The men straightened up as I approached. "Is there something I can do for you guys?"

The bulky guy with a buzz cut-no doubt a former soldier-stepped forward. "Hi, Miz Gunderson. I'm Richard Amiotte."

I frowned. His name sounded familiar.

"We've been playing phone tag. I'm with the Swamp Rats Investment Group in Florida? We've been trying to set up a time to check out this property. We were on our way through from a fishing trip in Canada, and were in the area looking at other properties and thought we'd stop by."

"Sorry, Richard, we've been dealing with some family issues in the last few days-"

"Sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, we are pressed for time, so we understand if you'll just want to do a quick overview."

"Excuse me? An overview of what?"

His gaze narrowed on the cars and trucks, the men dressed in western suits. Finally back on me in my little black dress. "Is this an auction? You already sell this place?"

"That's hard to do when it isn't even listed."

His face relaxed. "Then what's the problem with letting us take a look around?"

A crowd had gathered behind me. Before I could answer, Theo said, "What would it hurt, Mercy? Whoever he is, he might make a better offer than Kit McIntyre's group."

How did the pompous a.s.shole know about Kit's offer? I whirled on him. "What would it hurt? We buried my nephew today, you moron."

Theo turned beet red. Then he glared at me as he brushed past and headed back into the house.

"We don't need a guided tour," Richard said quickly. "We can get all the information we need just by a drive-through."

"Not possible. I'd appreciate it if you'd leave."

Another man, around sixty, tanned, his hair bleached from the sun, and dressed for an afternoon on a sailboat, sidled up beside Richard. "What's the problem? We contacted you weeks ago about purchasing this tract of land here in the Dakotas."

Several ranchers behind me snickered. The Dakotas. Didn't this southern-fried idiot realize North and South Dakota had been recognized as separate states since 1889? Probably pointless to mention that the Gunderson Ranch had been in my family since the 1890s.

I paused, giving him a moment to rethink his stupid, smarmy statement. He didn't. He merely stared at me. Dared me. Creeped me out to the max.

Too bad these guys hadn't listened to their d.a.m.n voice mail. I'd left them a message renouncing my intention to sell, or to consider their offer. "There's been some misunderstanding. The Gunderson Ranch is not for sale. I'd appreciate it if you'd leave immediately."

"But-"

"I'm not asking again."

Murmured conversation began behind me. The rumor mill would run rampant in Eagle River County in another hour. My neighbors figured the conversation was over. They dispersed, leaving me alone with these gate-crashers.

The other men with Richard climbed in their trucks. I watched until their pickups were a red blight on the landscape and then gone.

After the Swamp Rats scurried away, I snuck into the house. My black satin heels were scuffed from the rocks, caked with dust, and completely ruined. No wonder I never wore girly shoes.

In my bedroom I changed into worn boots and jeans, carefully placing the flannel-wrapped bundle inside my right boot. Downstairs I made nice with our neighbors for the next couple of hours. Hope seemed to appreciate me sticking around.

When I'd endured my limit of politely restrained conversation, I wandered outside. Leaning against the weathered fence, I wrapped my hands around the rail and propped my foot on the bottom rung.

Some of the cattle wandered in from the pasture and circled the stock tanks. The calves were getting big. A few brave babies even ventured away from their mothers. We weren't running a full herd. It didn't make sense to lay out that kind of money for stock upkeep when the ranch's future was up in the air.

I closed my eyes. Even the blistering rays from the sun didn't burn away the cold reality of saying good-bye to Levi. Tears dripped down my face as I listened to swishing tails, buzzing flies, the sucking sound of hooves caught in the muck, and the occasional disgruntled moo.

Lost in sorrow and misery, I jumped when "Mercy?" sounded behind me.

I whirled around and saw Estelle Yellow Boy.

"Didn't mean to scare ya." Estelle crossed her arms and set them on top of the fence. "Sophie said I'd find you out here."

"A lot more peaceful than in the house."

"I've always liked this time of day. Too hot for most folks."

Two calves frolicked by the fence connected to the barn.

"Sorry about Levi. He was a good friend to Albert."

I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't.

"I can't stay long. Paul thinks I'm working late because I took time off to go to Levi's funeral earlier." She turned and looked at me. "It was a nice service. Considering."

It saddened me that more of Levi's friends hadn't shown up.

"Here's the list you asked for." Estelle slid a piece of rose-colored stationery from the pocket of her skirt. "This should be enough to get ya started."

"Good." I rolled up my jeans and removed the package containing the necklace and handed it back to her. "Thank you, but I can't take this."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't need a financial incentive to do what's right, Estelle."

Her eyes darkened with skepticism. She held her tongue for a minute. "And what are you gonna do if you figure out who done this to Levi and my boy?"

"I'm not sure." What a lie. I'd do what I do best: kill. I doubted the predator instinct that defined my life resided in Estelle. I wouldn't lose sleep over vengeance. She would. Whether or not she understood, carrying out revenge was my burden to bear, not hers.

"Will you keep in touch with me?" she asked.

"You really want Paul to know what I'm-we're-doing?"

Estelle shook her head. Without another word she left.

I remained in the great outdoors as the sun expanded to a fat orange ball and the clouds puffed out to pastel waves on the never-ending blue horizon.

