Cover Page
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Copyright
Though born in Chicago and raised in L.A., CASSIE MILES has lived in Colorado long enough to be considered a semi-native. The first home she owned was a log cabin in the mountains overlooking Elk Creek with a thirty-mile commute to her work at the Denver Post.
After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. Ceviche, anyone? She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. A lot of wine. When she’s not plotting Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.
To the ever-encouraging Tess Foltz. And, as always, to Rick.
Too impatient to wait until the rotors of the helicopter came to a stop, Carolyn Carlisle disembarked, ducked and ran with her laptop in one hand and briefcase in the other. Dirt and dead leaves kicked up around her feet. Her long black hair whipped across her face. When she was in the clear, she gave the charter pilot a thumbs-up signal and the chopper took off, swooping through the Rocky Mountain sunset like a giant white dragonfly.
Silence returned to the wide valley, which sat in the shadow of snowcapped peaks. The surge of joy Carolyn usually felt when she returned to the cattle ranch where she’d grown up was absent. Her home, Carlisle Ranch, was under threat.
Last night, there was a fire at the north stable. Across the pasture, she could see the place where the barn once stood. The blackened ruin stood out in stark relief against the khaki-colored early December fields. The stench of burnt wood tainted the air. All the livestock had been rescued, thank God. But expensive equipment had been destroyed, and the sheriff suspected arson.
She marched up the walk toward a sprawling, two-story, whitewashed ranch house, originally built by her great-grand-father and added to by subsequent generations. Her first order of business was to kick her brother’s butt for not calling her last night when the fire broke out.
Dylan had waited until today to inform her, probably because he didn’t want her interfering. The family ranch, running about two thousand head of Angus, was his responsibility and he preferred that Carolyn stay in the Denver office of Carlisle Certified Organic Beef. Usually, their arrangement worked out well. She liked the city and loved the daily challenge of running a multimillion-dollar corporation.
But she was still a rancher at heart. As soon as she had heard about the stable fire, she’d had to be here. Hadn’t even taken the time to change her business attire—teal silk blouse, black wool suit with a pencil skirt and high-heeled boots.
As she climbed the three stairs to the veranda that stretched across the front of the house, she was confronted by a cowboy with a rifle.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I work for Longbridge Security, ma’am.” He pointed to a trefoil patch on the arm of his denim jacket.
“Did my brother Dylan hire you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He held open the front door for her.
She considered the presence of a bodyguard to be a good sign. At least Dylan was taking action. They couldn’t really expect the Delta County sheriff’s office to patrol the thousands of acres they leased for grazing.
Leaving her laptop and briefcase by the coatrack, she went down the hallway toward her brother’s office. The door was ajar and she heard voices from inside—angry voices.
Her brother’s wife of five years, Nicole, stormed from the room. Her blue eyes were furious. Her jaw clenched. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Carolyn.”
“I just got here.” She liked and respected Nicole. Considered her more like a sister than a sister-in-law. “I was just getting ready to yell at Dylan myself.”
“Be my guest.”
“First, we could go out to the kitchen and have a cup of tea. Or something stronger if you like.”
“Right now I just want to be alone.” Nicole went to the front door. “I’m going to take a ride down by the creek.”
The door slammed behind her.
Carolyn’s first impulse was to follow her, but Dylan stepped into the hall. “How the hell did you get here so fast?”
“I chartered a chopper. After you finally got around to telling me about the fire, I wanted to see for myself that Elvis was all right.”
“Your horse is fine. He’s in the corral by the barn.”
She’d intended to read him the riot act, but he already looked miserable. His shoulders slumped. His pale green eyes—identical to hers—were red-rimmed. “We need to talk.”
“You missed Thanksgiving. Again.”
“I had to work.” And she wasn’t going to let him guilt her out for shirking family responsibilities. Her every waking thought was devoted to running the family business. “What happened, Dylan? Was it arson?”
“There’s nothing you can do.” He stepped back into his office and shut the door.
Good old Western stoicism. Closed doors all around. Never show emotion. Never share what’s really wrong. Never ever cry. That cowboy ethic might have worked in the Old West, but this was the twenty-first century with psychologists on every corner.
