It’s a sheath, which’ll show off your amazing figure. Plus, the rose color will be gorgeous with your blond hair and blue eyes. I’ve already picked out a custom lip color to match.”

“Sounds great,” Katlynn enthused, disguising her dismay. Another “body-conscious” dress. She made a mental note to call her trainer about extending her grueling workout sessions. Yay.

“I knew you’d like it!” Mary seized Katlynn’s arm and steered her toward Wardrobe.

“Katlynn!” One of the show’s producers approached, tie askew and slightly out of breath. “Tom’s calling a meeting in five.”

Alarm bells shrilled. Tom, their executive producer, usually followed a strict schedule, one that included an afternoon round of golf. What was important enough to make him miss his coveted tee time? News about their show’s renewal? Surely, he could have just emailed them, unless...

“Sorry, Mary.” Katlynn’s heartbeat sped. “Tell Jen I’ll stop by after the meeting, okay?”

“Thanks. You’re a doll.” Mary clomped away in square, comfortable-looking heels.

How long since Katlynn had worn anything practical like those to work? Even when running errands, she dressed up, maintaining the classy “brand” her PR agency insisted on, aware of lurking paparazzi eager for the “Stars, They’re Just Like Us” money shot. Since landing in the tabloids when she dated a famous actor for a hot minute, they’d stalked her...a dream for her PR team, and, she’d admit it, a thrill for her. Still, what she’d give to shop in a pair of comfortable jeans and worn cowboy boots like back home.

“Everything okay, Braydon?” she asked as they practically galloped down the corridor.

“What’s going on?” asked Ted, one of the show’s writers, joining them.

“He didn’t say.” Braydon stopped abruptly and lowered his voice. “But according to his secretary, Mr. Warner called him an hour ago and they spoke at length.”

“The new CEO?” Katlynn breathed, her internal alarm bells now shrieking. Recently acquired by another parent company, their network braced for changes, changes she feared included her being replaced. Out with the old; in with the new. “That’s...interesting.”

Ted crossed himself and mumbled something inaudible.

“I just saw the email about the meeting.” Their head writer, Stella, emerged from the writer’s room. “Are we canceled?”

“Not officially,” Braydon groaned as they resumed their hurried trek to the conference room.

“Stay calm, everyone,” Katlynn said through a smile when they reached the glass doors leading to the conference room. She pushed one open and glided in, projecting confidence and star power.

Never let them see you sweat.

“Katlynn, you look beautiful as usual.” Tom stood, exchanged two air kisses with her, then drummed his fingertips on the long, mahogany conference table.

Somber-faced staff filed in and slid into their seats. Katlynn’s cheeks hurt with the effort to keep her lips stretched upward. Eyes swerved between her and Tom. Someone coughed. Someone else tapped a pencil, a snare-drum sound.

Katlynn slid into her seat once everyone took their places. As the show’s star, she was looked to for direction by the staff, and she wouldn’t project fear. Beneath the table, though, her fingernails dug into her palms.

“Our acquisition by Ultima will allow us to reach a larger market share and produce a wider range of shows.” Tom paused and gulped whatever his LA Lakers’ mug contained. By the smell, Katlynn guessed whiskey.

She glimpsed Braydon pantomime slashing his throat and nudged the tip of his dress shoes beneath the table. When he mouthed, “What?” she lifted her eyebrows, a silent, “You know what.” Followed by, “Stop.” He was scaring the staff, given their wide eyes.

“We’re thrilled to be under Ultima’s umbrella,” Tom continued, looking slightly sick, his skin tinged green. “However—”

“Here we go!” Braydon exclaimed.

Chairs creaked and fabric swished as several staff members fidgeted in their seats. Someone knocked over a coffee cup. Others fiddled with their phones beneath the table, frantically contacting their agents, Katlynn suspected...something she’d need to do, too. Possibly. If the show was getting the ax.

She gulped back the sour taste of fear and lifted her chin, her expression serene.

Fake it till you make it...

