Then she remembered his houseguest. Well, the awful man had gone home with the happy divorcée the night before. He might have stayed for lunch. Odd, how it stung to think of him with the glitzy woman. He was jaded and sarcastic and unpleasant, so why should she care if he slept around?

She turned Sand in the general direction of Bart’s house. On the way, she came across a lone calf, lying in the snow.

She climbed down and left Sand’s reins trailing while she went to check the little creature for injuries. There were wolves in the territory who sometimes preyed on lone calves. The result could be horrible, because sometimes the calves were left alive after such an attack.

As she bent down, she heard hooves hitting ground and other hooves, galloping. She ignored both as her practiced, gloved hands slid over the little creature, looking for injuries. It stirred and looked up at her just as a charging cow with horns was diverted by a man on horseback.

“Get the hell away from it!” he shouted.

Shocked at his tone and his skill with the cutting horse, she backed away, toward Sand. The calf got to its feet and ran, bleating, to the cow, obviously its mother. She gave the humans a huffy snort and trotted off, after a feint that the horseman parried neatly.

She was still getting her breath when the horseman abruptly dismounted and stalked toward her.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he raged, raising his voice angrily. “The cow was charging, you damned fool!”

She shivered and backed away from him, keeping her white face lowered. The man was Bart’s horrible houseguest, his cousin from Texas.

She backed even more. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she wasn’t seeing Cort Grier. She was seeing Henry, hearing Henry, waiting for his fist to connect with her, for the belt to come down. She was feeling the pain already, because shouting always brought back the horrible memories of her childhood, of the men her mother brought home…

Cort stopped short when he realized how frightened she was. He scowled. He’d never seen a woman react like that. He wondered who she was. With her head lowered to her chest, her arms crossed over her face, he hadn’t recognized her. Who was she and what was she doing on his cousin’s ranch?

“It’s all right,” he said, his voice dropping to a softness she’d never heard in it. He moved toward her slowly. “I’ve never hit a woman in my life,” he added gently.

She took a deep breath, then another. Her arms came down. She bit her lower lip, still nervous of him and unable to hide it.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him from under the brim of her hat, her face still pale, her big brown eyes wide with leftover fear.

He frowned as he suddenly recognized her. This was Bart’s friend, the woman from town who’d stomped on his foot, the woman dressed in a sale rack dress from the party last night. She was wearing boots and riding a horse, the beautiful palomino that was obviously hers.