Beth Cornelison - The Coltons of Wyoming

Above him, his shooter was frantic. The flashlight beam swung about wildly until it landed on the fence. The shooter stepped over Roland, offering him no comfort, no assistance. Instead, Roland watched with fading sight as the shooter scrabbled in the dirt for a loose nail and dug something out of the fence post and slipped it in a jacket pocket. The bullet. Evidence. Covering up the murder of a cop.

Roland’s hand slipped weakly from his chest. Gasped for breath. Closed his eyes. Murdered...

I’m sorry, Slade.

* * *

Early the next morning, Agnes Barlow, the head cook at Dead River Ranch, drove out toward the sunrise farmers’ market for fresh fruit to serve the Colton family at breakfast. When she reached the employee entrance, she climbed out of the ranch truck and lumbered up the driveway to open the gate. In the predawn darkness, the truck’s headlamps shone on a dark lump by the fence.

She slowed her steps, narrowing a wary gaze on the object. A trash bag? A dead animal? Moving cautiously, she edged closer. A tingle of apprehension crawled through her. It looked like a body. Was some riffraff sleeping there, waiting to waylay an employee?

“Hello?” she called.

No response.

Shuffling closer, she approached the figure, nudged the man with her toe. “Hey, you can’t sleep he—”

The body rolled onto its back. Officer Roland Kent of the local police. Why would—

Then Agnes noticed the dark bloodstain on his chest, the dead, fixed stare of the man’s eyes.

And she screamed.

Chapter 1

Present day

The trill of a ringing phone woke Amanda Colton from a deep sleep, but her maternal instincts had her fully awake in seconds. She grabbed the phone before the next ring, praying the noise hadn’t woken eight-month-old Cheyenne. Her daughter had been fussy last night at bedtime because of a stuffy nose, and Amanda had worked for two hours to get her to sleep.

She glanced at the alarm clock as she dragged the phone to her ear. 3:23 a.m.

Her gut tightened. Nothing good ever came of a call at three in the morning, and her family had had enough bad news and tragedy in the past several months to last a lifetime.

“Hello?” she said warily.

“Amanda, thank God! I need your help!”

Hearing the fear in her youngest sister’s voice, Amanda sat up and shoved her hair from her face. “Gabby? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Peanut. I think he has colic, and he keeps trying to lie down!”

Dread speared her chest. “Oh, no.”

Equine colic could be deadly, especially if the horse tried to roll on the ground, which could cause the intestine to become wrapped around itself.

Amanda tossed back the covers, disturbing the fuzzy orange cat sleeping beside her, and swung her feet to the floor. “Is Trevor there with you?”

Trevor Garth was head of security for the ranch. But more important, in this case, he was Gabriella’s fiancé.

“Not yet.” Gabby’s voice cracked, and she sniffed hard, clearly trying not to cry. “He’s on his way. He said to call you.”

Peanut, Gabby’s horse, had been a birthday present when her sister was seven and Peanut was still a foal. Gabriella and Peanut had grown up together and her soft-hearted sister loved the horse dearly. Amanda hated the idea of Gabriella losing Peanut.

“Who’s going to stay with Avery?” Amanda asked, her mothering instincts again surging to the forefront when she thought of Trevor’s infant daughter.

“Mathilda, I think. She— No, Peanut! Stop. Please, stop!”

“Okay, I’m on my way. Until I get there, do not let him lie down.”

“I know he’s supposed to stay up,” Gabby said, her voice tense with frustration and panic, “but you try keeping a fourteen-hundred-pound animal on his feet when he wants to roll on the ground.”

“Gabby, it’s critical! Do whatever you have to.” With one hand Amanda stepped into a pair of jeans while she held the phone with her other hand. “Are any of the hands there? Do you have any help at all?”

“No. The place was deserted when I got here a little while ago.”

Amanda groaned, lamenting the shortage of ranch help, thanks to the National Finals Rodeo competition taking place in Las Vegas that week. She shoved her feet in her boots without bothering with socks. “I’ll make some calls, see who’s around to help. Meantime, try to get Peanut to walk, even if just up and down the center aisle of the stable.”

“Okay. Hurry!”

Amanda keyed off the connection to Gabby and pushed speed dial 4, ringing the land line in Tom Brooks’s room. Tom was a retired Marine and former police officer who had been shot in the hip five years ago and forced to take a desk job. Trevor had hired him this summer after it became clear Cheyenne was the target of kidnappers. He answered with a crisp, “Tom Brooks.”

Amanda tucked her night shirt into her jeans and grabbed a sweatshirt from a drawer. “Tom, it’s Amanda. I’m so sorry to wake you, but there’s been an emergency.”

She heard the rustle of sheets and squeak of bed springs as Tom flew into action. “What’s happened?”

“Gabriella’s horse is sick.”

“And you need me to guard Cheyenne while you see to the horse.”

“Yes, please. I know you’re supposed to be off duty, but—”

“No such thing as off-duty. My job is to protect that sweet babe of yours, whatever and whenever. I’ll be there in two.”

“Thank you, Tom. You’re a godsend.”

Amanda disconnected and stuck her cell phone in her back jeans pocket as she hurried into the adjoining room where her daughter slept. In the dim glow from the bunny-shaped night-light over the crib, Amanda peeked over the railing at her sleeping child. Her whole world. Her life.

As it always did whenever she looked at her precious baby girl, Amanda’s heart swelled until she thought it might burst. How could someone so tiny and fragile stir such a deep, consuming love?

Cheyenne gave a snuffly sigh, and Amanda bit her bottom lip, concerned over the baby’s congestion. Levi, Amanda’s half-brother and the doctor who was caring full-time for her ill father, had assured her it was nothing but a cold, that Cheyenne would be fine in a couple days. But as a first-time mother, Amanda still fretted over every runny nose and hiccup.

Bending over the crib rail, Amanda rubbed Cheyenne’s back and tucked the fuzzy pink blanket around her daughter’s feet. Straightening, she whispered, “Oh, chickpea, what would I do without you?”

A soft knock heralded Tom’s arrival, then he opened the door and peered into the nursery. “Miss Amanda?”

Amanda waved him in. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. Maybe all morning. If she wakes up all congested, Levi said to give her a dropperful of this.” She handed him the decongestant bottle and backed toward the door. “Thanks again.”

Tom nodded gravely. “Yes, ma’am. You go help that sick horse.”

Amanda grabbed her veterinary bag from a bench at the foot of her bed and hesitated at the bedroom door. In recent months, it had become all too clear that her daughter was the target of kidnappers intending to extort money from Amanda’s wealthy family. Leaving Cheyenne, even for a few minutes, even with a trained guard, always reminded Amanda how vulnerable Cheyenne was, how quickly her baby could be snatched, how devastated she’d be if anything happened to her daughter.

Tom noticed her hesitation and smiled. “Go on, Miss Amanda. I’ll protect your little princess as if she were my own.”

With a sigh and a smile of gratitude, Amanda ducked into the hall and hustled to the stairs. She took the steps two at a time, grabbed her work gloves and a parka from the back closet, and was practically running by the time she reached the back door. She’d just pulled her cell phone from her back pocket to start waking ranch hands when a tall dark-haired man barreled out of the employees’ wing.