"Drop that roll of wire and back away from your truck."

Nick Daniels took a deep breath and tried to ignore the jolt of awareness that shot from the top of his head all the way to his feet. It had been thirteen long years since he'd heard that soft, feminine voice. But if he lived to be a hundred, he knew he'd recognize it anywhere, anytime. The melodic sound had haunted his dreams and left his body aching with unfathomable need too many nights for him to ever forget.

"I told you to put that down and step away from the truck."

At the sound of a shotgun being pumped, Nick slowly lowered the coil of barbed wire to the tailgate of his new truck and raised his gloved hands to show he was complying with her command. Then, turning to face the reason he'd left Wyoming one step ahead of the law, he smiled sardonically. "It's been a long time, Cheyenne."

The widening of her eyes and the slight wavering of the double-barrel shotgun she pointed at him were the only indications that she was the least bit surprised to see him after all this time. "I don't know what you think you're doing out here, Nick Daniels, but I'd advise you to get in your truck and go back to wherever you came from. Otherwise, I'll call the law."

He took a deep breath as he stared at her. Damned if she wasn't more beautiful now than she'd been at sixteen. Her long brown hair, streaked with golden highlights, complemented the healthy glow of her sun-kissed skin and her aqua-green eyes to perfection.

His gaze drifted lower. Her pink tank top caressed her torso, fascinating the hell out of him and giving him more than a fair idea about the size and shape of her breasts. He swallowed hard as his gaze drifted even lower. She'd always been a knockout in a pair of jeans, but the well- worn denim hugged her hips and thighs like a second skin and emphasized how long and shapely her legs were.

He diverted his gaze back to the gun in her hands. He'd do well to forget how good she looked after all this time and concentrate on the fact that she was ready to blow his ass to kingdom come.

"Go ahead and call the sheriff. Last time I heard, it wasn't against the law for a man to mend a fence on his own property."

"It's not your land. It belongs to the Sugar Creek Cattle Company. And you're trespassing."

He shook his head as he took a step toward her. "No, I'm not."

"I swear I'll shoot you if you don't stop right there, Nick."

"That wouldn't be very neighborly of you, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that." She released the safety on the shotgun when he moved forward.

From the sharp edge he'd heard in her voice, he knew he'd hit a nerve. He inched a little closer. "You used to like when I called you sweetheart."

She shook her head. "That's past history. Now, get in your truck and disappear like you did thirteen years ago."

"Why would I want to do that? This is my home." With the gun barrel still pointed at the middle of his chest, he wisely chose not to point out that her father had been behind his disappearing act back then, or that he was damned tired of a Holbrook trying to run him off his own land. "If you'll remember, the Sugar Creek ranch has been in my family for over a hundred and twenty-five years."

"If you'll remember, you gave up the right to this land a long time ago." Was that bitterness he detected in her voice?

"That's where you're wrong, Cheyenne." Easing forward a bit more, he was almost close enough to reach the shotgun. "I still own this place, lock, stock..." He lunged forward and, grabbing the shotgun, shoved it away with one hand at the same time he reached out to wrap his arm around her waist.

"...and barrel," he finished, pulling her to him.

"Turn me loose." She pushed at his chest as she tried to wiggle from his grasp.

"Not until we get a few things straight." The feel of her soft body squirming against his was heaven and hell rolled into one shapely little five-foot-two-inch package. He did his best to ignore it. "When you point a gun at a man, you'd better be prepared to use it, sweetheart."

"I was." She sounded breathless and if he didn't know better, he'd swear he felt a slight tremor pass through her.

Shaking his head as much in answer to her statement as in an attempt to clear his mind, he whispered close to her ear, "You and I both know you could never shoot me, Cheyenne."

"Let me have my gun back...and I'll show you." There was no doubt that she shivered against him this time.

He couldn't resist teasing the side of her neck with his lips. "Not until you calm down."

Her labored breathing quickly reminded him of the changes in her body since the last time he'd held her. At sixteen, Cheyenne Holbrook had had a figure that sent his hormones racing around like the steel bearings in a pinball machine. But that had only been a hint of the woman she would become. Her breasts were fuller now and her hips had a slight flare that promised to cradle a man and take him to paradise when he sank himself deep inside her.

When his lower body tightened, he cursed himself as the biggest fool God ever blessed with the breath of life. He wasn't an eighteen-year-old kid anymore. He was a thirty- one-year-old man and should have mastered at least a modicum of restraint.

"Turn me loose."

When she pushed against him this time, he let her go, but held on to the gun. He shook his head when she reached for it. "I'll hang on to this for a while longer."

"Suit yourself." She reached for the cell phone clipped to her belt. "It's not going to stop me from calling Sheriff Turner and having you arrested for trespassing."

"You do that."

Her finger hovered over the phone's dial pad as she glanced up at him. "You aren't worried about being arrested?"

"Why should I be? I own the Sugar Creek." He shrugged as he placed the shotgun on the tailgate of his truck, well out of her reach. "You, on the other hand, are on my land." He stopped short of adding that her father and the sheriff would have a hell of a time getting him to leave again.

"I don't think so." She impatiently brushed a silky strand of hair from her cheek as she glared at him.

"Emerald, Inc. is the corporation that bought your ranch after you and your mother left."

"The hell you say." He removed his leather work gloves, then, tucking them into the waistband of his jeans, he folded his arms across his chest. "And just how would you know that?"

She looked hesitant a moment before taking a deep breath and defiantly looking him square in the eye. "I'm the foreman of the Sugar Creek Cattle Company. Don't you think I'd know who my employer is?"

Nick couldn't believe it. Cheyenne's father, the judge, had actually allowed his precious daughter to work? And at a job where she might actually get her hands dirty? Interesting.

It appeared that Emerald Larson had omitted a couple of important details when she told him she was his grandmother and gave him back the ranch. She'd explained her reasoning behind having his mother sign documents stating that the identity of his father would remain a secret until she deemed he was ready to learn the truth. She'd even solved the mystery of who had tipped his mother off about his impending arrest the night they left Wyoming when she told him that she'd had a private investigator reporting his every move from the time he was born. But she hadn't mentioned anything about Cheyenne Holbrook being the ranch foreman. And as soon as he went back to the house, he was going to call Wichita and find out what other surprises the old gal had in store for him.

"I know this is going to come as a shock to you, but I really am the owner of this spread," Nick said.

Cheyenne paled, then stubbornly shook her head. "I don't believe you. When Luther Freemont from the corporate office called me just last week to discuss my quarterly report, he didn't mention anything about Emerald, Inc. selling the Sugar Creek."

Nick wasn't surprised to hear the name of Emerald's personal assistant. She trusted the man implicitly and relied on him to be the liaison between her and most of the managers of the companies she owned.

"I'll tell you what, Cheyenne." He picked up the shotgun and emptied the shells from its chamber before handing it to her. Then, pocketing the ammunition, he pointed to the truck she'd parked several yards away. "Why don't you go back to your father's ranch and give old Luther a call?"

"Don't think I won't," she said, raising her stubborn little chin a notch.

"After you hear what he has to say, we'll go from there." Nick pulled his work gloves from the waist-band of his jeans and prepared to finish mending the section of fence he'd thought looked weak before he went back home to call Emerald. "Be over at my house tomorrow morning at nine."

"Why?"

She didn't look at all happy about having to see him again. And he knew as surely as he knew his own name that she didn't for a minute believe he was telling the truth about owning the Sugar Creek.

"We'll have to discuss the terms of your contract." He grinned. "And the last I heard, it's pretty common for a rancher and his foreman to work together running a ranch."