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  The great thing about love is that it

  comes in all shapes and sizes and

  there are as many different forms of it

  as there are stars in the sky.

  -Anonymous

  CHAPTER ONE

  (Livingston, Montana)

  Sam Steele rolled over to find Vandy already out of bed. He looked at the clock. It was six-thirty in the morning. He sat up, yawned and scratched his head, wondering what was up. Since she had dropped out of the corporate world, Vandy had gradually slept in longer and longer. She almost never beat him out of bed.

  He rolled out of bed, still yawning. Naked, he slipped on his boxer shorts and his house slippers, which were shaped like oversized cowboy boots, a gag-gift from Vandy that he happened to love. He grabbed his Stetson, adjusted it carefully, and strolled into the kitchen. He put a k-cup pod into the Keurig coffee maker and hit the start button. He stood beside the machine, listening to the rumble of the motor engage. It sounded like the world’s smallest airliner taking off. He allowed the soothing aroma of the coffee to begin the wake-up process. He smiled as he looked at the new-fangled coffee maker. It was Vandy who had put it together for him, two years earlier, in his tiny cabin, on the day they'd met.

  "I could stand here and watch you walk around in your underwear and boots all day, cowboy," a familiar voice called out from behind. “You’re making quite the fashion statement there.” She chuckled.

  “I’ve been working hard on this look,” he said, striking a manly pose, flexing his arms and chest. “Think I have a spot on the cover of one of those fashion magazines?”

  “Trust me,” she replied. “You’d be a big hit with the ladies, especially if you dropped those boxers.”

  "Watch yourself," Sam responded. "My girlfriend is the jealous type."

  "Oh, she is, is she?" Vandy replied, moving toward him. She was dressed in sweat pants and a tank top, looking as though she'd been up for a while. Her hair hadn’t been combed. She wore no makeup, but to Sam, she was more beautiful than ever. He flashed a wicked grin.

  "She is," Sam affirmed, "and she grew up in the country, you know. She'd kick your ass all up and down this kitchen."

  "I'll risk it," she responded.

  “You will, huh?” he said. “I noticed you aren’t wearing a bra under that tight little tank top. Is that for my benefit?”

  “Yep. There are no panties under these sweatpants either,” she replied. “It’s all for your benefit.”

  Vandy slipped her arms under his and slid into him, tiptoeing to give him a long, warm kiss. She held him tightly, allowing her hands to slide under his boxers and across his tight buttocks. He returned the hug and deepened the kiss.

  "Why are you up so early?" he asked. "It's not like you."

  "Daughter preparation. I want everything to be perfect for Lindsay's visit," she said. "This will be the first time she’s been out here since the house has been completely finished."

  When Vandy gave up the reigns of her company and dropped out of the LA fashion scene two years earlier, she bought a working ranch in the tiny town of Livingston, Montana, and began plans to build her dream home and ranch, complete with a stable filled with horses. She loved to ride, and did so almost daily. Sam would go with her more often than not. Construction delays and floor plan changes caused expensive overruns to the building process, and the project took thirteen months longer to finish than originally planned. From Sam's perspective, the home was visually stunning, but an example of tremendous overkill. Still, it made Vandy happy. It was laid out in a contemporary log cabin style with oversized windows and every imaginable amenity.

  He stood in the most lavish kitchen imaginable. The living room would put the lobbies of the finest hotels to shame. The bedroom had two fireplaces. They had a home theater system designed by George Lucas himself. He sighed thinking about it all, but at least he was living in Montana, not LA.

  "Vandy, the house is perfect," Sam insisted. "She's going to love it. It's me that should be your concern."

  "Oh, bullshit," Vandy insisted. “She will love you. You’ll have no problem at all.”

  "I don't know about that," Sam objected. "Burn marks like mine shock a lot of people. They make people recoil even when they know they're going to see them. And that's not to mention all the trash her dad has been talking about me."

  "Lindsey was not raised to be that way," Vandy insisted. "Her dad is just jealous of you. He’d give his left testicle to have your abs, shoulders and biceps. Lindsay is an independent free-thinker. She'll make up her own mind. All you have to do is be yourself. She will love you."

  Sam sighed, unconvinced.

  She looked at Sam lovingly. She was saddened that he remained so self-conscious about the burn marks on his face, arm and chest. He had served as an Army Ranger and had been the target of a horrible explosion. It severely damaged his hip and leg, leaving him nearly incapacitated, as well as severely burned on the left side of his body. His journey to recovery had been long and painful. She could only imagine what he’d been through.

  Sam had regained full mobility, but only after years of corrective surgeries, and the painful rehabilitation that went on for months at a time after each one. He had used the time to tone his body, which was now honed into an incredible physical specimen. But the surgeries and rehabilitation had taken their toll on him over the years, both physically and emotionally. He was through with hospitals. He decided to forego plastic surgery. He was facing many more years of skin grafts and pain.

  Vandy supported the idea. She thought Sam was a handsome man, despite the burns. And his physique would have caused jealousy among all the Greek gods.

