“Expecting someone?” Hank asked curiously.

She nodded as the stranger strode over to meet them.

I am doing the right thing, she assured herself.

The short, slim man extended his hand and flashed a smile. “Ally Garrett, I presume? I’m Graham Penderson, of Corporate Farms.”

SO THAT WAS WHY Ally had arrived so early, dressed in a business suit, Hank thought, a mixture of disapproval and disappointment welling up inside him. She’d known she was taking the first step to sell the ranch that had meant everything to her mom and dad.

And now that Corporate Farms was involved, there was no doubt in his mind who would be the highest bidder.

Ally pivoted to face him, her expression as coolly commanding as her voice. “I take it you can handle this situation?” she inquired gesturing toward the filthy stray.

Hank lifted his free hand to tip up the brim of his hat. If she wanted him to act like the hired help, he’d do just that. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, putting as much twang as he could into the words, just to rile her, “I shorely can.”

Ally narrowed her eyes and smiled at him deliberately.

“All right.” She pivoted once again. “Mr. Penderson. This way…”

Hank watched as she led the slick representative toward the ranch house. They were inside the sadly neglected domicile less than two minutes, then walked back out-maps of the property in tow-and climbed into the older man’s Cadillac.

Hank looked down at the soaked, shivering dog cuddled against his side. “Well, I didn’t expect that, at least not today.” He rubbed some of the dirt off a fancy pink rhinestone collar hidden in the fur, which spelled out the first clear hint to the pet’s identity. “But I’ll deal with it. Meantime, what do you say we get you cleaned up?”

An hour later, Hank was kneeling in the big, old-fashioned bathroom upstairs, toweling off his canine companion, when Ally came down the hall.