She'd not touched him. She'd not leaned in close for a kiss, and he had to laugh at himself for even dreaming it.

Amy Wheeler thought she might never get used to how quickly night fell out in the high Arizona desert. One minute the sun shone brilliantly, and then the next dusk fell hard, followed by sudden and total darkness.

She stepped inside the cabin she'd been given when she'd hired on at the Blue Flame, and locked herself in. She turned on every light, which in the one-room cabin consisted of the kitchen and bathroom lights, and a floor lamp by the futon. Then she pulled a small bag out of her backpack, the purchase she'd just made in Three Rocks at the hardware store with her last few bucks.

A deadbolt.

No stranger to tools, she spent the next few moments installing it with a drill and screwdriver she kept in her pack. When she had the lock on and in place, she backed to the small couch in the center of the room and sat.

And let out her first breath in what felt like forever.

She took a long look around her. The cabin's small kitchen and living space opened to each other, and the bathroom was smaller than a postage stamp. She liked that. She liked that a lot. She could take in the whole place with one sweep of her eyes. There was an old oak table and two chairs by the even older refrigerator. There was a fireplace with the logs neatly stacked to one side and a rug in front of it. Then there was the futon on which she sat right now, covered with a quilt. The self-standing armoire in the corner was for her things, not that she unpacked. She never unpacked.

Everything was small, neat and tidy. She liked that, too.

There were a lot of things she liked today, which was a pleasant surprise, given her life and all she'd experienced in her short eighteen years. She had a job, one she actually enjoyed. She worked for a woman she thought she could respect if not actually trust. Amy didn't do trust. And she had a place to lay her head at night, where she could let herself fall into a real sleep-her first real sleep in too long.

Things hadn't been this good since...well, ever. With all her tentative heart, she just hoped they'd stay that way.

3.

The dry ground crunched beneath Jake's feet as he walked through the black night from the big house to the row of cabins across the yard.

His father's first and only love, his legacy. And here Jake was hating it. The night was chilly enough that his breath crystallized as he breathed, and he hunched his good shoulder, trying to stay warm in just his T-shirt. He hadn't expected the altitude to affect him, either, but it did, shortening his already too short breath. As he walked, he glanced around, wondering what kind of wild animals roamed the desert at night.

The place had a rather eerie glow to it with the pale blue light from the moon dancing over the rocky hills around him, casting shadows, flickering on the landscape like blue flames, and he wondered if that's where his father had gotten the name for the place. He tried to take it all in but he couldn't; it all seemed too big.

What if he'd come sooner, when Richard had still been alive? What if he'd tried harder to understand the father he'd never known, would he then feel something for this land? Something more than the disconcerting nothing he felt now?

The utter silence around him was abruptly broken by the lonely bellowing of a range bull, the wind sighing through the hills. And then, thundering hooves. Jake tensed and searched the darkness. There, about a hundred yards to the north of the barn, came a galloping horse. Its rider had a stream of long deep garnet hair blowing behind her, and she rode as if one with her horse.

Callie.

Since the last time he'd seen her had been in his dream, he had a little trouble separating the sweet warm soft woman who'd kissed him from the tough impenetrable woman racing across the rough desert floor. He supposed this was her idea of relaxation time, which seemed crazy to him. Bouncing on a horse in the night across the hard, unforgiving ground seemed as much fun as a physical therapy session.

And still he watched, mesmerized in spite of himself. She rode as if she'd been born to it, leaning over her horse a little, her body fluid with the horse's every movement. The moment seemed so intimate, he felt as if he were trespassing, and he nearly stepped back, but then she let out a heart-stopping scream.

The hair rose on the back of his neck. Was her horse racing out of control and she couldn't stop it? If so she could fall and break her neck. That was all he could think as he started running, gritting his teeth against the jarring his shoulder took with each step. He got to the corral as her horse came thundering in.