“It’s not as dire as you think,” Tom assured them, dabbing at his perspiring brow. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of his leather chair, revealing wet stains beneath his arms.

Katlynn blinked. In all her years working with Tom, she’d never seen him without his suit coat. It was disconcerting, and the simple act felt like it heralded the apocalypse.

Was her dream of living in the spotlight, a person who counted, mattered and was noticed, over?

She’d arrived in LA twelve years ago with a broken heart and a job offer at a local news station. Since then she’d worked tirelessly to climb the ladder, meeting influential people, making the right connections, taking night classes to finish her broadcasting degree, even revamping her appearance and style from country mouse to LA chic. She would not go back, not when she’d come so far, sacrificed so much, including the man she’d once thought she’d love forever.

“What is it, then?” blurted their head writer, Stella. “Are we canceled?”

“No,” Tom said, and a collective sigh of relief rose from the table. Katlynn released a long, shaky breath. “However, they’re taking a closer look at the viability of some of the current programming, and Scandalous History is on the list.”

“So, what’s our status?” Braydon grabbed a mint from the bowl in the center of the table and struggled to unwrap it with shaking fingers.

“TBD,” Tom stated flatly, his lips leached of color.

To be determined—purgatory for a television show—a temporary stop before cancellation.

No.

“We have to wow them, folks, and show an uptick in ratings to avoid the chopping block.” Tom dropped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Let’s brainstorm.”

“That’s our department.” Stella’s protest was joined by her nodding writers.

“We’re in this together,” Tom insisted. “We need a grand slam.”

“What about Area 51? The sixties are far enough away to be history,” suggested Braydon.

Tom shook his head. “Too sci-fi. We need something that screams Americana. An unsolved mystery maybe. Something to capture the viewers’ imaginations and create watercooler buzz.”

“I like that!” Stella scribbled on a pad then peered up through the square glasses perched on the tip of her nose.

“How about a missing ship, like the USS Wasp?” suggested their gaffer. “It headed to Bermuda after the War of 1812 then disappeared.”

“Lots of great shots in the Caribbean,” their director, Gabe, mused, his eyes now three-quarters open. “Plus, we’d get to film our gorgeous star on the beach.” He squared his hands and framed Katlynn in them across the table. “The wind blowing through her platinum hair...a sarong around her bikini...”

Katlynn made a face at him, mostly embarrassed but also appreciative of the staff’s approving glances.

“I’m a serious journalist, people. Put me in a one-piece at least,” she joked, earning her a larger laugh than she deserved. Funny how fame amplified life. Everyone and everything was bigger, better, more beautiful. She no longer knew if people laughed at her jokes because they were funny, if others were nice because they liked her, or if they did favors without expecting something in return.

LA was a lonely place, despite all the attention. Still, it beat Carbondale, Colorado. She’d been invisible there except, for a brief time, when her ex-fiancé made her the center of his world. Yet, before their wedding, he’d shoved her needs aside like everyone else and broken her heart.

No.

He’d shattered it.

You could fix broken things, but shattered meant irreparable... Besides a few lackluster dates, she’d avoided romance since, determined to never open herself up to hurt again.

“USS Wasp...” Tom rubbed his chin, considering, then shook his head. “Sounds too military. We need something juicy and personal. Murder. Revenge. Stuff like that...”

Mystery. Scandal. Americana, murder and revenge. Katlynn’s body froze as an idea detonated into her mind, nuclear blast bright and just as devastating.

When a choking sound escaped her, staffers jumped to offer bottles of sparkling water.

“Are you okay?” Braydon thumped her back and appeared ready to perform the Heimlich.

She held up her hand as she swallowed a long, cold gulp of water. “F-fine.”

Only she wasn’t okay, not when she knew the perfect idea to save the show was one that might destroy her in the process.

“Anyone else?” Tom demanded.

“We could return to New Orleans,” Stella suggested. “Dig up more on the Ax Man serial killer.”

Tom’s eyebrows crashed together. “No. We need something new. Something people sitting at home can relate to. A scandalous story about a family, maybe. Star-crossed lovers. Betrayal. Anything?”