In search of a sympathetic ear, Carolyn left the house and headed toward the outdoor corral attached to the big barn with stables in the back. If she hurried, she could catch Nicole who was probably still getting saddled up. Instead, Carolyn looked for her version of a shrink. Elvis.
Reaching over the top rail of the corral, she stroked the white blaze on her horse’s forehead. His upper lip curled in the trademark sneer of his namesake. He batted his long lashes, shamelessly flirting though he was over sixteen years old and had expanded his girth since she last saw him.
“No more sweets for you, Elvis.”
He whinnied in protest.
She tugged a forelock of his black mane. “If you get any fatter, you won’t fit into your white jumpsuit.”
As she watched Nicole head out, Carolyn shivered. She should have grabbed a jacket before she came out, but the weather was pleasant enough—probably in the mid-fifties—and her blood still boiled with anger. She had a bad feeling about Nicole riding alone. It didn’t seem safe. Not if there was an arsonist on the loose. A few minutes later, a man wearing a jacket with the Longbridge Security patch rode from the barn to follow her.
She turned her attention to Elvis. The horse listened while she talked about her worries about the ranch, about Dylan and Nicole. They’d always seemed like the perfect couple. If they couldn’t make it, what hope did Carolyn have of finding a mate? She was thirty-three with no special man to warm her bed. Her last date had been a disaster and…
A noise distracted her. A snap that ricocheted across the valley. A rifle shot?
Carolyn peered across the field. The bodyguard and Nicole were nowhere in sight.
The grizzled ranch foreman, Lucas Mann, came around the corner of the barn, moving faster than his usual bowlegged saunter. “Carolyn, did you hear that?”
“Hush.” She listened hard. A volley of shots echoed from far away, like pebbles being dropped in a metal bucket. Sound traveled great distances in the thin mountain air and she couldn’t tell where the gunfire was coming from. “Lucas, give me your gun.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Lucas handed over his sidearm. Though he looked like an old-time cowboy, the weapon he carried in his belt holster was a brand-new Glock nine millimeter.
Carolyn tucked the gun into the waistband of her skirt. “We need to find Nicole and make sure she’s okay. She was headed southwest toward the creek. I want you to saddle up. Bring one of those security guards.”
“What the hell are you fixing to do?”
“Take care of business.” If someone had fired on Nicole, she needed backup. And she needed it now.
In her high-heeled boots, Carolyn climbed the corral fence, tore the slit on her wool skirt and slung her leg over Elvis’s bare back. As soon as Lucas unlatched the corral gate, she rode through. Digging her heels into Elvis’s flanks, she took off across the field.
Riding without a saddle wasn’t easy, especially not with the horse’s bristly coat snagging her panty hose and an automatic pistol digging into her side. She wouldn’t have attempted this ride with any other mount, but Elvis’s gait was as familiar as her own jogging style. Her body adjusted instinctively to the rhythm of his gait. In her teens, she and Elvis had won dozens of trophies and blue ribbons for calf roping and barrel racing in local rodeos.
She clung to his mane and directed him with pressure from her knees and verbal commands. The chilly December wind sharpened her tension as she rode toward the area where the valley merged into rocky hillsides covered with forests of ponderosa pine.
She hadn’t heard any other shots. If there had been a gunfight, it was over. The damage was done.
What if Nicole and the bodyguard were shot and bleeding? Can’t think about that now. She needed to stay focused. That’s what I do best—hard-driving, straightforward action.
Through the dusky gloom, she spotted a horseman coming out of the trees at a slow walk. The bodyguard. He slumped over his horse’s neck. As his horse came to a stop, he slipped from the saddle to the ground.
She dismounted and ran toward the injured man. His shirt and denim jacket were covered in blood, his face twisted in pain. She sank to her knees beside him and pushed his jacket aside. If she could figure out where he’d been shot, she could apply pressure and slow the bleeding.
“Nicole.” His voice was faint. “Couldn’t save her.”
Talking was too much of an effort. He needed to calm down and slow the pumping of his heart. But Carolyn had to ask, “Was she shot?”