  "I know you didn't raise her that way but it's important for me to make a good impression," Sam said. "Between what your ex-husband has said about me and my scarred face, I feel like I have two strikes against me already."

  "Would you quit worrying about the burn marks, already?" Vandy scolded.

  "If you'll remember, I scared the crap out of you at first."

  "That's totally unfair," she replied. "The day I met you I had almost bled to death after the attempt on my life. I was in severe pain, drugged, confused and disoriented. I was scared to death and had no idea at that moment you were the man who saved me."

  "I know," he replied.

  "And give me some credit. I began to love you that very day," she added. "And look at us now, we’re still going strong."

  "I'm sorry. It's just that it's been two years and I still haven't met her. I have to admit—I’m nervous."

  "And that's your fault," she said. "She's been out here twice during school breaks while the house was under construction, and both times you found some reason to be out of town."

  “My cabin back in West Glacier needed tending to,” he objected.

  “And that could have been done at any time,” she countered.

  He looked at her and smiled softly, brushing her hair over her ear with his fingertips, "I know, I know. It was not about me, though," Sam replied. "After that ugly investigation into your business and the painful divorce you went through, I thought it was important for you to spend quality time with your daughter. I wanted to give you time with her."

  Vandy smiled at him and gave him another warm
kiss.

  The financial investigation ended shortly after the people who threatened her had been apprehended. The FTC found no major violations against her company. Still, between the stress of the investigation and the messy divorce, the hounding from the media and the constant presence of the paparazzi, she was done.

  It was time for Vandy to get out—away from the company and especially away from LA. She wanted some piece of her youth back, the time when she lived on a ranch in upstate New York. Plus, she had met Sam. Never had she met a man she loved as much. She and Sam had made an emotional and physical connection she was unable to describe. He made her feel so loved, so cared for… and safe. Sam would have never lived in California. Even if he had agreed to it, he would have been miserable. Acquiring the ranch was a win-win. She had never been happier.

  "It’s all worked out," Vandy said. "My relationship with Lindsay has never been better. So, that being said, you now have no excuses. You need to be here. I want her to meet you. I want her to spend time with you. I know she'll come to love you."

  Sam sighed, "I sure hope so. What time does she get in from London?"

  Vandy looked at her watch, "She should arrive in Chicago late this afternoon. She’s going to stay with Maggie overnight and spend tomorrow with her. She’ll catch the evening flight to Bozeman. We'll pick her up at the airport tomorrow evening."

  "Who's Maggie?"

  "Maggie Trumble," came the reply. "She grew up with Lindsay. Her family moved from LA to Chicago when Lindsay was eleven, but they never lost contact. The flight from London takes her right through Chicago, so she wanted to spend some time with her."

  "Tell me again why Lindsay is at this fancy-schmancy London boarding school?" Sam said. “What’s it called again?”

  "It's Eton, and it's one of the finest boarding schools in the world," Vandy replied. "When she got accepted, I told myself I was giving her the opportunity of a lifetime—the best education imaginable, away from the public eye and away from LA."

  “Did she want to go?” Sam asked.

  “Not at first,” Vandy admitted. “Lindsay enjoyed life in LA, but Cameron and I were rarely at home and when we were, we were always fighting. We put that poor girl through a lot. Her Au Pair was essentially raising her. Then, when the real problems began…”

  Vandy's eyes dimmed and she looked down. Her eyes moistened.

  “The infidelity?” Sam asked.

  She nodded.

  “Cameron’s wandering eye became tabloid fodder. It seemed like not a week went by when he wasn’t photographed with some beautiful model or starlet. The worst thing about it was, Lindsay blamed me. She thought it was my fault for working too much. Then my business came under investigation. All the pressure from the media and the paparazzi—those are things I wanted to shield her from. I didn't want to expose her to all that."

  Sam let out a breath and nodded, "I certainly understand that. But what about the last two years? You have a beautiful three-hundred-acre ranch in the middle of god's country. She's sixteen, now. She can spend her senior year here before heading off to college."

  Vandy released Sam for the first time and turned toward the coffee maker, "That won't happen. She hated leaving Hollywood for London. Even though it was a joint decision between Cameron and I, guess who got the blame?"

  "What about now?"

  "She loves Eton and wants to finish there. I can't very well pull the plug on her, now. Besides, even despite our relationship being so solid now, she still loves her father more, and she loves being the daughter of a movie star.”

  “Star, really?” Sam repeated. “I’d never heard of the guy before I met you.”

  “That’s not a surprise, Sam. You’ve never heard of Tom Cruise,” she scoffed.

  “Sure, I have. Indiana Jones, right?” Sam replied. He smiled. Vandy shook her head.

  “If she came home, she’d want to live with him, and I just don’t want her to be exposed to that whole scene. I can't control what she does once she becomes an adult, but she's not ready for that lifestyle yet. Hollywood is poison for children."

  "She's not really a child anymore," Sam said.

  “I know, and that scares me.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  (Chicago, Ill.)

  "I wish you'd quit looking at your damn phone," Rainhorse said. "You're driving me crazy. Pay attention. The target should have been here by now. Something may be wrong."