"Hang on," he yelled, and leapt up onto the fencing, not sure if he could catch a rein or Callie herself, or what the hell he thought he was going to do, only knowing he had to do something. "Callie, hang on!"

But then, about fifteen feet from his perch on the corral fence, the horse suddenly pulled up, slowed to a trot, then a walk, and then right before him, stopped entirely.

"Jake?" Callie blinked down at him. "What are you doing?"

"Uh..."

The horse snorted its displeasure at the fun being over, and pranced around restlessly until Callie's softly uttered, "Whoa" calmed her. Perfectly in control now, the horse stilled. Callie looked at Jake. "Why are you up there like that?"

"You screamed."

"No, I didn't."

"I heard you."

She lifted a shoulder. "It felt so good to be out, I might have let out a little 'woo-hoo' or something."

"Yeah." His breathing was still choppy from his run, proving that a good fall and surgery played hell on a man's conditioning. And his balance on the fence wasn't so good, either. He didn't dare jump down; his shoulder was leaping in pain with every heartbeat. Carefully he climbed down, gritting his teeth so hard he thought he just might grind them down to nothing, but hell if he'd show her he wanted to drop to the ground and whimper like a baby. "Just a little woo-hoo."

"What did you think I-" She stared at him as her horse snorted again, stomping a long leg and hoof uncomfortably close to Jake's foot. "Did you think I needed help? On a horse?"

The insulted tone was there in her voice, but with the adrenaline-not to mention pain-pumping through his blood, he didn't much care. "You shouldn't scream like that. I thought you were in trouble."

"You thought wrong. Jake, you're not at work. You're not the hero out here."

Right. He wasn't the hero anywhere.

She bent over the horse's neck, embracing the huge animal. Then, with one last pat, she hopped down. "And even if I had been in trouble, I can handle myself." She grabbed the reins and led the horse toward the barn, sending him one last long, hard look over her shoulder.

Great, she could handle herself. "Good to know," he muttered and rubbed his shoulder. He was an idiot. He wished he was in San Diego; at the station playing cards waiting for the fire bell; at his small house with a good hot pizza and cable TV; at a bar sharing drinks with a woman...anywhere but here.

For the second time that night, he headed toward the cabins. He pulled a key out of his pocket, the one Callie had given him with an unusual look on her face; as if she'd wanted to both laugh and wince in sympathy.

In this case, he'd take the sympathy. He came to a stop in front of the second cabin. His brother's.

Half brother, he reminded himself, because blood didn't seem to mean much to Tucker these days.

It hadn't always been that way. Once upon a time, Tucker had thought the sun rose and set on Jake's shoulders. That had been nice, real nice, but Jake shook off the memories and reached for the handle just as the door opened. Light spilled out into the night.

Tucker stood in the doorway with a scowl on his face. "You going to stand there muttering to yourself all night, or are you coming in?"

"This was a bad idea."

"No shit." Tucker stood back and gestured him in. "But there's no other choice until morning, unless you want to sleep in your rent-a-cowboy truck."

Jake glanced at the Toyota in the driveway, the one he'd rented at the airport. He had no idea why Tucker might object to it. "What other choice will present itself in the morning?"

"You can leave."

Jake smiled grimly and stepped inside. "You used to come running when I came home. You'd throw your chubby little arms around my legs and laugh while I tried to walk with you on me." Nothing had ever made him feel more important, not before, or since.

"Yeah, well, I was just a stupid kid then."

Jake refrained from asking him what had changed, and looked around. To say the place was small would be an understatement. There was a kitchen nook and living space, which held a fireplace with a couch in front of it. Behind the couch was a cot. He looked at it and groaned.

"There's always the truck," Tucker reminded him.

"You know, you might show a little more gratitude to the guy who got you out of your one-way ticket to juvy-hall, moved you out of the town where at least half the population wanted to kill you, and handed you a job."

Tucker just stared at him from sullen eyes.

"Or not," Jake muttered, and weary beyond exhaustion, sat on the couch.

"Try again, Sherlock."

