Snowbound With The Cowboy. Roxanne Rustand

       Chapter One

      “Got it. A two-year-old gelding, lacerations to the pastern and fetlock.” Sara Branson stared down at the clipboard braced against the steering wheel of her vet truck and tried to rein in her roiling emotions. “But tell me again. This is where?”

      “It’s part of the Langford Ranch—but go three miles past the main gate, then turn west.” The male voice seemed vaguely familiar. “This section of the ranch used to be the old Branson place. The house and barns are—”

      “Two miles from the highway, at the end of a long, curving lane.” Where a backdrop of pine-blanketed foothills climbed up to the base of the Montana Rockies, and the sun dropped behind those rugged, snow-covered peaks every night.

      She knew the property very well.

      But to her, it wasn’t part of the Langford Ranch and never would be. It had been her aunt and uncle’s ranch until eight years ago, when the bank abruptly foreclosed and Gus Langford snapped it up under shady circumstances.

      “Uh…right.” The male voice hesitated. “So you’ve been out here before and know where to go?”

      That was the understatement of the year, and the whole sad situation still made her heart ache. “I’m just leaving a ranch north of Pine Bend. I’ll be there in—” she consulted the GPS on the dashboard of her truck “—roughly thirty-five minutes. Are you the foreman?”

      “In a matter of speaking.” His short laugh wasn’t very convincing. “Temporarily, anyhow.”

      He ended the call before she could ask his name.

      By the time she arrived and pulled to a stop in front of the horse barn, she’d lectured herself back into the calm, professional persona of the good veterinarian she was.

      This was simply another vet call. No personal issues. No anger over the past. Nothing could change what had happened, after all. And the man who’d called her was just some employee who’d had nothing to do with Gus Langford’s actions, so he certainly didn’t deserve any snarky comments from her.

      But she still wished she could give the late Gus Langford a piece of her mind.

      She surveyed the two-story log house at the far side of the parking area in front of the barns, where she’d stayed for long stretches during the school year, whenever her parents had temporarily split up over one ruckus or another, plus every summer until she graduated from high school. Aunt Millie and Uncle Warren had been like a second set of parents in a stable, warm and loving home.

      But even from here she could see the wraparound porch was sagging and the roof needed repair, and as she pivoted to look at the barns, they seemed to be in even worse shape.

      Langford, rest his soul, had been one of the richest ranchers in the county. If he’d been so determined to steal this place from her aunt and uncle, why hadn’t he bothered with maintenance afterward?

      He’d probably cared only about gaining the additional