The High Country Rancher Read Free Page A

he’d carried in, and smelled the vapors. Earl Grey, her favorite. Its rich aroma of bergamot wafted up her nose and calmed her nerves. She clutched the mug in both hands, letting the blessed warmth infuse her fingers.
    She was lucky to be alive. She owed Baylor McCullough her life. Could she cut him some slack?
    The question burned a path in her brain between her professional obligation as an officer of the law, and her happiness at being alive instead of a human popsicle.
    She sipped the tea, letting it heat her throat, until she was warm and relaxed and barely able to keep her eyelids open. Setting the empty mug on the nightstand, she snuggled into the covers, listening to the wind batter the sturdy ranch house, much like her gratitude toward Baylor McCullough battered her resolve about his guilt.
    Amy McCullough had been her friend years ago, but she’d lost touch with her after high school. How had she and Baylor met? What had their relationship been like?
    She closed her eyes, letting the questions compile in her brain. She’d read every last word of the accident report, every interview…so why had James Endicott been so determined to prosecute Baylor in a case that read like a tragic accident out of a horror flick?

Chapter Two
    Wham…wham…wham.
    Mariah bolted awake and sat up, trying to place the loud banging coming from somewhere in the unfamiliar house.
    A fire still blazed in the fireplace. Fresh wood had recently been added, judging by the still uncharred ends of the logs.
    “Hello,” she called out. No response.
    Where was Baylor?
    A measure of caution edged down her spine. She threw back the covers and crept out of bed.
    “Hello,” she called as she crossed to the doorway and stared out into the living room.
    The fire in the living-room hearth was little more than a heap of glowing embers now, but Baylor’s woodsy scent hung in the air, surrounding her, and she sensed he hadn’t been gone long.
    Wham!
    Mariah jumped.
    A cut of icy wind sliced into her, raising goose bumps on her body. The noise was coming from somewhere in the area of the kitchen.
    Easing forward, she searched the darkness, heading toward the sound.
    Wham!
    Through the mudroom adjacent to the kitchen, she spotted the source of the racket and stalked toward it.
    The back door stood wide-open before another gust of wind caught it and slammed it against the jamb.
    A shudder coursed through her as she stepped out onto the porch and grabbed the knob. She paused in place, staring out into the darkness.
    The storm had passed while she’d slept. A full moon gleamed against the platinum snow and bathed the landscape in brilliant white light. Somewhere in the surrounding woods a series of howls built to a mournful crescendo and echoed against the mountains. She half expected to see a wolf silhouette itself against the moon, and the stark beauty of the place, along with its mystery, appealed to her artist’s eye.
    But where was Baylor McCullough?
    Stepping back, she pulled the door shut, but it wouldn’t latch. She jiggled the knob back and forth. The bolt released. She pulled it shut again, and heard the cylinder pop into the kick plate.
    Taking one last glance through the small panel of windows in the door, she saw a trail of movement.In the timberline a hundred yards from the house, someone waded through the snow, before vanishing out of sight in the dense line of trees.
    Was it McCullough? What was he doing out there? She turned the dead bolt and heard it lock in place.
    “Detective?”
    She jerked around, instinct taking over. Every muscle in her body coiled for maximum self-preservation. She lashed out at the man standing too close to her, catching him in the jaw with an upper-cut from her elbow before she realized she’d just hit Baylor in the face.
    “Oh, shoot, I’m sorry. I thought you were outside.” She glanced back to the spot where she’d seen someone only an instant ago.
    “I’ve been in the barn, checking on the