“No.” His eyelids closed. “They took her.”
She tore open the buttons on his shirt, exposing a raw, gaping hole in his upper chest. Carolyn took off her suit jacket, wadded the fabric in a ball and pressed against the wound. Blood also stained the sleeve of his jacket and his leg. She had to get him to a hospital.
His hand gripped hers. He forced his eyes open and stared with fierce intensity. “Nicole tried to fight. Two men. One of them hit her. She fell. Didn’t move.”
Carolyn choked back a helpless sob. Oh, God. How could this happen?
“The other guy…” The bodyguard coughed. His fingers tightened. “He stood guard. He got off a shot. Before I could get close enough to…”
“You did the best you could.”
“I fell off my horse. Couldn’t move. Just lay there.” It must have taken a fierce effort for him to mount up. Even now, he struggled to sit. “Saw their faces. I can ID them.”
“Settle down.” Though she respected his courage, this man wasn’t going anywhere. “Help is on the way.”
She glanced over her shoulder. What was taking so long? Lucas should have been here by now.
The bodyguard lay back. His chest heaved. Yet he forced himself to speak. “They said Dylan would pay. He’d pay a lot. To get his wife back.”
“Are you telling me Nicole was kidnapped?”
“That’s right. Kidnapped.”
His eyes closed and his body went limp. He was still breathing. But just barely.
Her arms ached from putting pressure on his wound. The jacket she pressed against his chest was already soaked in blood. His chances for survival decreased with every minute.
“Don’t die.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Please. Please, don’t die.”
She heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching and dashed away her tears. If the men found her crying, they wouldn’t listen to a word she said. And Carolyn needed to take charge, needed to be strong. Her brother was going to be crazy and illogical—dangerously irrational.
The bodyguard she’d met on the veranda joined her on the ground beside the injured man. “I’ll take it from here, ma’am. I’m a medic.”
“He’s unconscious.”
“You did the right thing,” he said, “putting pressure on the wound. Don’t worry. We’ll get him to the hospital.”
She stood and stepped out of the way, relieved that the wounded bodyguard would be cared for by someone who knew what he was doing. Turning on the heel of her boot, she faced four other men on horseback. All of them had rifles. They looked like a posse from the Old West.
Lucas swung down from his horse and came toward her. “You’ve got blood all over. Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
“Where’s Nicole?”
Her lips pinched together. If she told them Nicole had been kidnapped, they’d take off to rescue her. They were cowboys, experienced hunters who were capable of following the track of a jackrabbit across miles of mountain terrain. If they located the kidnappers, there’d be a shoot-out.
The paramedic called out. “I need the first-aid kit in my saddlebag. Somebody call an ambulance.”
“You heard him,” Carolyn said. “The first thing is to get this man to a hospital. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
While the other cowboys followed instructions from the paramedic, she saw her brother racing toward them, leaning low over the mane of his horse, riding like the demons of hell were on his tail. He pulled up and dismounted in a single move, hit the ground running and yanked her into a hug. “Thank God, you’re all right.”
“I’m fine.” She could feel the tension in his body. Every muscle was clenched. Dylan wasn’t going to like what she had to say, but there was no way to get around it.
His eyes were wild. “Where’s Nicole?”
“Listen to me, Dylan.” She grabbed his arm and held on tight, hoping she could save him from his own temper. “Before the bodyguard was shot, he saw two men with Nicole. He heard them say that you’d pay a lot to get your wife back. They kidnapped her.”
He tore free from her grasp. “I’ll kill the bastards.”
Exactly what she was afraid of. “Think about what you’re saying. If there’s a gunfight, Nicole could be hurt.”
He strode a few paces away from her, yanked off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs while some son of a bitch holds my wife hostage? Wait for the sheriff to figure this out?”
“Let me handle this. The bodyguard who tried to protect Nicole is already standing at death’s door. I don’t want anybody else to get shot.”
“She’s my wife. I’ve got to find her.”
Her brother was the most hardheaded man she’d ever known. There was no point in trying to talk sense into him. “I can see that I’m not going to change your mind.”
“Hell no.”
