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sparks of passion that might ignite into a wildfire?
    â€œYou don’t need to give me anything, Fiona.”
    â€œIt’s a bequest. Something Wyatt wanted you to have.”
    She turned on her heel and went back to the kitchen. Reaching up, she removed the polished oak box from the top of the refrigerator. It didn’t seem right to just plop thebox into his hands. This occasion required some kind of ceremony. “Are you well enough to walk?”
    â€œNot for a twenty-mile trek,” he said. “But I’m mobile.”
    â€œI’d like to take you to the place where I scattered Wyatt’s ashes. That way I’ll feel like he’s with us.”
    Jesse nodded. “Lead on.”
    She took him out the front door and followed a single-file path that led through the white trunks of aspens surrounding the south side of the house. Over her shoulder, she said, “This property has been in Wyatt’s family for generations. His great-grandfather built the cabin.”
    â€œBut they weren’t ranchers.”
    â€œDefinitely not. The Grants were always professionals. Lawyers and doctors. They used the cabin as a hunting lodge, a vacation place where they could get away and relax.”
    Wyatt had loved coming up here. Every time they made this trip from Denver, he told her it felt as if he’d shoved his daily hassles and responsibilities in a bottom drawer and locked it tight. At the cabin, he was free.
    When he died, she knew this was where he would want to be laid to rest—eternally a part of the mountain landscape that fed his soul.
    She turned to watch Jesse making his way along the path. There was a slight hitch in his stride, not even a full-fledged limp. His strength was returning, but she didn’t want to push him too far.
    At the edge of the aspen grove, she stood on a rise overlooking a knee-high fence that surrounded a small plot of land. Four weathered wooden crosses marked the graves of past generations. The hand-carved cross she’d made for Wyatt still looked new. “In the summer,” she said, “I plant flowers here. It’s a nice view, don’t you think?”
    â€œBeautiful.”
    â€œWyatt never forgot what you did for him, Jesse. In his will, he specifically requested that this gun be given to you.”
    She opened the case. Afternoon sunlight glistened on the silver barrel of the pearl-handled, antique Colt .45.
    Jesse lifted the gun from the case, balancing it easily in his right hand. “I’ll treasure this gift as much as I appreciate the memory of the good man who wanted me to have it.”
    A gust of wind kicked up, and she imagined Wyatt’s spirit watching over them, approving of this moment between her and Jesse Longbridge.
    He made his way closer to the small graveyard, circling a boulder that stood in the path. Abruptly, he came to a halt. His body tensed.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asked.
    He returned to her and placed the gun back in the case. “Go back to the house, Fiona. Get Burke and tell him to meet me here.”
    Though she trusted Jesse’s judgment, she wouldn’t allow herself to be brushed aside like a child. “You saw something.”
    â€œLet me save you from this nightmare.” He positioned his body to block her view and held her arm, keeping her from going any farther on the path.
    â€œI need to know.”
    â€œThere is a dead man on the other side of this boulder. He’s been murdered, and the coyotes have gotten to him.”
    She froze. Her blood ran cold. A dead, mutilated body. Here. Only a few steps away from her front door.

Chapter Five
    Jesse clearly remembered the interior of the Carlisle ranch house from when he’d been here before. Generous-size rooms. Rustic but not old-fashioned. He sank into a chair on the far side of the dining-room table, mindful of the need to protect his injured shoulder from being accidentally bumped. Under the dressings that