Silence descended, and Katlynn’s throat swelled, the answer to the show’s dilemma on the tip of her tongue.

“We’re sunk,” moaned one of the writers.

“Better call your agents, folks,” Stella joked, not sounding amused.

Katlynn’s heart squeezed when their sound tech, seven months pregnant with her first child, swiped away tears. She had to share an idea, which might save not only her career, but also those of this amazing group, who worked hard to make her shine.

At her throat-clearing, everyone quieted.

“Katlynn?” Tom asked, using the gentle voice he reserved for her. “Did you have a suggestion?”

She nodded, temporarily mute at the idea of returning home and seeing Cole Loveland. She’d fled Carbondale to save herself. Now she needed to return to it to do the same.

Oh, the irony.

“The Cade-Loveland feud,” she said once she trusted her voice.

Stella stopped writing and glanced up. “I’ve heard of that...”

“A juicy scandal all right,” Braydon added. “The longest-running family feud in America. Wasn’t the rumor that the feud started when the poor, younger son of one family kidnapped the other family’s heiress daughter and killed her?”

“That’s one version. Some believe there was a secret affair,” added Katlynn, recalling more details. Just last month, when her mother finally returned Katlynn’s call, she’d declared herself knocked over by a feather. Incredibly, the heads of the Cade and Loveland clans were engaged, and everyone in Carbondale speculated that a Titanic of a wedding disaster loomed.

Stella rubbed her hands together. “Ohhhhh, this is going to be juicy.”

“It has it all.” Tom nodded slowly. “Mystery, murder, betrayal, love and a jewel theft. Didn’t a famous fifty-carat sapphire belonging to one of the families disappear at the time? What was it called? Carolyn’s Tear?”

“Cora’s Tear,” Katlynn corrected, knowing the legend of the priceless stone having grown up in Carbondale, not to mention being engaged to the oldest son in the Loveland clan.

“That’s your hometown, right?” Braydon asked.

Katlynn nodded, masking her dread. After leaving twelve years ago, she hadn’t looked back. She never wanted to remember the nobody she’d been, the love she’d lost. Could she face her difficult past?

To save her show...yes. She’d have to see Cole to cover the story about his family. Only this time he’d realize he’d been wrong to ask her to give up her dreams, her ambitions. She’d learned to shine on her own so she’d never be diminished again.

“Do you have a connection with the families? An in?” Tom demanded, his voice rising. Excited murmurs circled the table.

Katlynn cleared her clogged throat with a cough. “I’m acquainted with them, yes.”

Tom’s broad smile revealed capped teeth in a flash of white. “Then it’s settled. Katlynn, you’ve saved the day.”

She lingered as the group filed out.

If she solved such a sensational historical mystery, it’d secure Scandalous History’s spot in next season’s lineup, put them on the map and might even win her an Emmy. Could she handle returning home where her family, and the man she’d once loved, had made her feel inconsequential to do it?

* * *

“SHE’S DROPPED HER CALF,” Cole Loveland informed his approaching father, pointing to the bellowing gray Brahman lying on the frosted ground. He’d herded the “heavy” into the small field adjacent to the calving shed last night when he’d noticed the beginning signs of labor. Since then, Cole had checked on the heifer every hour, concerned for the first-time mother.

“Doesn’t appear interested in her calf.” Boyd reined his brown quarter horse to a stop, and they watched the wet newborn shiver in the freezing dawn.

If the mother didn’t lick it dry soon, it’d die of hypothermia. Cole’s brown and white paint horse, Cash, sidestepped and nickered, sensing Cole’s unease.

“She’s new to it.” Cole steadied his stallion while keeping his eyes on the imperiled calf.

“Might have to pen the two and see if we can’t force them to bond.” Boyd huddled in his saddle. His fleece-lined work jacket was zipped against the arctic temperature.

Spring officially began a couple weeks ago, but frigid air still gripped their Rocky Mountain ranch. Lingering snow capped nearby Mount Sopris, and the rising sun reflected on the white peak, coloring it rose gold against the lavender sky.

