Brooke Laughton shot up in bed.
Rubbing her eyes, she quickly checked the clock. Nine twenty. She’d been in bed for less than fifteen minutes. The dogs were barking, which meant either one of the horses were out, a feral cat had found its way into the chicken run again—or someone was skulking around the ranch house.
Swinging her legs off the bed, she pulled on the sweatpants she’d discarded fifteen minutes earlier and grabbed her sweater. The dogs were still barking and she heard a sound—the slam of a car door. Tension snaked up her spine. Not that she was scared. She could handle herself and the rifle she kept stashed in her wardrobe. She grabbed the gun, shoved her feet into a pair of loafers and left the room. The floorboards creaked as she made her way down the hallway and when she reached the living room doorway, she blinked at the lights beaming through the front window.
Headlights.
Brooke went to the front door and placed the rifle by the jamb. She had a security screen and since the dogs were still going ballistic, she felt safe enough to open the door and see what was going on. A light blanket of snow covered the ground and she quickly whistled to her border collies, Trixie and Renaldo, and both dogs immediately left the car and raced up the porch to stand point on either side of the door.
The sensor light flicked on and she waited. A few seconds later the driver’s door opened and a tall figure emerged. No one she knew, she thought, or the dogs would have started whining. Instead they both growled low in the backs of their throats. Waiting for her response. Waiting for her reaction.
A man walked toward the house and stopped at the bottom of the steps. He was tall, broad shouldered and dressed in dark trousers and a long-sleeved white shirt and tie and a long coat. He looked respectable enough. And handsome, if you went for the urban, short hair, clean shaven, city boy look.
Not that she did.
She whistled again for the dogs to stop growling and they silenced quickly. But she didn’t open the screen door. He might look respectable and harmless, but you could never be too sure. Maybe he was lost? Some of the road signs were hard to see in the dark.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“That depends. Are your dogs going to attack me?”
Oh, yeah, city boy. New York if she wasn’t mistaken. “Not unless I give the command,” she replied. “Are you lost?”
“I’m not sure,” he said and walked up the steps, ignoring the dogs, who were now whining more than barking. “I’m looking for the Laughton Ranch?”
He wanted the ranch? Her ranch. Panic set in. Was he from the bank? It seemed unlikely at this time of night...but who would know how these things worked.
“So, you found it,” she said, still keeping the locked door between them.
He nodded, looking slightly relieved. “Is Matthew Laughton around?”
He wanted Matt? Then he wasn’t from the bank. This was something else. She wondered what her wayward brother had done. And who was this guy...a cop? Or worse—a Fed? She felt ridiculous even thinking it. Maybe a bounty hunter? He didn’t look like that, either. But nothing would be a complete surprise when it came to Matt.
“He’s not here.”
The man stepped closer and she got a better look at him. He was remarkably handsome and her belly did a silly flip, which she promptly disregarded. Good-looking men were nothing but heartache.
The man’s gaze narrowed. “When will he be back?”
Brooke shrugged. “I have no idea. What’s this about?”
The man reached inside his pocket and withdrew a small business card. “My name is Tyler Madden and I need to see Matthew Laughton urgently.”
The dogs had settled and that was enough to convince Brooke he wasn’t a threat, so she opened the screen door slowly, pushed it back on the hinges and took the card. She read the words and her stomach sank.
Tyler Madden. Attorney.
She hated lawyers. And this one appeared no different from the other arrogant, slick, condescending mob who were trying to swindle her and steal her ranch—except he was drop-dead handsome. She took a galvanizing breath and spoke in a stern voice. “I don’t know where he is, Mr. Madden. I haven’t seen my brother for five years.”
It was the truth. In a way. Matt hadn’t set foot in Cedar River since their parents’ funeral. But he did still text her every week to let her know he was okay. Which she wasn’t about to admit to this lawyer. This stranger.
“You’re his sister?” He paused, as though accessing some memory. “Brooke Laughton?”
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s my job to know all the facts in a case.”
A case? Her brother was part of a case? It sounded serious. Oh, Matt...what have you done now? A chill coursed over her skin. “Please tell me what this is about. What has Matt done? Is he in trouble?”
“Trouble?” He shook his head. “Not exactly. But I do need to speak with him about something important.”
Brooke sighed heavily. Did she continue to have the discussion on her doorstep or invite him inside? “Lawyers hours are usually nine till five. Isn’t it a little late for a house call? Can’t this wait until the morning?”
He shrugged. “I’m booked into a hotel in town, but when I missed the turnoff I realized I was close to your ranch. And since the issue I need to discuss with your brother is one of high importance, I didn’t think the time mattered.”
It was a logical explanation. Sort of. “That’s easy enough to do,” she said. “They rerouted the highway about seven years ago. There’s only this place and the bigger ranch next door along this road now.” And if she wanted to know more she figured she needed to let him inside. “I suppose you should come in and explain what this is about.”
He hesitated for a second and then spoke. “Ah...sure. Just give me a minute.”
When he turned around and headed back toward the car Brooke stared after him. Maybe he wasn’t so harmless after all? What was he doing in the car? Looking for an axe? A gun?
She glanced at her rifle by the jamb and quickly shook the thought off. Trixie and Renaldo were now by the car, jumping around, seemingly happy that he wasn’t a threat. She trusted her dogs’ instincts. But as he approached the house again she regarded him incredulously.
Because he was carrying a baby.
A baby...
By the time he got to the porch her disbelief had fired up her temper. “You brought a baby with you? In the middle of the night and in this weather? What kind of parent are you? Of all the stupid—”
“This is not my baby,” he said quietly, cutting her off as he walked up the steps, then quickly brushed his shoes off on the mat and came across the threshold.
Brooke stared at the child. It was clearly a baby girl, dressed in an immaculate pink jumpsuit and hood and wrapped in a warm blanket, and she was sleeping peacefully against his shoulder. She looked about a year old, not that Brooke had any experience with infants.
Nor will I...
She pushed the thought from her head. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce about what she would never have. Could never have.
“Then whose...”
“Can I put her down somewhere?” he asked, ignoring her question. “Perhaps the sofa?”
Brooke nodded and closed the door. “Of course. This way.”
He motioned to the rifle by the door. “Was that intended for me?”
“If you were a threat...then, yes.”