After a morning of sulking, she found her determination rebounding, and by the end of the week she had her plans for retaliation fully in place. Shading her eyes with one hand, she searched the valley below. Tiny dots came into view and her heart skipped in her chest. “You can run, Rowdy McGuire, but you can’t hide.” She slapped her hat back in place. Templeton picked the trail down the hill. The horse was sure-footed and didn’t need guidance from her. The two of them had been roaming the hills and valleys of the ranch for years—long before Mr. McGuire had said she couldn’t. After that morning on the stairs, Angel had taken Constance’s suggestion to heart and decided to ignore Rowdy. It hadn’t been too difficult, since he never came within one hundred yards of her. Then two days ago, her plan took a new route, after she’d had a ranch hand take her to town. She’d needed the counsel of another woman, and who better than the one woman who knew Rowdy better than anyone else—Liza?