Jake meandered over from the barn, Shoonga on his boot heels. He didn't make eye contact with me. Not surprisingly, he stayed a good distance from me, too.

We both stared across the field like it held the secrets to the universe.

Finally, his silent routine got to me. "You come here looking for an apology?"

He snorted. "Be waiting a long d.a.m.n time since I know you ain't sorry. And you're just like your dad in that respect; he said false remorse is as bad as an outright lie."

Dad. What would he think of my murderous intentions? Would he do the same thing if he were in my shoes? No. But he wouldn't be sitting on his hands like Dawson was either.

"You plan on quitting and telling me to go to h.e.l.l, Jake?"

"No. But I'd like a chance to say my piece, without you interrupting me like you always do."

"Fine."

"We're opposites, Mercy. Always have been, I suspect we always will be. I know you think a man who doesn't fight back-even when provoked-ain't a real man." He rubbed the heel of his hand on the exact spot where I'd shoved the gun barrel into his forehead. "I'm not gonna defend the way I was raised, and I don't wanna argue with you about the hard-a.s.sed way Wyatt brung you up."

I kept quiet.

"I'm tired of fighting you. No matter what happened in the past, or h.e.l.l, even the other night when you showed up at my place armed and angry, we need to figure out a way to work together, not against each other, since it appears neither of us is going anyplace anytime soon."

"True." Jake had been forthright; he deserved the same from me. "But to be honest, the idea I can't pick up and leave here whenever I want is suffocating me. It always has."

"I know," he said softly.

"So what do I do?"

"Come take a ride with me."

"How's that gonna help?"

"Maybe you won't feel like you're choking on your responsibilities when you have a clearer view of them."

I squinted at him. "Do I need to get my gun?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm checking that old stock tank in the south section. Thought I reminded TJ to fill it, but with all that's been going on... I ain't sure if I did."

A hot wind blew my hair across my face as I looked over my shoulder at the house. Sophie and a few other women were still there. Hope should be all right, but I didn't feel comfortable pa.s.sing her on to someone else.

Jake moved and laid his hand on my arm. "We won't be gone long. I promise."

"Okay, but I'm driving."

"How'd I know you were gonna say that?" He tossed me the keys.

We settled in the ancient truck, Shoonga panting between us, water sloshing in the tank in the truck bed. After we were through the first gate, which Jake opened and closed, he harrumphed. "You're driving just so you don't gotta be on gate duty."

"Yep. Pays to be the big boss."

"So, you know where you're going, boss?"

"I'm sure if I get it wrong you'll be more than happy to correct me."

A smile ghosted around his mouth.

b.u.mping along in the stifling heat had a cathartic effect. Somehow Jake knew I needed a reconnection to solitude and a reason to focus on the external problems rather than the internal ones, if only for a short while.

We drove in silence for fifteen minutes. I'd automatically followed the tire tracks without really paying attention to where we were headed. When I veered left to crest a small rise, I hit the brakes. I hadn't been out in this section for years.

Memories arose of the hours and years Jake and I had spent just like this, driving around in the cab of a dirty truck, bound by circ.u.mstances and our love for the Gunderson Ranch. Testing the boundaries of friendship. The spring I'd turned seventeen we'd stopped circling each other and crossed the line from friends to lovers. Right here. On this very spot.

For the next year we weren't "out" as a couple, although everyone suspected. The secrecy was partially because I was underage, partially because Jake worked for my father, but mostly because sneaking around heightened the relationship's appeal. Accidental touches, stolen kisses, lingering looks seemed more meaningful when given and taken covertly. Even our couplings were quick-a frenzy we mistook as pa.s.sion.

Dad disapproved of his oldest daughter and ranch foreman knocking boots. Rather than confronting us or offering up condemnation, he sicced Hope on us, demanding she accompany me everywhere. Nothing cools ardor faster than a twelve-year-old girl.

What bothered me was that Jake didn't mind Hope attaching herself to me like a burr. He coddled her. He teased her. She gloried in it while I seethed because he gave her the sweetness he'd never given me. I began to resent Jake, Hope, my dad, and the entire situation. I cut them all out of my life after the pregnancy ended, and I lost everything I couldn't admit I'd wanted.

In hindsight... my accusation the other night to Jake rang false. It wasn't Hope who hadn't stood a chance against succ.u.mbing to Jake's charms; it was Jake who hadn't stood a chance against Hope's needs. And like it or not, I'd played a part in throwing them together. Did I have a right to my anger about their past when I'd been the one who'd walked way? From both of them?

Probably not, but it was still there.

"Mercy?"

I jumped. "What?"

"Why'd you stop?"

"Just waiting for directions from my navigator."

"You don't remember?"

Talk about a deceptive question. "I remember most everything, Jake. Sometimes... I just get a little lost."

Pause. "We all do. There's no shame in admitting it. Or asking for help to get back on track." Jake pointed. "See the metal edge? It's to the left at the bottom of the hill."

"Got it."

We rested side by side against the tailgate as we transferred one tank into the other, pretending to be mesmerized by sunbeams reflecting off the stream of precious water.

I squirmed. Sighed. Shuffled my feet.

Jake calmly said, "What?"

"So we okay then?"

"I reckon."

A dust minitornado kicked up about a hundred yards in front of us. The herd bolted. Shoonga gave chase.

"'Cept for one thing."

Figured. "What?"