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Anything for His Son
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Justice for a Ranger
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Randolph Falcon’s jaw snapped tight at the sight of Victoria Hoffman on the stoop of Falcon Ridge - or rather, the Hoffman mansion.

Thick dark hair spiraled around an oval face that was painted in shadows by the faint dusky light filtering through the aspens and pines. She was petite but voluptuous, the contrast of her femininity so stark against the rugged San Juan mountain ridges and cliffs backing Falcon Ridge that his gut clenched in response. She seemed small and vulnerable, almost as lost and abandoned as the stray birds he found injured in the wild. Yet, the gentle slope of her chin flared with determination as she hedged at the twelve-foot entrance, the faint whisper of unease swirling around her, arousing protective instincts in him that he didn’t want to feel.

Randolph had been alone a long damn time.

By choice - but still alone. He lived in the heart of the woods in a cabin that was nothing more than a shack, communed with the wildlife and was a falconer at heart. No woman before had breached his connection or intrigued him enough to risk sharing his world.

For no woman could understand his falconer ways.

Especially Victoria Hoffman, daughter of his enemy....

Had she returned to claim her home - the home that should have rightfully been his?

Bitterness swelled inside Randolph as dark and bleak as the granite sky. He’d come here for one purpose only. To get proof that Hoffman had stolen Falcon Ridge from Randolph’s father.

He was certain the answers lay in the secret cavernous chambers guarded by the heavy stone walls.

Victoria Hoffman turned then, leaving one hand on the thick brass door handle, the other tucking a strand of her unruly hair behind one ear. Her eyes were so dark and sultry, almost a bronze color, that he felt drawn into their anguished depths, felt heat stir in his body, his sex spring to life from a sleep that had lasted nearly a lifetime.

But he stifled his reaction, drawing on his constant companions of anger and revenge to renew his strength.

A sharp breath of surprise escaped her rose petal lips when she saw him. “Who are you?”

“Randolph Falcon.” He stalked toward her, knowing his size dwarfed hers, that they were miles from nowhere outside a house that had only known death, that his presence might frighten her and add to the haunting shadows in her eyes.

Yet, even though he told himself he didn’t care if he scared her - that he should scare her so she would leave - he halted, mesmerized by her eyes.

And for some unfathomable reason, he couldn’t make himself spit out the warning that he’d intended to say. Leave here or you might be the next to die.

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