The cattle were another story. They roamed the hillsides freely and were rangy and lean—not exactly prime beef. But they would do for what he had in mind.

His plan was to start renovations on the main house as soon as the building permits were approved by the county, work through the winter, then start advertising in January. In order to be in full operation this coming spring, he’d have to hire at least basic help—a cook and housekeeper, along with a few ranch hands and a part-time guide or two. Hopefully he’d have his first group of clients in by mid-May. He figured he’d run the first two years in the red but after that, he hoped to turn a profit.

He had to. All his hopes and dreams were tied up in this old place, he thought with a humorless smile.

Years ago, he’d had other visions for his life. He’d thought he’d settle down and raise a family, save enough to buy his own place and live out the American Dream. But things hadn’t worked out the way he’d thought they would. His stomach clenched when he thought of his marriage. Hell, what a mess. Seven years of bad luck. Then the divorce. As bad as the marriage had been, the divorce had been even worse.

Well, it was over. A long time ago. Since then, he’d worked his butt off to save enough money to buy a place of his own and this, it seemed, was it. So he’d better make good.

He locked up, then climbed into his old truck. With a flick of his wrist, he turned the key. Tomorrow he’d start by cleaning out each of the buildings and checking on the permits again—just as soon as he’d done a little digging into the past. He figured it wouldn’t take long to discover the truth. If Dave Sorenson had fathered a kid eleven years ago, someone around a town as small as Bittersweet would know. It was just a matter of time before he found out.

* * *

“Don’t do this to me!” Katie cried.

She tromped on the accelerator of the convertible, pushing the pedal to the floor, but the car continued to slow. The engine had died and she had no choice but to roll onto the shoulder of the road.

“Perfect,” she grumbled sarcastically. She was nearly three miles outside of town, the sun was about to set and she was wearing sandals that would cut her feet to ribbons before she could catch sight of the town limits of Bittersweet. “Just damned perfect.”

The car eased to a stop, tires crunching on the gravel.

Valiantly she twisted the ignition again.

Nothing.