Patricia Thayer - Her Colorado Sheriff

“I’m sorry, Ryan, but we can’t go back there. This is our home now.” At least for the next few months, they’d be hidden out here in the country, until branding season was over.

Shelby almost laughed at the situation. The small town of Hidden Springs, Colorado, was a funny place for a sous-chef to end up.

The town was chosen not because of her culinary skills, but the best area for them to find a safe place to settle in, and create a new life. For now, the large Circle R Ranch was a good hideout.

Ryan raised his head. “Please, can I have the tablet?”

She knew that she shouldn’t give in, but the child needed something to calm him after the bad dream. She went to the desk and retrieved the device. After putting on a timer, she handed it to him. “You can look at your pictures for twenty minutes only.”

She was rewarded with a rare smile. She kissed the boy and left the room. Too keyed up to go back to sleep, she slipped on her robe over her flannel pajama bottoms and tank top, then headed down the stairs in the cozy farmhouse.

Once on the main floor, she glanced at the sheet-covered furniture in the living room, reminding her of the cleaning job she had tomorrow. She was a little curious as to why no one was here to meet them. She also had to search for the key, and found it over the door, then let herself inside. She was still wondering if Georgia had been confused about the living arrangements.

Shelby continued through the dining room, filled with a long table and hutch. Who would use this place for temporary employees? It had been Georgia who’d found the ad for a roundup cook online. Room and board was included, and the job was far enough away from Dawkins Meadow to hopefully keep Gil Bryant out of their lives.

A shiver ran through her body as she glanced out the big windows over the sink and into the moon-bright night. No streetlights out here on the ranch. She filled the kettle and took it to the stove, hoping some chamomile tea would help her sleep. But in her heart, she knew that it would take a long time before she could rid herself of the nightmare of the few past weeks. And the terrible death of her sister would never go away.

Now her goal was to move ahead with her life and keep Ryan safe.

* * *

HE BLAMED IT on the full moon.

Cullen Brannigan drove his patrol car off the highway onto the county road leading to the ranch. His sour mood had nothing to do with driving through the small community of Hidden Springs, and the outlying areas.

He should have his head examined for taking this interim sheriff’s position. Thank you, Trent, for talking me into this.

After chasing down high school seniors who’d played pranks on unsuspecting residents, tearing a new pair of uniform pants, he was rethinking his decision to accept the job here.

He wasn’t a small-town sheriff. He was a Denver police detective. At least he had been before he was suspected of taking bribes while working white-collar crimes one year ago. While Internal Affairs investigated leads, he’d been suspended from the force. Even though he’d been cleared and reinstated, he wasn’t sure he could go back. As if his fellow officers would ever trust him again.

That went both ways. The brotherhood hadn’t exactly stood up for him during the investigation, either, but his father’s betrayal had been the worst. Captain Neal Brannigan couldn’t possibly have taken his son’s word of his innocence. Maybe his stepbrother, Trent, was right; a fresh start was what he needed to move on.

Cullen shook away the memories as he turned his vehicle onto the gravel road, the bright moonlight showing him the way. Damn, it was pitch-black out here in the sticks. And for now, thanks to his recently deceased stepmother, Leslie Landry Brannigan, he owned part of these sticks. Part of a ranch, to be exact.

Maybe it was time he had a look at his new home, especially since he’d gotten a radio call saying that a passing neighbor had seen an unfamiliar car in the driveway. For years, the property had been leased out, but with his stepmother’s death, the land transferred to her sons. So the renters were notified and had moved out of the guest cottage two weeks ago. The place should be deserted.

Cullen drove under the wrought iron sign that read Circle R Ranch. Leslie had told him many stories about her parents’ large cattle operation back in the day. Until her sudden death last month, he had no idea that she’d willed the place to him, his twin brother, Austin, and her biological son, Trent. The property was to be divided between them equally. He guessed Leslie wanted her boys to know she loved them equally.

Damn, he missed her.

He drove past the faded red barn and into the driveway at the front of her house. The Victorian structure needed a lot of work, but she was still grand to look at. He got out of the patrol car and walked around the side of the house where he spotted the small sedan parked in the driveway. He glanced at the dim light in the kitchen.

He walked back out front as he punched Trent’s number into his phone. He knew it was late, but he wanted to double-check if he’d been expecting anyone here.

He got a groggy greeting. “Hello, Cullen. What’s going on?”

“I’m over at your grandfather Robertson’s place. There’s a car parked here.” He rambled off the make and model and plates. “Do you know them?”

“They could be related to the Donaldsons, who just moved out.”

“Could they get into the main house?”

He heard a sigh. “To be honest, Cullen, I’m not sure. I haven’t been there in years. All the rent money went to Mom.”

“Okay, then I’ll see if I can stir someone.”

“Hey, give me a few minutes, and I’ll be there to help you.”

“I don’t need a big brother anymore,” he teased, recalling their intense days as teenagers. “I’ll knock on the door, and if there’s anything suspect, I’ll call for backup.”

Cullen hung up and climbed the steps to the front door. He rang the bell, then a minute later with no answer, he began to knock hard on the door and called out.

He unfastened the strap on his gun. “Sheriff’s department. Please, open the door.”

* * *

SHELBY FROZE. Oh, God, no. Gil had found them. She stood and hurried into the other room. What should she do? She rushed to the window and peeked out through the heavy curtains. She found a tall, well-built stranger standing under the porch light. She glanced toward the black-and-white car with the logo of County Sheriff on the side.

The knock sounded again. “Who’s ever inside, you need to answer the door. You are trespassing on private property.”

She heard Ryan’s loud cry from upstairs. She ran to the stairs and called to her nephew. “Go back to your room, Ryan. It’s okay.”

When the boy disappeared, Shelby took a shaky breath and released it. She stood by the door. “What do you want, Sheriff?”

“Would you please step out on the porch? I need to speak to you.”

With trembling hands, she unbolted the door, but left the chain on, then opened it a crack to see the dark-haired man in uniform. Well, if you could call dark jeans, boots and a light blue shirt a uniform. Around his waist he wore a gun, and several other weapons.

“May I see your identification, Sheriff?”

He looked irritated, but pulled out an official ID. She read the name Cullen Brannigan. He was six feet one inch tall, his weight one hundred ninety, eyes, hazel, and hair, brown.

“Thank you.” She handed it back to him. “I’m not trespassing, Sheriff. I was hired to come here and cook for spring roundup. The job came with room and board.”

He frowned. “Who hired you?”

“The Donaldson family.”

He nodded. “May I see your identification?”