The High Country Rancher by Jan Hambright Page A

after the structure had been reduced to ashes. Already he was counting his losses. Thankfully he’d turned the horses out this morning and the band of calves who’d been rescued from the storm were back with their mothers in the pasture.
    “I’ve got to go,” he said over his shoulder as he pushed out into the afternoon sun. Then he bolted, leaving the afterglow of kissing Mariah in his wake, but not completely out of mind.
     
    D USK HAD DESCENDED on the high country when he roared up the driveway two hours later. The haze ofsmoke had been visible in the air by the time he’d left the Salmon River road and crossed onto Bellwether property.
    He braked hard and stared at the blackened skeleton of the barn that had been standing on the ranch since before he was born. A couple of two-ton bales of hay still flamed out, despite the fireman holding the water hose on it.
    Two water tender tankers covered the scene along with a dozen volunteer firemen, and Travis, his ranch hand, sat on the back bumper of one of the trucks with his head down.
    Worry stewed inside of Baylor. Was Travis okay? He pulled in a breath and climbed out of his pickup. He’d mentally prepared for the worst. At least none of his livestock had perished in the fire.
    He strode over to Travis, seeing the soot on his face and the regret in his eyes as he stood up. “I tried to put it out, but it got so big.”
    Baylor put his hand on the kid’s back. “Are you okay?”
    “Yeah.”
    “That’s all that matters. The barn can be replaced. You can’t. Head in and get cleaned up.”
    Travis nodded and took off for the bunkhouse situated a hundred feet behind the barn.
    “McCullough.” The rural fire chief raised his hand and strode over to Baylor’s side. “We tried to save the old girl, your ranch hand got somewater on the fire, but it blew up. We couldn’t get here in time.”
    “Thanks, Jock. I know you all did your best.”
    The sound of gravel crunching beneath tires drew his attention to the driveway, where he spotted Mariah’s car pulling in next to his pickup.
    “Any idea where it started?” he asked the fire chief, while he studied her moving toward them.
    “The point of origin is in the southern corner. What did you have back there?”
    “A calf warming pen.” Baylor mentally went through his routine, certain he’d unplugged every last heat lamp. Caution perked in his veins. Barn fires weren’t uncommon. There were a couple a year within the county. Usually caused by lightning, or hot equipment being parked on hay-littered floorboards.
    “When can we get in there for a good look?”
    “Maybe in an hour or so. It’s still too hot right now.”
    Mariah came to stand next to him and he put his hand on her back. “I’m going inside, Jock. If you or your men need anything, you’re welcome to it. Let me know when you investigate where the fire started.”
    “No problem. Thanks, Baylor.” Jock Hansen turned and moved back toward his fire crew.
    “It’s just wood. I’ll rebuild. Now, where were we?” He felt Mariah hesitate and looked over at her.
    “I can’t believe we were kissing in the station. My dad would have a fit.” She smiled and he stared at her lips, feeling his desire ratchet up.
    “It would be just a short hop into a cell from there. Maybe it’s the safest place to kiss you.” He liked the way her cheeks pinked up and her blue eyes sparkled in the low light.
    Every throbbing inch of him wanted her, but he held back from a full-on pursuit, restrained by his own sense of guilt. Did it matter whether or not he told her the truth about the night Amy died?
    “Want something to drink?” He moved her toward the front door.
    “Yeah. Sounds like it’s going to be a long night.”
    “Hay bales can smolder for weeks. They’ll have to let them burn out by themselves.” Baylor pulled his house key out and reached for the knob. It turned in his hand.
    “Weird.”
    “What?”
    “I locked this door this