Wrangled. B.J. Daniels

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      ONCE THEY HAD THE HORSES loaded at a ranch north of Wolf Point, Marshall suggested they grab lunch. Zane wasn’t hungry, wasn’t sure he ever would be again. He was anxious to call Courtney and find out what had happened last night.

      Stepping outside the café to call her, he realized that he didn’t have her number. Nor was she listed under Courtney Baxter. He tried the couple of Baxters in the Whitehorse area, but neither knew a Courtney.

      With no choice left, he called Arlene Evans Monroe at the woman’s rural internet dating service that had allegedly put them together in the first place.

      “Did you set me up with a woman named Courtney Baxter?” he asked Arlene, trying not to sound accusing. Arlene used to be known as the county gossip. In the old days he wouldn’t have put anything past her. But he’d heard she’d changed since meeting her husband Hank Monroe.

      “Yes,” she said, sounding wary. “Is there a problem?”

      “Only that Courtney showed up at my door last night saying I had a date with her through your agency and I didn’t have a clue who she was.”

      “Are you telling me you didn’t make a date with this woman?”

      “I never even signed up for your dating service. I thought maybe someone had done it as a joke.”

      “Zane, I have your check right here.”

      How was that possible? He knew he was still feeling the effects of the hangover; his aching head was finding it hard to understand any of this. But all morning he’d been worried about what had happened last night. He had a very bad feeling and needed to talk to Courtney.

      “When does it show that I signed up?” he asked Arlene.

      “Two weeks ago.”

      Two weeks ago? A thought struck him. About two weeks ago he’d come home to find someone had been in his house. Like most people who lived in and around Whitehorse he never locked his doors, so the intruder hadn’t had to break in. Nor had the person taken anything that he could see—not even his laptop computer. But enough things had been moved that he’d known someone had been there.

      He swore now, realizing that must have been when the person had gone online and signed him up for the dating service—and taken at least one of his checks. He hadn’t even noticed any were missing.

      “What is the number on that check?” he asked Arlene. She read it off and he wrote it down, seeing that it was a much higher number than the checks now in his checkbook. He wouldn’t have missed it for months.

      Who went around signing someone up for a dating service? This made no sense. It had to have been one of his brothers. Or his stepmother, Emma? She had made it clear she thought it was time her six rowdy stepsons settled down. Maybe she was behind this.

      But neither Emma nor his brothers would have come to his house when he wasn’t home, gotten on his computer and then taken one of his checks to pay for the rural dating service. Who then? And why? This was getting stranger by the moment.

      “I need Courtney Baxter’s telephone number,” he told Arlene.

      “According to the service policy you agreed to—”

      “I didn’t agree because I never signed up,” he said, trying not to lose his temper. He caught his reflection in the café window and saw the four scratches down his cheek where someone had definitely clawed him.

      “Zane, what if I call her and make sure it’s all right first? Do you want to hold?”

      He groaned, but agreed to wait.

      She came back on the line moments later. “She’s not answering her cell phone. I left her a message to call me immediately. I’m sorry, Zane, but that’s the best I can do. It’s policy.”

      He swore under his breath. The old Arlene would have handed it over. She would also have asked why he was so anxious to talk to his “date” and the news would have gone on the Whitehorse grapevine two seconds later.

      “The moment you hear from her …”

      “I’ll let you know,” she said.

      Zane didn’t hear anything from Arlene on the long drive back to Whitehorse. He hoped that once he got home there might be a note or something from Courtney.

      Not wanting to drag the loaded horse trailer down the narrow lane to the house, Marshall dropped him off by the mailbox on the county road.

      “You sure you’re going to be all right?” Marshall asked.

      He’d been sick all day and still had a killer headache.

      “You really did tie one on last night,” his brother said, looking concerned. “What were you drinking anyway?”

      “I remember having some champagne.”

      Marshall shook his head. “That all?”

      Zane couldn’t recall if it had been his idea, but he doubted it. Courtney must have suggested it. “And I only had a couple of glasses, I’m sure.”

      His brother lifted a brow. “You sure about that?”

      He wasn’t sure of anything. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” he lied as he climbed out of the Chisholm Cattle Company truck and headed down the narrow dirt road to his house.

      The early summer sun was still up on the western horizon. It warmed his back as he walked. Grass grew bright green around him, the air rich with the sweet scents of new growth. Grasshoppers buzzed and butterflies flitted past. In the distance he could see that there was still snow on the tops of the Little Rocky Mountains.

      As he came over a rise, he slowed. A pickup he didn’t recognize was parked in front of his house. Courtney? Or maybe one of her older brothers here to kick his butt. He quickened his step, anxious to find out exactly what had happened last night—one way or the other.

      Zane was still a good distance from the truck when he saw the woman and realized that it wasn’t Courtney. This woman was dressed in jeans, boots and a yellow-checked Western shirt. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She stood leaning against the truck as if she’d been waiting awhile and wasn’t happy about it.

      When she spotted him, she pushed off the side of the pickup and headed toward him. As she came closer, his gaze settled on her face. He felt the air rush out of him. She was beautiful, but that was only part of what had taken his breath away.

      He’d seen Dakota Lansing only once since she was a kid hanging around the rodeo grounds. She’d been cute as a bug’s ear back then and it had been no secret that she’d had a crush on him. But, five years his junior, she’d been too young and innocent so he’d kept her at arm’s length, treating her like the kid she was.

      The last time he’d seen her he’d happened to run into her at the spring rodeo in Whitehorse. He’d been so surprised to see her—let alone that she’d turned into this beautiful woman—he’d been tongue-tied. She must have thought him a complete fool.

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