Page 53 of Wyoming Heart

She was still astonished at how quickly her novel,SPECTRE, was rising on the bestseller lists. Her agent had called the day before to tell her with unbridled excitement thatSPECTREwas climbing theNew York Timeshardcover bestseller list and had already landed in the top ten on thePublishers Weeklylist—one much harder to hit. It was a contemporary romance, but with so much drama that even men read it. The plot followed a group of commandos who were trying to liberate the wife of a well-known billionaire from a minor bunch of terrorists looking for a quick way to finance their objectives.

Few people who saw Mina in her garden would ever connect the shy Wyoming cowgirl with the sweeping, violent and passionate drama of her novel. Not that she used her own name. She wrote under the pseudonym Willow Shane, and only a handful of people knew.

Bart was one. Mrs. Simpson was another. There were people in Catelow who had known Mina all her life who had no idea what she really did for a living. She liked it that way. If fame came—and it seemed likely that it would, now—she didn’t want her precious privacy invaded. The pen name, hopefully, would assure that.

She thought about Bart’s cousin and laughed inwardly as she considered how he was going to feel when he found out what she did for a living. Eventually, she was sure, Bart would tell him. Right now, Bart was enjoying himself as he kept the secret. And so was Mina. That arrogant cowboy could use a little shock in his life, she thought, considering how disparaging he’d been about her knitting and her romance novels.

Well, technically they were romance novels. But they were filled with action and suspense, andSPECTREhad been marketed as a suspense novel, not a category one. It had made Mina so proud when she knew that. It still gave her a massive thrill to go to signings at bookstores and see her novels on the shelves. It never got old.

She finished planting the flower seeds and moved to another manicured plot to start planting herbs.

She loved to cook. She loved to have fresh herbs in what she cooked. So it was much better to grow her own than to buy them at the store and have no idea how fresh they actually were.

“Ma’am, I can do that for you, if you’d like,” Fender said from behind her.

She half turned, her blue-jeaned knees in the grass that surrounded the fresh dirt. She laughed. “Thanks, but I love planting things.”

“You aren’t even wearing gloves,” he chided.

“Oh, I like feeling the earth between my fingers,” she said with a warm smile. “It gives me a sort of connection to the things I plant. I like to think it makes them grow better,” she added on a laugh.

“Okay. I just came to ask you about those cattle you’re planning to sell at the production sale,” he replied. “Do we need to launder them and pretty them up for it?”

She burst out laughing, visions of calves dressed in frilly skirts filling her head. “Well, we could launder them, I guess,” she said when she stopped laughing. “But no frilly dresses or short pants. Okay?”

He chuckled. “Okay.”

“It’s just as well that we’re doing it soon,” she added. “I’m going to be tied up in New York for a few days next month.”

“New York?” he added.

She nodded. “Yes. I have a business meeting there. Mr. McGuire is going to fly me up in his plane.”

“Not my business, but is it something about the ranch?” he asked. “I mean, you aren’t going to sell it or anything...?”

She smiled. “Of course not! It’s my legacy. No, it’s other business altogether. You won’t lose your job anytime soon. I promise.”

He let out a breath. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Meanwhile, how about getting the part-timers on mucking out the stable? I know, they’d rather be shot. But somebody has to do it, and I don’t have time.”

“Not a problem, ma’am,” he said, and tipped his hat. “I’ll do it right now.”

“Thanks,” she said. She frowned. “Where’s your fuzzy shadow?” she asked.

“Sagebrush is helping move one lot of steers into new pasture. He’s handy as a cattle dog.” He shook his head. “He loves to herd me, but I never realized how good he’d be with animals until I watched him work. Maybe he’s part sheepdog,” he chuckled.

“More like part border collie,” she teased.

“Could be. I’ll get back to work.”

She just nodded and went back to her chore.

CHAPTER NINE

CORTHADBEENmooning around the ranch for days. Bart couldn’t figure out what was the matter with him. He wasn’t eating the way he had when he first arrived, and he was restless. He went out with Ida a time or two, but he wasn’t gone long even then.

“Is there something wrong?” Bart asked finally, and his concern showed.

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