But maybe they would get the impressions, compare the footprints, and learn the two incidents were not related.

A guy could hope.

At least he would be following Terra back to the ranch. That would give him peace of mind, even if it was short-lived.

A half an hour later, he pulled up to Stone Wolf Ranch, right behind Terra, and followed her into the house. Jack was relieved that Terra’s grandfather wasn’t at home at the moment. The last time he’d seen the man, he appeared ready to give Jack a piece of his mind. The man hadn’t gotten over the way Jack had left. He got that. Terra’s family and friends were protective of her, and Jack had broken her heart.

He’d broken both their hearts. He’d also thrown every harsh word he could ever think of at himself, but it didn’t change that he’d hurt Terra.

As for her—she appeared to have gotten over their breakup, if you could call it that. Either that, or she was the ultimate professional and had pushed those events out of the equation.

Still, if the right moment ever came, he should apologize for his behavior. Like Aunt Nadine had suggested when she’d asked if he had made things right.

Terra shrugged out of her light-tan jacket and hung it on a chair. “Owen’s around here somewhere. Working with the horses probably, even this late. He loves them so much. He’s a horse whisperer, I’m telling ya.”

He did the same, suddenly feeling out of place and questioning his wisdom in joining her at the house. If her grandfather or Owen showed up, the awkwardness would only increase.

Or he could choose to act professional—the county detective—and compartmentalize this investigation, separating it from his shared past with Terra.

Could they forge something new between them? He shoved the errant thought away as he took in the large modernized country kitchen—granite counters and elaborate stained cabinets. Stainless steel appliances.

Terra squeezed his shoulder as she brushed past him to open the fridge. She pulled out a pie. “Surprise! They left us a pie.”

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh yeah, what kind?”

She glanced up at him as she cut a slice. “Apple. I’ll warm it in the microwave. Do you want it à la mode? I have whipped cream or ice cream.”

“No, thanks. Plain old apple pie is fine.”

At the look she shot him, he raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying your pie is plain. The opposite, in fact. I want to taste it without any fillers. My mouth is watering already.”

She smiled and popped a plated slice in the microwave. “That’s better.”