At The Rancher's Bidding. Charlotte Maclay

matter what Cord had said.

      Chapter Four

      Cord woke with a start.

      The sun wasn’t up yet. Only predawn light slipped past the lace curtains on the windows. The air was cool, with a trace of rain that had fallen during the night.

      After nearly thirty-five years of living on the Flying Ace, Cord knew every sound made on the ranch. The creak of the house as it settled. Movement in the kitchen that meant someone was up fixing coffee or a snack. The soft patter of rain on the flower beds outside or the silence that came with a rare snowfall. Even the dreaded roar of an approaching tornado.

      As a kid he used to lie in his bed down the hallway, listening to his parents fight here in the master bedroom. He’d put his head under the pillow, pretending everything was okay. It wasn’t. He’d known that because the next morning his mother’s eyes were always red from crying.

      Right now he didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but he knew something was wrong—knew it from the way the hair stood up at the back of his neck.

      He got up and pulled on some clothes, not bothering to tuck in his shirt.

      Down the hall, Brianna’s door was still shut. No sound came from the office or any other room on this side of the house.

      The living room looked a little dusty and unused. The kitchen was as they had left it last night, the faint hint of leftover chicken in the air. Just off the kitchen, the door to the housekeeper’s room where Leila slept was closed tight. Still, something didn’t feel right.