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The doctor’s blue eyes captured and held her gaze, drawing out the pause before she spoke. “It’s very clear that, between the healing ribs, this concussion and all the other scrapes and bruises, your body’s account is badly overdrawn, and the payment’s now come due—in the form of long soaks in the bath, plenty of sleep, preferably in a quiet, dark room such as this one, and nourishing, wholesome meals on a regular schedule. Home-cooked would be my recommendation.”
“What kind of half-baked prescription do you call that?” asked Sierra, who couldn’t recall the last home-cooked meal she’d eaten. “They pay you extra for the country doctor routine? Did Ace bribe you?”
But the truth was, she hadn’t had much fight left in her, and Ace had been smart enough—or possibly distracted by his reunion with so many family members—to give her the space she needed to accept what both Dr. Earth Mother and her own body were telling her in no uncertain terms. When she’d finally passed out in what turned out to be the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in, she’d remained asleep for the better part of the next two days.
But she could only lie around resting for so long, even with Ace hand-delivering trays of food and offering as much company and conversation as she cared for. But though she forced herself to eat and rest, to do what she needed to recover—including this attempt at light exercise—she could already feel herself withdrawing. Preparing herself for what she still knew in her heart was the right thing, the only thing that she could do. That was still as true now as it had been the night of her arrival in this haven, no matter how seven days and nights of soft, scented sheets, meals that didn’t come with their own cardboard containers and complimentary grease blots, and the hundreds of acres of fenced pastureland surrounding what she’d come to think of as Colton Central had lulled her into a false sense of security...along with the three “hands” she’d already made as Ace’s brothers Callum, ranch foreman Asher, and their distant cousin, Jarvis, whom she’d discovered, during her background research, worked as a ranch hand on the Triple R. But she went along with their charade, ignoring them as they pretended to fix a fence while discreetly monitoring her stroll, on Ace’s instructions, no doubt, from a distance.
She had zero doubt all three were armed—something about the way they walked and periodically scanned the pastures, as if some eager hit man was likely to pop out from behind one of the grazing cattle to take a shot at her as any moment. Or maybe they were more worried she’d jump one of these neatly painted white fences, hop up onto the back of the nearest horse—she decided she liked the look of that flashy brown-and-white pinto with the wide, white blaze—and gallop off to parts unknown.
She chuckled to herself, imagining their dismay. And everyone’s astonishment, once it was learned that her only previous equestrian experience involved a carousel ride at a now-defunct casino—and her swearing off champagne at the age of twenty-one.
The smile died on her lips when the phone in her pocket vibrated. Lost for days, the cell had been found inside her Chevy, which had been searched for any tracking devices or explosives by police before being towed from the parking lot of the hospital. Though Spencer had advised her not to risk driving the car again, he’d been kind enough to personally come to the ranch last night to deliver her lost phone, which she must have dropped inside the vehicle at some point. She’d been even more grateful when he hadn’t brought up the fact that the car had never been legally registered in her name, though she could practically see him biting his tongue to keep from lecturing her about it.
After thanking him, she’d plugged in the cell to charge. But so far she’d been afraid to look at it—or her laptop—since the announcement of her so-called murder.
Dread filling her lungs, she forced herself to pick up the phone now, handling the thing as though it were a live bomb. And sighing to see it was her friend Brie, who had at least been in on the whole fake death scheme from the start.
Answering, Sierra said sarcastically, “Iris Higgins speaking.”
“Whoever on earth came up with that name,” the detective told her cheerfully, “you should probably kick him.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought of it,” Sierra groused, though the thought of repaying Ace’s kindness and generosity in such a manner left a sour taste in her mouth.
She continued walking, so as not to worry the babysitters who were keeping a watchful eye on her. “How’s Rocky doing?”
“Your cat’s just fine where he is. More than fine. He and Max have gotten to be big buddies. Can you believe it? Who would’ve thought two reformed alley cats would turn out to have so much in common?” Brie asked, snorting at the mention of her boyfriend. “But I didn’t call to talk about those two animals.”
Sierra swallowed hard. “What then?”
“Well, you can forget the fake identity,” Brie told her.
“I guess so, after Captain Conspiracy with the cell phone camera plastered my photo and his stupid little exposé all over social media,” Sierra said, angry all over again about what the man had done. “I’ll have to come up with something else—and the most convincing paperwork I buy off the black mark—”
She cut herself off, abruptly conscious she was talking to a cop and not just a friend.
“I’m going to forget you said that,” Brie said. “And so can you, Sierra, because as of four-forty-six this morning, your situation’s changed completely.”
Giving up any pretense of walking, Sierra went to the fence and grabbed onto the top board with her free hand so hard the knuckles whitened. Because she heard an optimistic note in her friend’s voice, one completely at odds with their last conversation. And of all the things Sierra had to fear, she was most afraid of allowing herself to get her hopes up, to imagine that this respite, the peace and the kindness—and even the love she had been offered—might possibly last...
* * *
Ace found her standing outside the south pasture, gripping the fence tightly as she stared off at the mountains. With her sunlit hair fluttering behind her in the breeze, she looked impossibly beautiful and fierce, yet somehow at the same time fragile, like a statue of a Viking warrior princess forged out of spun glass.
He cleared his throat so as not to st
artle her with his approach.
When she turned to look at him, he was relieved to see her cheeks were dry, though sunlight betrayed a few clumped lashes that hinted that Callum might have been right in telling him she’d appeared upset following the phone call she had taken some forty minutes earlier.
Instead of asking her about that, he decided on the indirect approach. “I’ve come bearing a gift. You look like maybe you could use this.”
“I could always use fresh coffee. Thanks.” Hand shaking slightly, she accepted the travel mug he offered.
When Sierra took her first sip of the mug’s contents, her green eyes lit up. “Mm, what’s in this? It’s not the usual brew.”
“It’s Genevieve’s secret blend,” he told her as she drank some more. “Made with a splash of vanilla and some spices or other. Cinnamon, maybe? Nutmeg? She brewed it up special this morning to celebrate that the neurologist has confirmed my father is making slow but steady progress emerging from his coma.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Sierra said before taking a second sip.
