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“I’m okay . . .”

“You’re not hurt?” His dark eyes raked her body as if he were searching for evidence to the contrary.

“Really . . . I’m . . . I’m fine,” she managed to say as she wiped her tears with the back of one hand. The other was braced behind his neck, holding him near. She needed to feel the strength of his body against hers, the comfort of his arms holding her fiercely. She had to know there was something strong in the world that she could grasp.

He held her just as desperately. For the last two hours he had feared her dead, lost to him forever, and he vowed silently that he would never again let her go, should he find her alive. He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Dear God, Rebecca,” he groaned, “I was afraid that I’d lost you.” His voice was husky, his vision clouded by salty tears of relief.

The next few moments were quiet, the silence broken only by her quiet sobs and the rapid beating of his heart. From somewhere nearby, he thought he heard a painful moan, but he ignored it, concentrating only on the warmth of the woman in his arms.

Slowly her thoughts became coherent. “Where have you been?” she asked in the faintest of whispers.

“In L.A.”

“Then you didn’t return to Denver?”

His smile was grim. “No. It’s a long story. Your brother—where is he?”

Becca nodded feebly toward the window, afraid that Dean might be injured or worse. Reluctantly Brig released her, but before he reached the ledge the thought of Dean’s hidden pistol entered Becca’s weary mind. “Watch out,” she called after Brig. “He’s got a gun.” Her heart twisted at the thought.

The sound of a pickup coughing and sparking to life caught her attention. Brig stood watching silently as the truck roared down the winding lane. “Stupid fool,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Why did you let him go?” Once again confusion took hold of her.

“He won’t get far, and I didn’t come here chasing him,” Brig explained. “It was you I came to see. I was worried about you.” He came back to her and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. His eyes were filled with genuine concern. “When I heard that Dean had gotten away from Charlie—”

“Then Dean was right. It was you. You were behind it!”

Brig nodded curtly. “But, as usual, your brother used less than sound judgment. He wouldn’t accept Charlie’s hospitality and tried to knock him out by hitting him over the back of the head. Charlie reciprocated.”

“But why did you try and hold him? I think that’s called kidnapping in this state.”

“No one kidnapped anyone. We just invited Dean to play poker—for forty-eight hours. I guess he didn’t like the game.”

“But, Brig, why?”

“Because I needed time and I had to be sure that he wouldn’t hurt you while I was in L.A.”

Becca shook her head, rubbing the soft golden wisps of her hair against Brig’s chest. “You didn’t need to worry. Dean would never hurt me.”

“When it comes to you, I don’t take any chances. Come on, let’s go into the house and I’ll pour you a drink. You look like you could use one.”

“What I need is answers. I want to know what it was you were after in Los Angeles.”

Becca’s knees were weak and she had to lean on Brig as they walked through the gathering twilight toward the old farmhouse. Brig’s arm was a steadying reinforcement on Becca’s slumped shoulders. She tried to think rationally, but the headache that had begun to develop between her temples and the memory of the fear in Dean’s eyes clouded her mind.

Once inside the farmhouse, Brig poured two shots of brandy. Becca accepted the drink gratefully and had to hold the small snifter in both of her hands in order not to spill any of the amber liquor. She looked small and frail as she sat on the couch cradling the glass between her fingers. Brig wondered how much of her vulnerability was the direct result of his carelessness. He silently cursed himself before draining his drink in one lengthy swallow.

Her soft green eyes searched his. “I don’t understand, Brig, why aren’t you chasing Dean?”

“Because I’d rather stay with you—you need me right now.”

She smiled weakly despite her fears. “But I thought you wanted to capture him—oh God, will you listen to me. I’m talking about mybrother!”She dropped her head into her palm and felt the tears beginning to rise once again in her throat.

“Shhh, it’s all right.” He sat beside her on the couch after refilling her drink.

“How can you even think that everything’s okay?”

“Because for the last six years we’ve all been living a lie—I’m just angry with myself for not sensing it any earlier. I let my pride get in the way of my clear thinking.”