“Let’s give her a minute. See if we can avoid stressing them.” Cole watched, narrow-eyed, as the exhausted heifer snorted then sank her head to the ground. Meanwhile, the newborn struggled to rise, its sodden limbs heavy and uncoordinated. It bawled, a child’s universal appeal to its mother for help. The Brahman continued to stare listlessly forward, though, as if she hadn’t heard a thing.

“Can’t afford to lose any more calves.” Boyd reached into his saddlebag and passed over an insulated coffee thermos.

Cole’s fingers, numb despite his gloves, fumbled to open the tab. He lifted it to his nose and breathed in the fortifying, pungent brew. Scalding black liquid burned his tongue as he swigged it back. Instantly, energy zapped his fatigued body, worn through after twenty-four hours of ranch work, anxious vigilance and no sleep. “Saw we got a letter from the bank yesterday.”

“Yep,” his father answered, noncommittal.

Cole slid a sideways glance at his pa’s weathered face, his expression inscrutable beneath the wide brim of his rancher’s hat. Tough old cowboy. He never gave a thing away.

“What’s it say?” Cole asked as the calf hoisted itself on its front legs before it slipped and fell again. Its mother glanced back and pushed to her knees. A sign they were beginning to bond?

“Final notice.”

His father shared the devastating news as if relaying the weather. “Cold out today,” Cole imagined him saying. “Mind the ice. And our one-hundred-and-thirty-year-old family ranch is about to be foreclosed on.”

Cole swore under his breath. The Lovelands had battled to remain solvent for generations, despite their lack of access to the Crystal River. Property lines ceding water rights to their feuding neighbors, the Cades, required longer, danger-riddled cattle drives to distant water sources, depleting Loveland herds. A recent three-year drought pushed them nearly to the point of no return.

He had to find a way to save the ranch.

And it wouldn’t be by benefiting from his father’s imminent marriage to Joy Cade, Cade Ranch’s widowed matriarch, despite whispered speculation. Lovelands made their own way, provided for their family and didn’t take charity.

Besides, Cade Ranch was jointly owned by the Cade siblings, and Joy only owned a small percentage of the property.

“How much time do we have?” As Cole watched, the new mother struggled to her feet and meandered a short distance from her crying calf, attempting to graze. Was she about to abandon it? Cole’s anxiety intensified.

“It’ll go up for auction within the month.”

“Before the wedding.” Cole passed the thermos to his father, his dismay compounding. News like this set tongues wagging. It’d further fuel rumors of his father being an opportunist who married for money.

“Yes.” The hint of despair in Pa’s voice set Cole’s teeth on edge. “Unless we accept James Cade’s offer.”

“No.” They’d never allow rivals to buy their land and rent it back to them, no matter how fair the offer. James vowed the deal would be just between them, but Cole’s pride wouldn’t let him accept.

Being talked about in public got under his skin. The child of an alcoholic parent, he’d grown up in a house full of secrets. When his mother killed herself on his sixteenth birthday, her father, a senator, fed the press fake stories and suggested foul play to pressure law enforcement to open a homicide investigation.

When the press labeled Boyd a murderous opportunist after his wife’s inheritance, it’d nearly broken him.

Now, on the eve of a second chance at love, Cole’s father might be the subject of malicious, widespread gossip and press again.

No.

He could not let that happen.

The heifer inched farther away, rutting hay scattered over the frozen ground, an eye flicking to her calf now and again. She was curious. If Cole gave them more space, would she take to mothering? Some things couldn’t be forced. Even penning them together wasn’t a guarantee. His mother had been surrounded by her children and she’d never considered them over her addiction.

His lonely father deserved happiness, a scandal-free wedding and a loving marriage with his former childhood sweetheart. Yet the Cade-Loveland family truce was temporary at best given their continued water rights and cattle disputes. They’d be fortunate to get through the wedding peacefully without outside pressure riling simmering tensions.

Tomorrow Cole would ask the loan officers to postpone the foreclosure until after summer. A rainy season might turn things around and help them replenish the herd. Despite the long-shot odds, he had to try.

