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deprived of and felt comfortable with his decision to work for Talbot. If he couldn’t have the ranch, then neither should Chloe, who was unrelated to Ted Ralston by blood.
    Desperado’s attempts to befriend the cowboys were met with suspicion and outright hostility. Time and again he was rebuffed by the resentful hands when he offered to lend a hand with the branding or join in the preparations for the trail drive. After a while he stopped offering and spent long hours riding out alone, pretending to search the property for trespassers. After all, wasn’t that what Chloe Sommers was paying him for?
    So far neither of the Talbots had caused any mischief, and Desperado wondered when and where they would strike. If nothing happened in the next day or two, he was going to have to ride into town and find out what in the hell was going on. If they had something devious in mind, he wanted to know about it.
    Desperado rather enjoyed riding the perimeters of the Ralston spread. Even if the land belonged to another, he took possessive pride in the acres of rolling hills, flat plains and abundant grass that supported a sizable herd of prime longhorn cattle. If the land were his, he knew he could make it prosper, just as his father had done. He could spit nails whenever he thought about how his stepmother had neglected the land and spent his father’s life savings. But when his thoughts turned to Chloe, the hatred he felt for Norie dissipated somewhat, turning to something of a more intimate nature.
    Chloe, with her taut bottom, firm breasts and long legs, made him ache every time he saw her strutting around the ranch. Despite the painful memories her name evoked, Desperado found himself yearning to thrust himself inside her and hear her call out his name while he stroked her to shuddering completion. He recalled that she was only four or so years younger than he, and he seriously doubted that the gun-toting miss was still a virgin.
    He wondered where Chloe was now. He’d seen her ride out this morning, and Cory had told him she’d gone to look for strays the hands might have missed. She could be anywhere. He didn’t know why he should worry about her; she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. On that thought Desperado decided to return to the ranch house. His stomach was growling, and Randy was a fairly decent cook.
    Desperado was galloping past a stand of cottonwood trees that followed a meandering stream when he heard a shot. He drew rein and listened. The sound of voices echoed through the trees, and a prickling began at the base of his skull. He wheeled his mustang into the woods.
    Chloe had spied a calf stuck in the mud beside the stream and had dismounted to rescue it. Ankle-deep in mud, she’d pushed and pulled until the maverick bawled out a loud cry and sprang free. Wiping her hands on her trousers, she walked back to where she’d left her horse and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Tate Talbot and two of his rowdy friends converging upon her. She made a mad dash for her horse but was stopped cold in her tracks when the three horsemen surrounded her.
    Undaunted, Chloe reached for her gun, but she wasn’t fast enough. Tate’s two pals had their guns cocked and trained on her.
    “Aw, you wouldn’t shoot me, would you, Chloe, honey?” Tate taunted in that charming voice he’d used on her when they were courting. It was a voice she’d come to hate with an abiding passion.
    “Would a starving man beg for food?” Chloe shot back. “What do you want, Tate?”
    “Just a few words with you.”
    Chloe’s blood chilled and she swung her gun up, pulled the hammer back and aimed at Tate despite the six-shooters pointed straight at her middle.
    “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Tate warned as he dismounted and walked toward her. “My friends have itchy trigger fingers. Drop the weapon, honey.”
    Her finger tightened on the trigger. Tate must have divined her intention for he dove for her gun hand and