Jake got up, walked around the couch, and kicked the cot. "Do I at least get a pillow-" It hit him in the face. "Gee, thanks."

"Don't thank me. You paid for it."

"Is that what's up your ass? You're mad at me because you owe me money?"

"I don't owe you anything."

"You know what, Tucker?" Exhausted, he sank to the cot. He toed off his shoes and lay back carefully. "Remind me to pound the shit out of you tomorrow." He just prayed he had the energy. He closed his eyes and, fully dressed, fell into a deep slumber.

Later that night, Callie lay in her bed watching the moon's shadow play across her ceiling. She could still picture Jake balancing himself on that fence, trying to save her from a runaway horse.

The idea was laughable, and yet...

What kind of guy did such a thing for a woman he hardly knew? A firefighter, she had to admit. A man well used to putting others' safety ahead of his own.

She might almost like him for that, if their earlier conversation wasn't haunting her.

"It's time to work on this place, give it some value."

"It has value."

"Not resale, it doesn't."

The words had stuck with her ever since he'd fallen asleep after uttering them by the hot tub. The first time she'd stepped foot here, she'd been seventeen years old, with twenty bucks in her pocket and no more possessions than could fit into her ratty old backpack...

The memory never failed to make her smile, though she hadn't been smiling then. She'd been secretly shaking in her boots. Richard Rawlins had stood in front of her, looking so big and formidable, hands on his hips as he stared down at the bedraggled young homeless girl asking for a job.

"Whatcha got in the way of skills, girl?" he'd demanded in a craggy voice that suggested he'd been yelling at bedraggled young homeless girls just like her for years.

But she was good at not letting anyone see her squirm. Real good. Some might say that she was too proud as well, but she didn't think so. She was just independent, fiercely so, but having never been able to depend on anyone but herself, she had good reason. "I can clean up after the animals," she'd told him. Her mother had been a small-time singer, chasing fame in bars across the south for most of Callie's youth. This had meant nocturnal sporadic mothering, and she used the word mothering quite loosely, because really, if there'd been any mothering done at all, it had been done by Callie herself.

In any case, she'd been left mostly alone during her days. During the summer months, she'd spend her time wandering around whatever town they were staying at, often finding herself near whatever horse stables she could locate.

By age six, she wanted to be a horse when she grew up. A wild stallion, with no fencing and no drunk mother. No adults, period.

Unfortunately, by the time she'd turned eight, she'd realized that dream was impossible. So she'd forged another-she wanted freedom. She'd discovered people were willing to pay her to clean up after their horses, and if she did a good job, they'd pay even more. Freedom granted.

By the time she met Richard Rawlins, she was a loner, a somewhat cynical teen who knew only that she instantly liked the feel of the Blue Flame. The yards had been clean, the barns and house the same if slightly shabby, the animals happy enough in their corrals.

Plus, unlike most of the ranches she'd spent time on, this one was for people to come and play at living in the Wild Wild West. New people in and out all the time, exciting people from all over the country, and new adventures every day. The thought appealed to her more than anything else she'd seen.

"So..." Richard had watched her with an inscrutable gaze. "You clean up after animals..." He hadn't been known for being patient or even particularly kind, but then again, having not experienced much of either in her life, Callie hadn't expected anything. She just wanted a place to sleep at night and a job she could live with.

"We'll start with you clearing the stalls then," Richard said, nodding. "But I'm thinking you'll want to aim higher next time I ask you what you can do, so keep your ears open, girl."

She had, and still did. That had been twelve years ago, and she'd been here ever since, working her way up through the ranks, watching other employees butt heads with Richard and his stubborn, unbending ways, marveling that they didn't understand that all he wanted was to be left alone and for them to do their job. Employees had come and gone, and she'd laid low, wondering why anyone would ever leave.

She hadn't, except for the occasional vacation.

Oh, and then there'd been the one time she'd quit to do something really stupid-like get married.