“Then give me your gun. I want all of your posse’s guns. It can’t hurt for you to track the kidnappers, but if you’re not armed, you can’t start a shoot-out.”
“This isn’t your call.”
“Before Dad died, he told me to take care of my little brother. And that’s what I intend to do.”
He threw up his hands. “It’s not fair to bring Dad’s ghost into this situation.”
She didn’t play fair, she played to win. “Dad wouldn’t want you to risk your life. Or anybody else’s.”
“Fine. We’ll leave the guns. What are you going to do?”
“Go back to the house and wait to hear from the kidnappers.” That wasn’t enough and she knew it. “And I’m calling in the FBI.”
TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER, Carolyn stood on the veranda outside the house. The porch lights shone on a black van that had just parked next to the Delta County sheriff’s SUV. This had to be the FBI.
A tall man emerged from the passenger seat. Instead of the typical FBI black suit, he wore jeans and a worn leather jacket. As he strode toward her, he seemed to get even taller. He was probably six foot four. His sandy brown hair was less well-groomed than she’d expect from a federal agent, but he had an unmistakable air of authority—an attitude that immediately put her on edge.
“Special Agent J. D. Burke.” He identified himself as he held up his badge. “I need to talk to the sheriff.”
“Sheriff Trainer isn’t here.” At her urging, the sheriff had borrowed a horse and went to keep an eye on Dylan and his posse. She hoped the presence of a lawman might deter any attempt at vigilante justice.
“Who’s in charge?”
Carolyn had changed from her bloodstained business clothes into jeans, a pink T-shirt and zippered hoodie. With her black hair pulled up in a ponytail, she probably didn’t look like the top executive of a multimillion-dollar company. Still, she resented the way he looked right past her, trying to find a man in charge.
“I’m Carolyn Carlisle.” She held out her hand. “I’m the boss.”
When he shook her hand and made direct eye contact, she felt a jolt of electricity—a warning. His dark eyes were hard, implacable. She and this fed were going to butt heads.
“Have you heard from the kidnappers?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
Three other men left the van and came toward the house. All were carrying equipment in black cases.
“We need to set up,” Agent Burke said.
She held open the front door as they trooped through. “You can use the office. It’s down the hall to the left.”
Ignoring her words, he went past the staircase to the dining room with the long oak table. “This will do.”
She hated the way he disregarded her suggestion, not even acknowledging her. Biting her lower lip, she held back her protest when his men pulled the chairs away from the table. Without a word to her, they opened their cases and began spreading out equipment—all kinds of electronics and computers.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “We could use some coffee.”
His arrogance astounded her. “I’ll bet you could.”
“I take mine black.”
The last straw. No way would she be relegated to the position of fetching coffee.
“Listen to me, Agent Burke.” She struggled to keep from snarling. “I called in the FBI. As far as I’m concerned, you owe me an explanation of what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You,” she snapped, “work for me.”
The razor edge in her voice caused Burke to turn and face this slim-hipped woman in cowboy boots. Anger blew off her like a hurricane.
“This is my ranch. My house.” Her tone was sharp but controlled. “I insist upon being treated with respect. I’m not your errand girl. I don’t bring you coffee. I don’t tidy up after you. And I demand to know what’s going on.”
She looked like a teenager, but there was nothing girlish about her temper. Carolyn Carlisle was a mature and formidable woman.
He peered into her eyes. They were fascinating, with green irises so pale they were almost transparent. She stared back at him, hard and determined, as she waited for his answer.
“What do you want to know, Carolyn?” He purposefully used her first name to establish that he was the professional and she was a civilian.
“Well, J.D…” When she countered immediately with his first name, he almost grinned. This woman didn’t miss a beat.
“Actually,” he said, “I go by Burke.”
“Okay, Burke. I want an explanation of all this equipment you’ve scattered across my dining room table. But first, I want to know your plans.”
“Here’s the deal, Carolyn. I don’t have time to hold your hand and make sure you’re happy with our investigation. I didn’t come here to make friends.”
“Understood. But you need my help. Things are different on the ranch than in the city. People are different.”
