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dead.”
    Even that came out as an easy drawl, but it still slammed into her. She couldn’t die. Couldn’t be shot. Because anything that happened to her, happened to her precious baby, as well. But somehow, someway, she had to distance herself from this silver-tongued cowboy lawman. Once she was at the ranch, she’d need to start making calls to arrange for some private security. And a bodyguard or two.
    “I’m sorry, by the way,” he added a moment later. “If I hadn’t uncovered what was going on, the person behind this wouldn’t have ordered a hit on you. At least not until you’d done everything they want you to do.”
    None of that was reassuring, especially the last part. “But what do they want me to do?”
    “I don’t know yet. But it won’t be legal, and doing it won’t necessarily keep you alive. Right now, I’m your best shot for staying in one piece.”
    Again, not reassuring, since it was obvious he distrusted her. Probably hated her, too, because he still had his doubts about her involvement in all of this. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to address that or just make those calls to get her out of there.
    Wyatt took the turn toward the ranch, and moments later the house came into view. Except, house didn’t seem the right word to describe something that size. She’d heard of Kirby Granger’s spread, of course, but she hadn’t expected this. Miles and miles of pastures. Hundreds of Angus cows. And she spotted four barns, along with a small house and another massive brick one that looked as if it’d recently been built. Yet another one was under construction.
    Heaven knew how many people and buildings were on the parts of the property she couldn’t see.
    Wyatt pulled to a stop directly in front of the main house, where there were several ranch hands milling around, all armed. A middle-aged woman with graying red hair stepped out.
    “Declan called,” she greeted them, the worry obvious in her voice. “He said someone shot at you.”
    But Wyatt just shrugged. Like his voice, it seemed to be an easy drawl, too. There was certainly no crazy panic in his body language, but Lyla was sure there was plenty in hers.
    “The others call Wyatt a bullet magnet,” the woman added, glancing at Lyla.
    Lyla’s gaze whipped to him. “Why do they call you that?”
    Wyatt frowned. “Why do you think?”
    “Oh, God,” she mumbled.
    “God’s probably the only one who hasn’t taken a shot at me yet.”
    The woman gave him a scolding look. “His brothers say he’s a bullet magnet because someone’s always trying to mess up his pretty face. But they don’t say that around me. They know I don’t like joking about stuff like that.”
    She came closer when Lyla and Wyatt made it onto the porch, and she slipped her arm around Lyla’s waist. “I’m Stella Doyle, a friend of the family. I take care of Wyatt and the others when they let me.”
    “The others?” Lyla asked.
    “Wyatt’s foster brothers. Dallas, Clayton, Harlan and Slade. Mine and Kirby’s own son, too—Declan. They’re all marshals like Wyatt here, and they’re all my boys.”
    Wyatt brushed a kiss on the woman’s cheek. “Where’s everyone?”
    “Dallas took the womenfolk and Clayton’s baby to his and Joelle’s place.” She tipped her head in the direction of the new house, which Lyla had noticed. “He said he talked to you about that.”
    “He did. I just thought it’d be better if there were fewer people here tonight. Is Harlan with them?”
    Stella nodded. “Slade, too. You’re expecting some kind of trouble?”
    “Trying to prevent it.” Wyatt glanced at the curvy dark-haired woman who was sweeping the porch. A maid, no doubt. “When’d you hire her?” he asked Stella.
    “Last week. Why?”
    “I just want the ranch on lockdown for a while. Give her and any other new help a few paid days off. That includes ranch hands.”
    Stella gave an uneasy nod, and she wasn’t the only one who was uneasy. It hit