“Sanity,” said Stephanie. “There’s this stallion in London.”

“Talk to Jared.” Royce wasn’t getting caught up in his sister’s insatiable demands for her jumping stable.

“It’s Jared’s wedding night. He already went upstairs. You’re in charge now.”

Royce glanced at his watch. “And you think I’m a soft touch?”

“You always have been in the past.”

“Forget it.”

“His name’s Blanchard’s Run.”

“I said forget it.” He had time for maybe four hours of sleep before he had to get to the airport and preflight the jet.

“But-” Stephanie suddenly stopped, blinking in surprise as she glanced above his head.

“I sent it,” came a breathless voice that Royce already easily recognized.

He jerked his head around to confirm it was Amber.

“Sent what?” asked Stephanie.

Amber’s jewel-blue eyes were shining with a mixture of trepidation and excitement.

She hadn’t.

She wouldn’t.

“Where’s your father?” asked Royce. Was this another warped joke?

“He left. I told him to send the limo back for me later.”

Royce shook his head, refusing to believe any woman would do something that impulsive. “You did not send it.”

But Amber nodded, then she glanced furtively around the lounge. “I figure I have about ten minutes to get out of here.”

“What did you send?” Stephanie demanded. “To who?”

Amber slipped into the vacant third seat between them and leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I broke off my engagement.”

Stephanie looked both shocked and excited. She reached for Amber’s hand and squeezed it. “With who?”

“Hargrove Alston.”

“The guy who’s going to run for the Senate?”

Royce stared at his sister in astonishment.

“I read it in People,” she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand. Then she turned her attention back to Amber. “Is he mad? Is he after you now?”

“He’s in Switzerland.”

“Then you’re safe.”

“Not for long. As soon as Hargrove reads my text, he’ll call my dad, and my dad will turn the limo around.”

Stephanie’s lips pursed into an O of concern, and her breath whooshed out.

Amber nodded her agreement, and both women turned expectantly to Royce.

“What?”

“We have to go,” said Stephanie, her expression hinting that he was a little slow on the uptake.

“To Montana,” Amber elaborated.

“Now,” said Stephanie with a nod of urgency.

“They’ll never think to look for me in Montana,” Amber elaborated.

“I’m not taking you to-”

But Stephanie jumped up from her chair. “To the airport,” she declared in a ridiculously dramatic tone.

“Right.” Amber nodded, rising, as well, smoothing her sexy dress over her hips as she stood on her high heels.

“Stop,” Royce demanded, and even the laughing women at the table next to them stopped talking and glanced over.

“Shh,” Stephanie hissed.

Royce lowered his voice. “We are not rushing off to the airport like a bunch of criminals.”

Stephanie planted both hands on the tabletop. “And why not?”

“Six minutes,” Amber helpfully informed them.

He shot her a look of frustration. “Don’t be such a wimp. If he yells at you, he yells at you.”

Amber’s brows rose. “I’m not afraid he’ll yell at me.”

“Then, what’s the problem?”

“I’m afraid he’ll talk me out of it.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re a grown woman. It’s your life.”

“It is,” Amber agreed. “And I want to come to Montana.”

The look she gave him was frank and very adult. Perhaps his first instinct had been right. Maybe there was something between them. Maybe he was the reason she’d made the decision to finally dump the loser fiancé and move on.

He felt a rush of pride, a hit of testosterone and, quite frankly, the throb of arousal. Having Amber around would definitely make Montana more palatable. Only a fool would put barriers in her way.

He stood and tossed a couple of twenties on the table. “The airport, then.”

Since he’d had the martinis, it would be a few hours before he could fly. But there was plenty to do in preparation.


By the time they arrived at the Ryder Ranch, Amber had had second, third, even fourth thoughts. Both her father and Hargrove were powerful men. Neither of them took kindly to opposition, and she’d never done anything remotely rebellious in her life.

Hargrove was probably on a plane right now, heading back to Chicago, intending to find her and demand to know what she was thinking. And her father was likely out interrogating her friends this morning, determined to find out what had happened and where she’d gone.

Katie would be flabbergasted.

Amber had been questioning her feelings for Hargrove for a couple of months now, but she hadn’t shared those fears with Katie. Because, although Katie was a logical and grounded lawyer, she was saddled with an emotional case of hero worship when it came to Hargrove. She thought the sun rose and set on the man. She’d never understand.

Amber had sent her father a final text last night from the airport, assuring him that he didn’t need to worry, that she needed some time alone and that she’d be in contact soon. Then she’d turned off her cell phone. She’d seen enough crime dramas to know there were ways to trace the signal. And Hargrove had friends in both high and low places. Where the police couldn’t accommodate him, private investigators on the South Side would be happy to wade in.

The sun was emerging from behind the eastern mountains as Amber, Royce and Stephanie crossed the wide porch of the Ryder ranch house. She was dead tired but determined to keep anyone from seeing her mounting worry.

In the rising light of day, she admitted to herself that this had been a colossally stupid plan. Her father and Hargrove weren’t going to sit quietly and wait while she worked through her emotions. Plus, she had nothing with her but a pair of high heels, her cocktail dress and a ruby-and-diamond, drop necklace with a set of matching earrings.

And of all the nights to go with a tiny pair of high-cut, sheer panties-sure, they smoothed the line of her dress, but that was their only virtue.

“You heading home?” Royce asked his sister as he tossed a small duffel bag onto the polished hardwood floor, against the wall of a spacious foyer.

“Home,” Stephanie echoed, clicking the wide double doors shut behind her. “I can grab a couple hours’ sleep before class starts.”

Amber turned to glance quizzically at Stephanie. “Home?” She’d assumed they were already there. The sign on the gate two miles back had clearly stated Ryder Ranch.

