posse on horseback seem positively archaic.
She knew Dylan would be impressed by the technology. The problem was Burke. If he tried to order her brother around, there’d be hell to pay.
Her first impression of Burke as a brusque, authoritative jerk had changed. He’d shown patience when he’d explained how to handle the ransom call. He’d told her not to confront but to stand firm. And to keep the caller talking. There were two reasons for that strategy. First, so they could get a clear trace. Second, the more the kidnapper talked, the more information they could gather. Little sounds in the background were clues to the kidnapper’s whereabouts.
Burke and his men had practiced with her so she’d know what to say. They’d told her to use her feminine wiles to stall—a useless bit of advice. If she’d ever had wiles, they were buried under years of dealing with ranch hands and businessmen who didn’t respect a woman who cried or pouted or giggled.
According to the FBI experts, her number one goal when talking to the kidnappers was to get proof of life.
She shuddered when she thought of the alternative. Nicole could already be dead. Her fingers tightened on the porch banister, anchoring her to something solid and tangible.
Burke came onto the porch and stood beside her. The sheer size of the man was impressive. He stood well over six feet tall with long legs and wide shoulders. She couldn’t really guess at his age, but assumed that a senior FBI agent would be in his late thirties. A little older than she was.
“Are you chilly?” he asked.
“Not a bit.” She stuck her hands into the fur-lined pockets of the hip-length shearling jacket that protected her from the December cold.
“It’s beautiful out here,” he said. “Peaceful.”
“When I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to get off the ranch. After I left, I kept wanting to come back.”
“But you live in Denver now. Tell me about your job.” He paused for a moment. “Please.”
“You’ve asked so nicely, I can’t refuse.”
She glanced up, catching a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. Though he was willing to play along with her insistence for respect, he made it clear that the decision was his choice. He was still in charge.
His attitude was familiar. All her life she’d been dealing with taciturn, stubborn men. Cowboys weren’t known for wearing their hearts on their sleeves unless you put a guitar in their hands. A mournful tune could bring sentimental tears to the eyes of the most calloused ranch hand.
She strolled to the end of the veranda, climbed onto the porch swing and tucked her legs under her.
“My job,” she said. “I’m the CEO at Carlisle Certified Organic Beef. I handle oversight of the product, sales and distribution for this ranch and more than sixty others through-out the west. Anybody who contracts with us agrees to follow sustainable ranching procedures that my father pioneered in the 1980s. All Carlisle Certified cattle are grass fed. We don’t use antibiotics or growth hormones.”
“With the craze for organic food, you must be doing well.”
“The business keeps me hopping, and we’re also doing something good for the planet. Our system of shifting cattle from field to field prevents overgrazing. I like to think that we have a contented herd.”
“But they still get slaughtered.”
She leaned forward, setting the swing into motion. The chain that attached to hooks in the porch ceiling creaked. “I hate to think about that part. For a long time I was a vegetarian.”
“On a ranch?”
“Don’t even think about giving me a hard time. I’ve heard it all.” She swung a little harder. “Currently, we have plans to build a state-of-the-art, humane slaughterhouse a couple of miles from here.”
“I can’t get a handle on you.” He regarded her with curiosity. “Are you a hard-driving businesswoman? Or a tree-hugging environmentalist?”
“A little bit of both. I try to avoid politics.”
He sauntered toward her and sank into a sturdy, carved rocking chair beside the swing. “I’d find that statement easier to believe if the FBI hadn’t been alerted to Nicole’s kidnapping by the governor’s office.”
She hadn’t wanted to waste time going through regular law enforcement channels. “The governor is a friend. I called in a favor.”
“But you’re not political.”
She didn’t need to justify her position to him. What an irritating man! “Why do you want to know about my job?”
“Motivation,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out who has a grudge against you or your brother. For the past couple of weeks, somebody has been causing a lot of trouble at the ranch.”
“Trouble?” Dylan hadn’t mentioned anything until today when he told her about the stable fire. “Please explain.”
“I read the police reports your brother filed. Uprooted fence posts. Damage to the irrigation system in the hay field. A couple of pieces of stolen equipment.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and peered at her through the dim light. “You didn’t know.”
“These incidents sound like minor mischief. Dylan probably didn’t want to worry me.” Still, he should have kept her informed. It seemed like he didn’t trust her anymore. What was wrong with him? He’d never been secretive. Before today, she’d never heard him fight with Nicole.
“It was more than mischief,” Burke said. “Sounds like deliberate sabotage at the ranch. Have there been any threats on the corporate side?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Of course, we have competitors. And disgruntled former employees. But that kind of hostility usually shows up in the form of a lawsuit.”
She heard the sounds of horsemen approaching and saw the posse riding toward the barn. Slowly, she uncurled her legs and stood, watching. Dylan handed his reins to one of the other ranch hands and strode toward them. With his head down and his face shadowed by the brim of his Stetson, she couldn’t see his expression. But she knew he was troubled. His gait was stiff-legged, not surprising for someone who’d been on horseback for several hours.
He had to be devastated about the kidnapping. No matter how much she wanted to ask him why he hadn’t told her about the sabotage, now wasn’t the right time.
Dylan stepped onto the veranda. He pulled off his leather gloves and his hat, dropping them on a rocking chair. His matted black hair stuck to the sides of his head. His complexion was red and raw from exposure to the cold night air.
“Dylan, I want you to meet Special Agent J. D. Burke.”
The two men faced off as they shook hands. Burke was taller and broader, but Dylan was clearly the aggressor.
“You find my wife,” he said. “I want a search helicopter. First thing in the morning. And bloodhounds. Hell, I want you to call out the National Guard. And I—”
“Dylan,” Carolyn interrupted. “What did you find when you were tracking?”
“They went across the back ridge to a paved road. We lost their track. We’ve been going door-to-door at the nearby ranches. Nobody’s seen anything. Not a damn thing.”
One of Burke’s men pushed open the door. “Carolyn, it’s the phone.”
“The kidnappers,” Dylan said. “I’ll take that call.”
“No,” she said. “You won’t. I’ve been practicing. I know what to say.”
When he started toward the door, Burke stepped in front of him. “Let Carolyn handle this.”
“Like hell I will.”
She