In the heat waves rising from the highway, Bonnie’s precious little image swam before her eyes.

If your daddy’s there, my darling baby girl, I’ll find him. If he’s not, then I’m going to make you mine no matter what I have to do.

After losing track of time beneath a sweltering July afternoon sun blazing down on miles of rangeland, she finally spied an arch of deer antlers to her right, signifying the entrance to the Bonnibelle. A name like that must have come from the heart of some homesick Scotsman who’d settled here many years earlier and staked his claim.

It took another fifteen minutes before the dirt road climbed higher past alpine paintbrush and lupine to a crystal blue lake where an immense three-storied log ranch house hugged the shoreline. The spectacular backdrop of mountains against such splendor caused Catherine to suck in her breath.

Your daddy picked a piece of heaven when he decided to work here, sweet heart.

Beyond the main house there were clusters of immaculate out buildings and a huge barn erected amid clumps of dark pines. Some of the structures looked as if they dated back to the second half of the 1800s.

Catherine surmised that it not only took a small army of hands to keep this place in mint condition, but a cattle king with exceptional gifts and an iron hand to make certain its inner workings ran with all the precision of a fine Swiss watch.

An odd assortment of luxury cars mixed with pickup trucks and horse trailers stood parked along the border of grass planted in front of the main house. Considering the ranch was such a big business concern, she didn’t question their presence or the number of vehicles with the state’s official seal decorating the car doors.

Perhaps she might have done if she hadn’t been so intent on her des per ate mission. With time running out, she needed to act fast. Otherwise she could lose Bonnie.