CHAPTER 186

Chassie West Glanzer squinted at the lone figure ambling up the snow-covered driveway.

Visitors were few and far between at the remote West homestead, especially on foot in the frigid month of February. The mildly warm day and clear skies could change in a helluva hurry on the high plains of Wyoming and she shivered at an odd sense of foreboding.

Each steady clip brought the man closer, but she couldn’t see his face. A long sheepskin coat brushed the thighs of faded Wranglers, drawing attention to the championship belt buckle centered between trim hips. Leather gloves covered fingers curled around the strap of a camouflage duffel bag. This man wasn’t one of those young, green city boys looking for “real” ranch work and a wild Western adventure. This guy was one hundred percent cowboy, from the tips of his scuffed Tony Lamas to the brim of his dusty black Resistol.

Chassie probably looked like a rube, or worse that unkempt woman from American Gothic, standing in front of their old wood