As far as he was concerned, a criminal was a criminal. Their motivations and methods might change from place to place, but the underlying stupidity and cruelty were a constant. “This is a crisis situation and I’m in charge. That’s the way it rolls. Get used to it.”
Her fascinating eyes narrowed. “Get used to what?”
“I give the orders.”
“Then we have a problem. I don’t take orders. I will, however, respond to requests made with respect.”
“You want me to say please and thank you?”
“That’s a start.”
Her smile was infuriating and at the same time attractive. Even sexy. If they had met under different circumstances, he might have pursued her. But not here. Not now. As a hostage negotiator, he knew better than to become emotionally invested. The survival rate for kidnap victims held for ransom within the United States was less than forty percent. Nicole’s abduction probably wasn’t going to end well.
The phone on the table rang. “This could be the kidnappers.”
Carolyn’s bravado vanished. “What do I do?”
“It’s on speakerphone,” Burke said. “If it’s the kidnappers, you need to keep them talking and demand to speak to Nicole.”
He pressed a button and gave her a nod.
“Hello,” she said. “Carolyn Carlisle speaking.”
“Yes, ma’am. This is Wentworth. I wanted to give you an update.”
Her tension relaxed. “I have you on speakerphone, Went-worth. I’m here with the FBI. We’re waiting to hear from the kidnappers.”
“Who is he?” Burke asked.
“One of the security guards my brother hired. Wentworth is at the hospital with the wounded man, Jesse Longbridge, the owner of the security company.” She turned back toward the speaker. “How is he?”
“In critical condition,” said the voice on the phone. “His heart stopped during surgery. He hasn’t regained consciousness, but he’s breathing on his own.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Carolyn asked.
“It’s touch and go, ma’am.”
She wrapped her arms around her midsection as if literally holding herself together. To Burke she said, “Jesse saw the kidnappers. He can identify them as soon as he wakes up.”
If he wakes up. He leaned toward the phone. “We appreciate the update, Wentworth. This is Special Agent J. D. Burke of the FBI. Can you call in another man from your security company?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I want two of you at the hospital, keeping an eye on Jesse Longbridge. He’s a threat to the kidnappers and they might come after him.”
“We’ll keep him safe, sir.”
Burke recognized the crisp attitude. “Are you former military, Wentworth?”
“Marine Corps. Two tours of duty in Iraq as a medic.”
There was no need for further conversation. Burke had complete confidence in Wentworth’s ability to keep the witness safe. The first lesson for a Marine was never leave a man behind. “Carry on, Wentworth.”
“And thank you,” Carolyn added before he hung up.
He figured that the veneer of politeness she insisted upon was a way to maintain control. It was a small price to pay for her cooperation. “Carolyn, would you please tell us the events leading up to the kidnapping.”
She gave a brief nod. “It was dusk. Nicole went for a ride. She wanted to be alone, but the bodyguard, Jesse, left a few minutes later. I heard shots and went after them.”
“How long between when they left and when you heard gunshots?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
“Did you pursue on foot?”
“On horse. Bareback. I happened to be near the corral.” She frowned. “I wasn’t dressed for riding, and I ruined a perfectly good skirt. Tore the slit all the way up the side.”
His mind formed an image of her long legs pressed against the flanks of her horse as she raced across the field. It must have been something to see. “Then what happened?”
“I saw Jesse coming out of the trees. Even though he was badly wounded, he managed to tell me that he saw two men grab Nicole. She struggled, but they knocked her unconscious. They said that my brother would pay a lot to get his wife back.”
Apparently, this wasn’t a planned abduction. There was no way the kidnappers could have known Nicole would be out riding at that particular moment. Not unless she was part of their plan. If that were so, she wouldn’t have struggled, wouldn’t have needed to be rendered unconscious. More likely, this was a crime of opportunity. Nicole happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Bad news. Burke preferred to deal with professional criminals. Amateurs were unpredictable. “What happened next?”
“The men from the ranch rode up. Wentworth took care of Jesse. And he was nothing short of amazing. He got Jesse loaded into the bed of a truck and took him to the hospital before the ambulance arrived.”
Jesse Longbridge had been lucky to have the battle-trained expertise of a Marine medic. Wentworth’s fast action and triage skills had probably saved his life.