He’d devoted his life to Loveland Hills, sacrificed all, including his heart, once. He’d never leave it voluntarily. Not while he still breathed. Lovelands stood by each other. His father gave up his happiness for his kids’ sakes. He’d earned their loyalty, no matter how it’d nearly broken Cole when he’d had to let go of the one person who’d meant everything to him.

The calf ominously stopped bawling, and its movements slowed to mere twitches. An arctic gust billowed Cash’s mahogany mane like a sail. Another five minutes in these conditions and the newborn would die. Cole’s fingers clenched around the reins.

“Let’s bring ’em in.” Boyd patted the rope looped on the side of his saddle. “She’s not keen on being a mother.”

Cole watched the now listless calf. His heart went out to the youngling. A mother should care for her offspring, dang it.

“Got one last idea.” He whistled for their cattle dog, Boomer. The black-and-white border collie sprang from beneath the calving shed’s eave, ears up and forward, eyes on his master. Cole ordered Boomer into the field and held his breath.

The clever dog crept across the white ground, body low. The newborn’s eyes rolled, whites showing, as it struggled to drag itself away from a perceived threat. The stream of its frantic bleats whipped the heifer’s head around. White huffed from her flaring nostrils when she spied Boomer.

“Get him, girl,” Cole urged the Brahman beneath his breath, leaning forward in the saddle. Hopefully, his gamble paid off and the “predator” nearing her offspring would arouse her maternal instincts.

“Boomer’s got her attention,” Boyd observed quietly as they watched the tense standoff.

The collie crept closer, and the heifer stamped her hooves.

Fueled by terror, the calf surged to its feet and trembled in place, its strength expended. Boomer advanced a couple more steps, and the heifer issued a loud warning bellow.

“You gonna call that dog back?” Boyd asked out of the corner of his mouth. “He’s likely to get trampled.”

“I trust him,” Cole replied firmly. As the ranch manager, he trained all their cattle dogs, including Boomer, to herd, load and drive. Despite everything gone wrong in his life—a called-off wedding, failed love life and looming foreclosure, Cole excelled at commanding his working dogs.

Cole watched as Boomer eyed the thousand-pound Brahman, sliding another paw forward, then another, drawing within bite distance of the terrified, braying calf.

Then the mother charged, fueled by maternal fury, surging at Boomer. The cattle dog expertly dodged her deadly hooves and scuttled clear.

Cole held up his hand, halting the collie’s retreat. They weren’t out of the woods yet. Best keep pressuring.

One eye on Boomer, the heifer sniffed her calf. Her tongue darted out and her rough lick tipped the newborn’s head.

“Atta girl,” Cole muttered, his chest loosening as he dragged in his first full breath in hours.

“Nicely done, son,” Boyd said and the rare praise from his stoic father caught Cole with unexpected warmth. Living life on the edge of personal and financial disaster had a way of threatening a man’s pride. He took his victories where he could. They’d saved the calf whose mother now lavished it with a thorough bathing.

Could they save the ranch, too?

“Looks like our work’s done.” Pa wheeled his horse around and nudged it into a walk down the rutted lane to their stable.

“I’ll keep checking on them.” Cole brought Cash up alongside his father’s mustang. Boomer kept pace.

Only the twittering of waking birds, and the clip of hooves striking hard ground, broke the silence. Overhead, the iridescent sky glowed. Light now striped the fallow fields awaiting this year’s planting, and their shadows rode ahead.

“I’ll stop down to First National at nine,” Cole said once they’d reached the stable and untacked the horses. The sweet smell of grain rose as he poured cornmeal into Cash’s feed bucket, a treat for the exhausted horse.

“No need to waste your time, son.” Cool water misted the air as Boyd filled the water troughs. Several horses hung their heads outside their stall doors, nosy about the early activity, nickering to the new arrivals.

“It’s not a waste.” Cole doled out halved apples to his siblings’ mounts. “If I can convince them to hold off a couple months, and we have a good season, we could turn things around.”