  It was the beginning of June. At sixty-five degrees, it was unseasonably mild, even for Chicago.

  "Settle down there, Chief," Jingles replied. "I was just checking the flight arrivals."

  "And?" Rainhorse asked.

  "Oh, so now you're curious?" Jingles scoffed.

  "Cut the commentary and tell me.”

  "British Airways flight 295 arrived fifteen minutes behind schedule. I checked with my damn phone. We’re still good on time."

  Rainhorse shook his head. He had been sitting in the van for almost an hour, waiting, wishing for nothing more than for this crap assignment to be over. He was an assassin, a damn good assassin, not a kidnapper. This job was out of his comfort zone. He worked independently, not with partners, and especially not with idiots like Jingles. He often wondered why Barnabas kept a guy like him around. Jingles was a class-A screw-up who would someday get himself or someone else killed. But Barnabas was the big boss, a former military commander, famous for enforcing the chain of command. For the moment, Jingles was his top lieutenant.

  “We’re sure the cameras here are disabled?” Rainhorse asked.

  Jingles nodded, “Barnabas texted me. The cameras on Milwaukee Avenue and the station are disabled for another twenty minutes. We’ll be long gone before they come back on. Barnabas is a pro. He’s thought of everything.”

  Rainhorse sighed. He had been brought in for this assignment less than four days earlier, as a last-minute substitute for another man who somehow displeased the big boss. Rainhorse had no idea what the dispute was about—he knew better than to ask. He did presume, however, that the man he replaced was now buried in a hole somewhere in the woods. Although the planning process for this job had taken months, the time window to execute it was short and he had a great deal to learn in a very short period.

  "Relax, this will be a walk in the park," Jingles said, sensing his oversized partner was getting nervous.

  "Give me the bag," Rainhorse said. “I want to check it again.”

  Jingles reached over the wheel, pulled the bag off the dash and handed it to Rainhorse.

  "This thing is amazing," Jingles said. "You can slip this over her head and lock it into place and she can't get it off until you unlock it?"

  "Theoretically, yes," the big man answered. “It locks in place under her chin like one of those money pouches the banks use.”

  "How can she breathe?" Jingles wanted to know.

  "The material is tough, so she can't rip through it, but it's porous, so she can breathe."

  “And it will muffle her screams?”

  “Yes. It attenuates the sound, but not one hundred percent. We will still be able to understand her from a short distance if she speaks loud and clear. No one outside a five to seven-foot range will be able to hear her. Yet, she will be able to hear us perfectly. There is a lighter netting on the sides for her ears, so you still have to be careful about what you say. It’s an amazing design from the Chinese.”

  “You’ve used it before?” Jingles asked.

  “I have.”

  “What for?”

  “None of your business.”

  "How are you gonna slip it over her head without her seeing you?"

  "It's gonna have to be fast," Rainhorse replied. "I'm going to slip up from behind her."

  “That’s how the ‘Indians’ did it, huh, Cochise?” he said, chuckling.

  Rainhorse rolled his eyes, “Cochise was Apache. I am Cheyenne.”

  “I’m just funnin’ with ya,” Jingles said.

  Jingles had worked for Barnabas longe
r than he. Rainhorse found it amazing that his slovenly partner had managed to live this long. He was sloppy, lazy and took unnecessary risks. Rainhorse was fifteen years older than Jingles but, at fifty, could still outrun his pudgy partner in a footrace and could snap his neck with his bare hands, if he so chose. He smiled at the thought, but then quickly turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

  "Dammit, where is she?" Rainhorse snapped.

  "Will you relax? She'll be here," Jingles replied. "She probably got a coffee or stopped someplace to take a leak. You know how O'Hare is—it's always busy. I didn’t know you were such a nervous Nellie.”

  “This is not my kind of work,” he replied.

  “What do you mean by that?” Jingles asked.

  “I’m not a kidnapper,” he said.

  “Oh, so a simple kidnapping is beneath the dignity of a high-brow paid assassin?”

  “I meant, I’m not trained for this.”

  Jingles waved him off, “Don’t worry. Leave the decision-making to me. You were brought in for muscle. I’m the brains. Your job is easy. I have the hard part.”

  “Yeah, I can tell, you’re a regular Einstein.”

  Rainhorse checked his watch. Given what Jingles had said, the target should have exited the plane, and made her way to the CTA Blueline some time ago. He looked toward the exit at the Logan Square Station. There would be lots of people exiting with her, but Rainhorse knew her destination. Barnabas had planned the job down to the last detail. They planned to follow her down N Milwaukee Avenue, as she made the two-block walk to the bus stop. Few pedestrians traveled that street. If the girl showed, Jingles should be right—it should be easy to drive by and swoop her up. But where was she?

  He pulled the picture of the target. The young girl was pretty, very thin, but shapely, about five-feet-four, with long chestnut colored hair. She reminded him so much of…

  “Is that her?” Jingles asked, pointing.

  Rainhorse looked, “No. Something's wrong. I'm calling Barnabas. Maybe he got bad information."