Maddie Inherits a Cowboy. Jeannie Watt

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      Madeline had locked her door.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      THE DRIVE DOWN THE mountain was more difficult than the trip up had been yesterday, giving Madeline no time to dwell on either the ranch or Dr. Jensen. The ruts in the snow had frozen overnight and kept unexpectedly catching her tires, yanking the car to the side of the road and the snowbanks there. But as she had told Ty, Madeline was no rookie at driving in the snow. Her grandmother, after retiring from her teaching job, had lived at the end of a particularly nasty road in northern Maine, close to where she had grown up.

      After a few close calls—closer than Madeline was entirely comfortable with, since she didn’t want to hike back up the mountain and ask Ty to pull her out of the ditch—she arrived at Barlow Ridge. Unable to wait any longer, she stopped at a crossroad and dialed Connor’s number. He didn’t answer, even though it was close to noon back home.

      Madeline stared at the phone. Connor always answered. His phone was practically embedded in his palm. Was he not answering on purpose? Was this his way of not enabling her obsession over the investigation?

      She tried again, then fired off a text.

      I want to talk about the ranch. Pick up.

      Nothing.

      Madeline ground her teeth, then shoved the phone into her pocket and pulled the car back out onto the road.

      She drove from snowy gravel onto cleared pavement as she passed the first houses.

      The town was tiny, and while there were many communities this size scattered throughout the northeast, the sheer isolation of this one made it seem even smaller.

      Madeline estimated the population at less than five hundred. She had to estimate, since for some reason towns in Nevada didn’t boast population—they announced altitude. So while she was happy to know that the reason she couldn’t breathe was because she was at 5,160 feet above sea level, from an anthropological point of view, population was a much more interesting statistic.

      Fields and ranches bordered the paved streets until she reached the nucleus, which consisted of a mercantile, a bar, a post office, a school and a prefab metal building that appeared to be the community center. At the far end of town, on the road leading to civilization, was another metal building, red. Perhaps a fire station?

      Madeline parked in front of the mercantile, which had an honest to goodness hitching post in front, festooned with garlands and red ribbons. Sleigh bells hung on the door, jingling merrily as she let herself into the store, which seemed to be deserted. Madeline didn’t mind.

      She stood for a moment, studying the wild variety of merchandise crammed into too small a space.

      Holy smoke. Where did she begin? The aisle with the small artificial Christmas tree, or the one with the saddle?

      Madeline pulled her list out of her jacket pocket and unfolded it. It appeared that whatever she could possibly want—a jar of mustard or a bag of hog chow—was here.

      She picked up a plastic basket, since there were no carts, and slowly started down the first aisle, cataloging what was where, since she’d a feeling she would be back.

      “Can I help you?”

      Madeline nearly jumped out of her skin at the accusing growl from behind her. She whirled and saw a small gray-haired woman at the counter. She hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Where had she been? Crouching down, maybe?

      Madeline automatically moistened her lips as the woman glared at her. “I just needed a few things. You are open, aren’t you? The door was unlocked so I assumed—”

      “I’m open,” the woman said flatly. “Where’d you come from?”

      “New York. A little town near—”

      “Here.”

      Madeline cocked her head. “Excuse me?”

      “Since this town is at the end of the road, you aren’t traveling through. Where are you staying while you’re here?”

      “Oh.” Madeline forced the corners of her mouth up even though she didn’t feel at all like smiling at this crabby woman. “I’m half owner of…” Damn. Why didn’t the place have a name? “…that ranch up Lone Sum Road.”

      “Lonesome Road?” the woman asked with a mystified expression. “You mean Lone Summit Road?”

      “Uh, yes,” Madeline said stiffly. “That’s exactly what I mean. Ty Hopewell is my partner. Actually, he was my brother’s partner, but my brother passed away.”

      “You’re Skip’s sister?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’ll be.” She shook her head again, frowning at Madeline as if she were a particularly nasty specimen.

      “Why?” Madeline made no further attempt at politeness. She wanted an answer. Why was it so incredible that she was Skip’s sister?

      “Skip was laid-back. Not an uptight bone in his body.” The woman’s eyes traveled over Madeline in a way that made her back stiffen. Okay, maybe she was wearing her black pants rather than jeans, but she was saving the jeans to clean in, since without a washer and dryer she had no clothing to spare. And perhaps a tastefully belted, knee-length navy blue wool coat wasn’t the norm in extremely rural Nevada, but it didn’t cry out uptight…unless it revealed a prim white blouse collar beneath it. She should have worn her red sweater.

      “Yes. My brother was quite a relaxed individual.” She held up the list. “Would it be all right if I continued to shop?” The woman’s response shouldn’t have stung. Skip had always charmed people, whereas she’d had to resort to dazzling them with logic or impressing them with her academic prowess. The shopkeeper didn’t look as if she would be wowed by either. She made a dismissive gesture and Madeline walked down the nearest aisle with slow, deliberate steps. She would not be intimidated. But if this woman was representative of the local population, she wouldn’t be spending too much time in town, either.

      Madeline eventually stacked three loaded baskets on the counter, along with a broom, a mop and two bottles of cleaning solution. She’d be returning a full bottle to Ty.

      She’d eventually found everything on her list, with no help from the retailer, who’d sat silently behind her counter as Madeline shopped. It had taken a while to find ketchup that wasn’t laced with hot sauce, and the only wine she could find was red with a homemade label, which seemed to indicate that it, too, was home made. She didn’t think it was legal to sell home brew to the general public, but figured it wouldn’t be for sale if it was a health hazard, so what the heck? Wine helped on those nights when she suffered from insomnia, and given her situation, she may be facing some of those nights in the near future.

      “By the way, I’m Madeline Blaine,” she said as the woman started ringing up her purchases.

      “Anne McKirk,” the woman snapped.

      “…McKirk is an unusual name. I’ve never heard it before.”

      “Short for McErquiaga.”

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