“See you all tonight,” Cord said as he folded the napkin and tucked it in his pocket, then walked toward his truck. “Everybody still okay to come over for dinner? Say, at seven?”

The other two nodded. “Sure,” J.P. agreed. “Should we include Zel—Carly?”

“Probably not, but let’s see how it goes.” And they all headed off, with Trooper taking the lead.

WHEN CORD RETURNED to the ranch and parked—pleased that it was only 8:45—he saw a car. A sedan. Had to be a rental. And it had to be S. Fletcher’s.

Yep. There was a woman crouched beside the car, playing with the dogs. Maybe S stood for Susan? Sherry? Sandra? Well, he’d find out soon enough. He couldn’t see her clearly, just that she had long chestnut hair.

He got out of the truck, started to walk toward her…and almost stumbled. Another familiar-looking woman—the very day after meeting Reba’s daughter. Now he knew for sure that S stood for Shallie.

Both dogs came racing up to him; he stooped to pet them, then rose to confront the woman. “Ms. Fletcher?” He probably sounded incredulous. Or confused.

“Yes, Mr. Hollister. Cord.”

“Are you…”

“Shallie. Yes.”

He took a few steps backward and leaned against the nearest fence. The paddock. Yep, here was another shock from the past. Did life have to be so complicated? “Wow,” he finally said, staring at her. “Shallie. From the Painted Pony Motel.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“And then you disappeared. But here you are again.”

She nodded. She was well dressed in formfitting black pants and a long green-and-blue-plaid shirt. She obviously had confidence, something she’d never possessed as a teenager. And money, which she’d never possessed, either. He was astonished, absolutely astonished, by the change in her situation.

“Let me take you to your suite and then we can have coffee, a chance to catch up.” As if he needed more coffee—or maybe with some Jack Daniel’s thrown in.

“Thank you.” He carried her bags inside and showed her to the client suite, which was up a flight of stairs across from the stairs that led to his bedroom. The suite was another Jenna renovation—she’d had a guest room built in what used to be his grandfather’s office and work space. Not that they’d needed a guest room at the time. But he had to admit that with his business flourishing, it came in handy.

AS SHE UNPACKED, Shallie studied the room. There was a simple but comfortable-looking bed, a rustic bedside table and matching desk with an old-fashioned lamp, a padded chair. A small but adequate bathroom. The suite was part of the deal, part of what she’d paid for, and it was certainly good enough. It also meant she didn’t have to worry about getting here from the new place in town or, God forbid, the Painted Pony Motel.