A Rancher's Pride - By Barbara White Daille Page 0,14

working her way into Sam’s life. By finding out what she could about him from his mother and the men who worked on his ranch. From his neighbors and friends in town. From the man himself.

She could investigate Sam on a local level. And maybe find out enough to avoid bringing everything about Ronnie’s life with him into the open.

She thumbed the keypad again swiftly. Already talked to Matt Lawrence. He’s trying to locate Ronnie.

Good. Now—what to tell Mom and Dad?

Kayla pressed her lips together and hit the keypad without hesitation. Will be back soon—with Becky.

Sounds great. Need me? Lianne asked.

Always. Just texting the word brought a lump to Kayla’s throat.

They had spent so many of their childhood years apart when their parents sent Lianne to a school for deaf children. Kayla had been heartbroken by the separation and feared she and Lianne would never have an “always” together. When Lianne had returned home for her high school years, Kayla had been elated—and proud to introduce all her friends to the sister she looked up to.

Kayla shook off the memories.

I can handle it here, she continued. I could use some clothes, etc., though. Will email you a list. Can you overnight a box to me?

Sure. On standby. Good luck.

Sam exited the courtroom and stopped in front of her. A scowl darkened his features, and he gave an impatient look toward the outside door.

Kayla knew she would need all the luck she could get, starting now.

She texted a quick goodbye and stowed the phone in her bag. Then, hastily, she rose to face Sam, hoping at least to put them in equal power positions.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t measure up. He stood a head taller and his shoulders seemed a mile wider.

Before either one of them could speak, another man walked down the hall. As he moved to pass them, Sam stepped forward to give him more room. The man continued on his way.

Sam stayed where he was in front of Kayla. Much too close in the narrow hallway. Much too disturbing to her peace of mind.

Funny. She’d never suffered from claustrophobia before, but all of a sudden she found herself almost choking from a lack of air.

She gripped the strap of her shoulder bag and sucked in a steadying breath. “We need to talk. But there are too many people around here. Can’t we find somewhere more private?”

Sam hooted a laugh, throwing his head back and gesturing widely with his arms.

Becky looked up at him.

“Private?” he repeated. “Honey, it’s obvious you’re a stranger to Flagman’s Folly. There’s not a place in town where people don’t hang around with their ears flapping, trying to catch everything that’s going on.” He leaned even closer, and the scent of mint-flavored toothpaste reached her.

She shuffled back a step. The window seat caught her behind the knees. She had nowhere else to go. And not a sensible word of reply in her brain. She blurted the only thing she could think of to say. “Don’t call me ‘honey.’”

“Fine. But I’ll call your bluff on that request for a talk.” Spiky dark brows, a match to his midnight-black hair, nearly met above his eyes as he glared down at her. “I’ve got plenty of things to say to you, too. And I guarantee you’re not going to like any of them.”

KAYLA FUMED SILENTLY in the passenger seat as Sam maneuvered his dust-covered pickup truck away from their parking spot in front of Town Hall.

“I might as well start introducing Becky around town,” Sam said, sounding both irritated and determined.

She glanced back at her niece and got a stranglehold on her door handle. If only it were a lever for an ejector seat that could catapult them both to Chicago in the blink of an eye.

She had thought—hoped—that Sam would refuse to follow orders and that she could set the good example and win points with the judge.

“It ought to be fairly quiet at the Double S,” he continued. “And it’s right down the street. We can talk there and have a drink while we’re at it.”

“A drink?” Her jaw dropped.

He looked at her fleetingly, then back to the road in front of him. His mouth curled in a sarcastic smile.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, unable to hold back her outrage. “You can’t take a child into a bar. They must have laws against that, even out here in the wild, wild West. Just as they have laws for child seats in moving vehicles.”

Fortunately, Kayla had come prepared—for