Chapter 2

      Although no one showed up to confront her as she stood on the porch, Skylar knew she was no longer alone, and that she wasn’t dreaming this time. Not a chance in hell.

      Her father’s gun felt heavy and cold in her hands. It was loaded, and she knew how to fire, just as all the Donovan girls did. Their father had been diligent about his daughters’ self-defense.

      That didn’t stop the shaking, though. She had to hold the gun with both hands as she faced the unknown. Someone was out there. This was real. And at this time of night, that felt like bad news.

      Of course, it could be a lost hiker. Maybe it was her father’s crusty caretaker coming by to check on the property, or out for a late-night stroll. But the persistent flush of internal heat told her that those possibilities were false and that someone else was here.

      Instead of retreating inside and locking the door behind her, Skylar stood her ground, scanning the night beyond the meager pool of porch light where evidence of a visitor lay in the sudden silence of insects.

      Biting her lip hard enough to taste blood, she ventured a call. “Where are you? Who are you?”

      The silence was unnerving. She worked at drawing a breath.

      “Not going to show yourself? I’m here, waiting.” She pointed the revolver at the trees on the hillside, upped her volume. “And I’m not happy about it.”

      The taunt produced no results, but she couldn’t give up. Someone was there, somewhere. What if it wasn’t some innocent hiker? Suppose her father’s killer had returned?

      She had to consider that possibility. She refused to believe that her diligent, first-rate climber dad might have fallen to his death. The conclusion she’d come to, independent of her sisters’ opinions, was that if David Donovan had fallen, someone must have pushed him.

      “So who are you? Have you come for me?” she said to the quiet night, getting nothing back. No response at all.

      “No time for hide and seek,” she called out in a last-ditch effort to make contact as she backed up slowly, crossing the threshold in a shuffle of bare feet.

      A change in the air made her pause. Moving the gun, she refocused her aim on a point just south of the path up the hillside.

      “Best to stay inside,” a man’s voice advised from somewhere near the closest trees. “And lock the door. It might also be a good idea to leave here tomorrow.”

      Skylar’s heart skidded over one too many beats, leaving her breathless. “Who are you?” she called out.

      “Ranger, patrolling the area. There’s been some trouble around here.”

      She waved the gun. “I know that, and I know how to use this.”

      “Better to move on before you have to use it,” he said. “A woman alone is far too tempting as a target.”

      “How do you know I’m alone?”

      “It’s my business to know who’s in the area.”

      “You’ve been watching the cabin?”

      “As much as I can, but right now I’m needed elsewhere.”

      “Where’s your car, or whatever rangers use to get around in?”

      “Over the hill behind me.”

      “You run around on foot in the dark?”

      “There aren’t too many paths worthy of a vehicle around here, beyond the main road.”

      “I don’t need you to stand guard,” Skylar said. “Thanks, but you can get on with your business.”

      “Fine. Just offering a friendly warning. Can’t be too careful this far out of town.”

      Skylar waved the gun again. “I’m well aware of that.”

      “Well, good night, then,” the invisible ranger, if that’s what he really was, said.

      “Good night,” Skylar echoed.

      The night air changed again, rearranging itself as though something heavy had been removed and the darkness filled in the vacuum left behind. The result was a powerful charge that left Skylar swaying on her feet.

      This could have been her imagination, she supposed as she shrugged off a new round of chills. But one thing was clear. She had no doubt whatsoever that this ranger’s voice was the voice from her dreams.

      The same damn one.

      She’d bet her life on that.

      * * *

      “You’re too far out there,” Trish said over the phone the next day in the authoritative tone reserved for bossy older sisters.

      “It’s temporary, so I don’t mind.” Skylar rubbed her bloodshot eyes. Ten minutes of sleep while sitting by the window all night, gun in hand, wasn’t nearly enough for a clear head.

      “I need to get this cabin boxed,” she added, like she did every time she spoke with Trish, which was every day. Sometimes twice.

      “I’ll come and help,” Trish said.

      “No, you won’t.”

      “Then Lark can visit. She can ask for time off.”

      “I’d rather choke.”

      Trish’s voice deepened. “Do you know any of the neighbors?”

      Like most lawyers, Trish didn’t like being crossed or argued with for any reason. As the oldest Donovan sister, Trish would lay out her argument logically and plan on wearing her down with repetition.

      Skylar didn’t want to go home and didn’t want company while she explored the circumstances surrounding her father’s death. Unless hell froze over, she wasn’t going to share that objective with her sisters and get them all riled up.

      Besides, the good Lord only knew what would happen if she were to utter the word werewolf, or mention being harassed by someone who hadn’t really shown themselves last night. If Trish knew any of that, half of Colorado would be on their way over before the phone disconnected.

      Which might not have been such a bad idea, actually, if Skylar’s stubborn streak would have allowed it.

      “The caretaker for this place lives a couple of miles down the road, Trish. I have his phone number right here.”

      Trish snorted her disapproval. “Miles? Like that’s comforting?”

      “I have a gun.”

      Skylar’s announcement preceded a beat of silence over the line.

      “You what?” Trish eventually said.

      “It was Dad’s. I took it from the trunk.”

      “What trunk would that be?” Trish asked. Demanded, really, in her best cross-examination style.

      “The one I found in the attic here. It’s loaded and I know how to use it. We all do.”

      Trish sighed unhappily. Trisha Lilith Donovan saw far too many weapons in her job as a prosecuting attorney to be comfortable with any of them. And Trish, as the eldest sibling and the only Donovan kid not named after a bird, felt responsible for the rest of the motherless girls.

      “I suppose being engaged to the cop for twelve months also had its perks in the weapons department?” Trish suggested.

      Skylar lowered the phone to take a deep breath so that Trish wouldn’t hear it. Trish had said “the cop,” avoiding the use of Danny’s name.

      Skylar raised the receiver when she