“Up to my place.” Stephanie pointed. “I’ve got students arriving this afternoon.”

“You don’t live here?” Amber kept her voice even, but the thought was unsettling. Sure, Royce was the brother of her father’s business associate, but he was still a stranger, and there was safety in numbers.

Stephanie was shaking her head. “They kicked me out years ago.”

“When your horses took over the entire yard.” Royce loosened his tie and moved out of the foyer. He’d changed out of his tux at the airport in favor of a short-sleeved, white uniform shirt and a pair of navy slacks.

Stephanie made to follow him into a massive, rectangular living room with a two-story, open, timber-beamed ceiling and a bank of glass doors at the far end, flanking a stone fireplace. Amber moved with her, taking in a large, patterned red rug, cream and gold, overstuffed furniture groupings and a huge, round, Western-style chandelier suspended in the center of the room.

“You want me to show Amber a bedroom?” asked Stephanie. She was still wearing her bridesmaid dress.

“She’s probably hungry,” Royce pointed out, and both looked expectantly at Amber.

“I’m…uh…” The magnitude of her actions suddenly hit Amber. She was standing in a stranger’s house, completely dependent on him for food, shelter, even clothes. She was many miles from the nearest town, and every normal support system-her cell phone, credit card and chauffeur-were unavailable to her, since they could be traced.

“Exhausted,” Stephanie finished for her, linking an arm with Amber’s. “Let’s get you upstairs.” She gently propelled Amber toward a wide, wooden staircase.

“Good night, then,” Royce called from behind them.

“You look shell-shocked,” Stephanie whispered in her ear as they mounted the staircase.

“I’m questioning my sanity,” Amber admitted as the stairs turned right and walls closed in around them.

Stephanie hit a light switch, revealing a half-octagonal landing, with four doors leading off in separate directions.

“You’re not insane,” said Stephanie, opening one of the middle doors.

“I just abandoned my fiancé and flew off in the middle of the night with strangers.”

“We’re not that strange.” Stephanie led the way into an airy room that fanned out to a slightly triangular shape.

It had a queen-size, four-poster brass bed, with a blue-and-white-checked comforter that looked decadently soft. Two royal blue armchairs were arranged next to a paned-glass balcony door. White doors led to a walk-in closet and an ensuite bath, while a ceiling fan spun lazily overhead and a cream-colored carpet cushioned Amber’s feet.

Stephanie clicked on one of two ceramic bedside lamps. “Or do you think you’re insane to leave the fiancé?”

“He’s not going to be happy,” Amber admitted.

“Does he, like, turn all purple and yell and stuff?” Stephanie looked intrigued and rather excited by the prospect.

Amber couldn’t help but smile. “No. He gets all stuffy and logical and superior.”

Hargrove would never yell. He’d make Amber feel as though she was a fool, as though her opinions and emotions weren’t valid, as though she was behaving like a spoiled child. And maybe she was. But at least she was out of his reach for a little while.

“I hear you.” Stephanie opened the double doors of a tall, cherrywood armoire, revealing a set of shelves. “My brothers are like that.”

“Royce?” Amber found herself asking. In their admittedly short conversation Royce hadn’t seemed at all like Hargrove.

“And Jared,” said Stephanie. “They think I’m still ten years old. I’m a full partner in Ryder International, but I have to come to them for every little decision.”

“That must be frustrating.” Amber sympathized. She had some autonomy with her own credit cards and signing authority on her trust fund. She’d never really thought about independence beyond that.

Well, until now.

“There’s this stallion,” said Stephanie, selecting something in white cotton from the shelves. “Blanchard’s Run, out of Westmont Stables in London. He’s perfect for my breeding program. His dam was Ogilvie and his sire Danny Day.” She shook her head. “All I need is a million dollars.” She handed Amber what turned out to be a cotton nightgown.

“For one horse?” The price sounded pretty high.

“That’s mine,” said Stephanie, nodding to the gown. “You should help yourself to anything else in the dresser. There’s jeans, shirts, a bunch of stuff that should fit you.”

“If it’s any consolation,” said Amber, putting her hand on Stephanie’s arm, “I can’t see Hargrove ever letting me spend a million dollars, either.”

“And that’s why you should leave him.”

“I’m leaving him-” Amber paused a beat, debating saying the words out loud for the first time “-because I don’t love him.”

Stephanie’s lips formed another silent O. She nodded slowly for a long moment. “Good reason.”

Amber agreed.

But she knew her parents would never accept it. And it wasn’t because they had some old-fashioned idea about the value of arranged marriages or about love being less important than a person’s pedigree. It was because they didn’t trust Amber to recognize love one way or the other.

And that was why Amber couldn’t go home yet. Nobody would listen to her. They’d all gang up, and she’d find herself railroaded down the aisle.


As usual, it was frighteningly easy for Royce to slip back into the cowboy life. He’d stretched out on his bed for a couple of hours, then dressed in blue jeans, a cotton shirt and his favorite worn cowboy boots. Sasha had quick-fried him a steak, and produced a big stack of hotcakes with maple syrup. After drinking about a gallon of coffee, he’d hunted down the three foremen who reported directly to McQuestin.

He’d learned the vet had recommended moving the Bowler Valley herd because seasonal flies were impacting the calves. A well had broken down at the north camp and the ponds were drying up. And a lumber shipment was stuck at the railhead in Idaho because of a snafu with the letter of credit. But before he’d had a chance to wade in on any of the issues, an SOS had come over his cell phone from Barry Brewster, Ryder International’s Vice President of Finance, for a letter from China’s Ministry of Trade Development. The original had gone missing in the Chicago office, but they thought Jared might have left a copy at the ranch.