“After that,” Carolyn said, “I had to deal with my brother, Dylan. He wanted to track down the kidnappers and kill them. But I insisted that all the men leave their guns behind. The sheriff is with them now. They’re still looking, talking to people at nearby ranches.”
Burke needed to put an end to this chase as soon as possible. He strode from the room.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To get us some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”
NEAR ELEVEN O’CLOCK, Carolyn paced back and forth on the veranda, waiting anxiously for her brother to return. After half a dozen calls on her cell phone, she’d finally convinced him to allow the FBI to handle the kidnapping. Even if Burke was a pain in the rear, he was an expert.
The equipment he’d finally deigned to show her was impressive: GPS surveillance, heat-sensing infrared imaging, audio scanners, computer linkups to monitor e-mail activity. These high-tech tools made her brother’s posse on horseback seem positively archaic.
She knew Dylan would be impressed by the technology. The problem was Burke. If he tried to order her brother around, there’d be hell to pay.
Her first impression of Burke as a brusque, authoritative jerk had changed. He’d shown patience when he’d explained how to handle the ransom call. He’d told her not to confront but to stand firm. And to keep the caller talking. There were two reasons for that strategy. First, so they could get a clear trace. Second, the more the kidnapper talked, the more information they could gather. Little sounds in the background were clues to the kidnapper’s whereabouts.
Burke and his men had practiced with her so she’d know what to say. They’d told her to use her feminine wiles to stall—a useless bit of advice. If she’d ever had wiles, they were buried under years of dealing with ranch hands and businessmen who didn’t respect a woman who cried or pouted or giggled.
According to the FBI experts, her number one goal when talking to the kidnappers was to get proof of life.
She shuddered when she thought of the alternative. Nicole could already be dead. Her fingers tightened on the porch banister, anchoring her to something solid and tangible.
Burke came onto the porch and stood beside her. The sheer size of the man was impressive. He stood well over six feet tall with long legs and wide shoulders. She couldn’t really guess at his age, but assumed that a senior FBI agent would be in his late thirties. A little older than she was.
“Are you chilly?” he asked.
“Not a bit.” She stuck her hands into the fur-lined pockets of the hip-length shearling jacket that protected her from the December cold.
“It’s beautiful out here,” he said. “Peaceful.”
“When I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to get off the ranch. After I left, I kept wanting to come back.”
“But you live in Denver now. Tell me about your job.” He paused for a moment. “Please.”
“You’ve asked so nicely, I can’t refuse.”
She glanced up, catching a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. Though he was willing to play along with her insistence for respect, he made it clear that the decision was his choice. He was still in charge.
His attitude was familiar. All her life she’d been dealing with taciturn, stubborn men. Cowboys weren’t known for wearing their hearts on their sleeves unless you put a guitar in their hands. A mournful tune could bring sentimental tears to the eyes of the most calloused ranch hand.
She strolled to the end of the veranda, climbed onto the porch swing and tucked her legs under her.
“My job,” she said. “I’m the CEO at Carlisle Certified Organic Beef. I handle oversight of the product, sales and distribution for this ranch and more than sixty others through-out the west. Anybody who contracts with us agrees to follow sustainable ranching procedures that my father pioneered in the 1980s. All Carlisle Certified cattle are grass fed. We don’t use antibiotics or growth hormones.”
“With the craze for organic food, you must be doing well.”
“The business keeps me hopping, and we’re also doing something good for the planet. Our system of shifting cattle from field to field prevents overgrazing. I like to think that we have a contented herd.”
“But they still get slaughtered.”
She leaned forward, setting the swing into motion. The chain that attached to hooks in the porch ceiling creaked. “I hate to think about that part. For a long time I was a vegetarian.”
“On a ranch?”
“Don’t even think about giving me a hard time. I’ve heard it all.” She swung a little harder. “Currently, we have plans to build a state-of-the-art, humane slaughterhouse a couple of miles from here.”
“I can’t get a handle on you.” He regarded her with curiosity. “Are you a hard-driving businesswoman? Or a tree-hugging environmentalist?”
Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.