But that had lasted only long enough for her to realize her foolishness, and Richard Rawlins had been more than willing to hire her back. Once again, she'd settled in at the Blue Flame, wiser, smarting from her mistakes, but time-and the place-had eventually soothed the pain away.

Then two years ago Richard had gone off for a long ride. No one had thought anything of it, not then, and not when he didn't show up for four days. He'd often taken his own adventure for that long a period, or longer.

But this time he'd suffered a fatal heart attack, twenty miles away from his ranch, in the wilderness of the Chiricahua National Forest, all alone.

Callie had been devastated, but as she quickly learned, she'd been the only one to feel that way. Some of the employees had moved on, some-like Lou and Marge-had stayed. Stone and Eddie had come to work for her, and then Tucker, and Jake had been content to let her run the ranch. She'd made the most of that time, slowly changing things, improving where she could.

She'd also been saving, getting financial advice from Michael Dawson, a man she had several ties to. One, he was her best friend. Two, he was her ex-husband's partner in a mortgage company, where she was hopefully close-maybe two years close-to getting her finances in good enough shape for a loan.

But as she'd felt all her life, not quite close enough.

Dawn was still a good hour off when Shep let out a bark and Callie jerked awake. Had that been a car driving down the gravel road out of here, or had she been dreaming? In any case, she got out of bed and went to the window. Squinting through the gray light, she could only see as far as the first barn.

With a sigh, she moved to her front door and opened it. Now she could see the hay barn and the hen house as well, but nothing out of the ordinary.

The big house was dark, as were all the other cabins, but she trusted Shep implicitly. Mourning the thirty minutes before her alarm would have gone off-she dressed and stepped outside. Still nothing.

Except the soft whinny of her horse Sierra, and it held the sound of...pain? At that her heart dropped to her stomach and she started running. Sierra was her horse, her baby, the love of her life, and she couldn't get there fast enough. When she reached the barn, breathless from nerves and worry, she hauled the door open and hit the lights. Normally she'd have been met with quizzical glances from the horses they kept there in the two rows of stalls.

Instead they peered at her anxiously, and Sierra whinnied again.

"Sierra?" Callie rushed over to her. "Why is your saddle on?" Callie had definitely taken it off after her ride last night, it would have been cruel to keep it on overnight- And crueler still to leave the stirrups tucked beneath the saddle, digging into Sierra's flanks. The horse was rubbing up against the wall of her stall in a desperate attempt to get comfortable, something that only succeeded in making the stirrups dig into her all the harder. A line of blood ran down both her sides, dripping into the straw beneath her, and Callie's heart nearly stopped at the sight. "Oh no. Oh, baby, hold on." She slipped into the stall, but Sierra was long beyond spooked. Eyes rolling back in her head, ears flat, she reared up, catching Callie between twelve hundred pounds of frightened animal and the unforgiving door of the stall.

Stars burst in Callie's vision as her head hit the wall hard. A knifelike pain exploded in her ribs. Dizzy, she pushed on Sierra with all her might. "It's okay, Sierra, it's okay. You just have to scoot over-" The horse shifted just enough that Callie could draw in a lungful of air, and she shoved the saddle off.

It hit the ground with a thump. Staggering a little from the blow to her head, Callie stared at the sight of the horse's flanks, rubbed raw and bleeding. "Oh, Sierra." Throat thick, she stroked the horse's face. "Oh, baby. It's okay now, I'm here. It's okay."

Sierra tossed her head, the whites of her eyes still rolling as she blew out breath after loud, fearful breath.

"I know. I know." For a long, long moment Callie just stood there, her arms wrapped around Sierra's neck. "Who did this to you?" Only when both of their heartbeats had settled a little did she leave the stall to get some medical supplies, coming back to Sierra just as the barn door opened.

Once again Sierra reared in alarm, knocking Callie back against the stall door. She raised her arms to protect her face and head from the animal's flailing hooves and braced herself for serious injury, but a pair of hands grabbed her, yanking her out of the stall.