“I figured out another way without including the bank.” Boyd pulled the stable door shut behind them once they finished.

“Good to hear.” Cole glanced at his frowning father from the corner of his eye. Why didn’t Pa seem pleased?

“Not sure you’ll think so.” They ambled closer to the two-story homestead built by their ancestor, Colonel Archibald Loveland, an army veteran. He’d deserted from the Colorado War, married a Cheyenne interpreter and settled here over a hundred and thirty years ago, breathing life into the first of many Loveland scandals.

Must be in their blood.

“Why would I object?” Cole noticed a few green shoots alongside the fieldstone walkway to their front porch. With any luck, they might get three hay crops...

Boyd paused on the porch’s stairs. “Was approached by an outfit to do a story about our feud with the Cades. They’ll pay enough to cover our mortgage through the season if I give them access to the property.”

Cole leaned against the pine banister, absorbing his father’s news. Like the rest of the home, it’d been culled from the distant forests and hauled over great distances. Their ranch was a bastion against a landscape of forbidding mountains, its warm hearth and hand-hewn timber beams communicating self-reliance, simplicity and lack of pretentions. His heart swelled at the thought of what his ancestors had wrought.

They’d fight to their last breaths to safeguard their family’s legacy. But a story dredging up old scandals? It’d upset the tenuous peace between them and the Cades and jeopardize his father’s wedding. His hard-won happiness.

“What kind of outfit? Something local?” Cole’s hands tightened around the banister as he recalled the frenzied media who’d hounded his family after his mother’s death.

“Cable show.” For some reason, his pa seemed to have trouble meeting Cole’s eye.

“National TV?” Cole squinted into the strengthening sunshine and glimpsed an approaching black car bumping down their drive. “We don’t want them sniffing around the place, dragging out old skeletons.”

“Better than being thrown off our land before the wedding,” Pa countered.

Cole shoved his balled hands into his pockets, unable to counter the argument. “They’ll drag up stuff about Ma.”

The vehicle neared, its engine’s smooth purr sounding expensive, foreign. Out-of-towners. Someone lost?

“Got assurances to the contrary.” Boyd stepped off the porch and, to Cole’s astonishment, waved two hands overhead as if he expected whoever was driving.

“Who’s this?” Cole strode to his father’s side and peered at dark-tinted windows as the town car slid to a smooth stop.

“The show’s producer and host.”

“This is a done deal!” Cole exclaimed. “Why’d you keep it from me? Does anyone else know?”

The door opened and a fetching pair of slim, shapely legs in black heels emerged.

“Nope. You’re the first.”

A tall blonde ducked gracefully from the car. Something about her struck him as if he knew her, though he wasn’t sure with the sun backlighting her, casting her features in shadow.

“I don’t understand.”

A suited man joined the lady, and they stepped gingerly across the pebbled drive. She held her head high and stared directly at him.

“The show’s called Scandalous History,” Pa said, then hustled to greet his company.

Scandalous History... Now where had Cole heard of it?

Then it hit him, a sucker punch straight to the gut, leaving him off balance.

“Hello, Cole.”

His body stiffened at the familiar, silky-smooth voice. A flash of memory—listening to her speak as they’d watched campfires, stargazed, fly-fished—pulled a lump into his throat. He’d once thought her words sounded like lyrics, her laughter a song. He’d also thought she walked on water until she’d skated right out of his life.

He peered into the beautiful face he’d seen in his dreams, the one he envisioned while riding the range, gorgeous as ever with her perfectly symmetrical features and large blue eyes in a heart-shaped face. Only she looked different somehow. More sophisticated. Elegant. As if someone had slapped a coat of varnish over her natural beauty, making it harder to see who she really was...if he’d ever really known at all.

Old hurt stalked through him, residual anger on its heels. When she’d left, she’d nearly done him in. Was she back to finish the job? Not a chance.

His jaw clamped shut, and he spoke through gritted teeth, minding his manners for Pa’s sake until he got rid of her and the threat she posed to him and his family.

“Welcome home, Katie-Lynn.”